Standard fanfic disclaimers apply.
A/N 2: This fic is for a friend, whom I promised another baseball story. And for another friend who loves Springsteen. You guys know who you are! And because it's, well, October again...AND because YES! The Yankees won again tonight! Yay. (pls don't throw things!) Enjoy!
A/N:This fic is essentially the epilog to Ten Big Ones. Ranger is my Mercenary Ranger - at this point in my timeline, he is just beginning to reveal himself, if only to himself. And to us...? You can look at my other MR stories for more background if needed.
Glory Days/ Because It's October...
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After the Slayer shootout- Ten Big Ones: "My heroes. Upstaged by a guy in a red dress."
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Ranger
Morelli and I stood there grinning like idiots. Steph's face was bruised and her lip was bleeding but she was alive. And judging from the fact that she was more or less fully clothed, she had not been raped or beaten too severely. My heart felt like it was ripped from my chest and stomped on. Shit, it was all I could do not to cry from relief. Fortunately for my street cred, years of training kept my face stoic except for the wide smile that I couldn't suppress.
Steph's eyes met mine and she communicated, I'm okay. Don't ask me how we do that, we just do.
Morelli said, "You two stay here, I gotta check in with my boss."
And he just turned and walked away from the woman who he usually lives with. No hug, no reassurance, no nothing. I presumed by you two he meant Steph and Sally Sweet. No way did Morelli give me orders. I moved immediately to Stephanie who was staring after Morelli, lips quivering, blood slowly dripping down her chin. I gently enfolded her in my arms. I was careful because I wanted to hold her tight and never let her go. But I was concerned about her injuries.
Robin Russell, the female TPD cop, came over and said, "EMS is on the way, 2 minutes. Can I do anything?"
I started to ask her for a blanket because Stephanie had started to shake in my arms. Shock was setting in. But over Steph's head I saw that a lot of my men had arrived and Bobby Brown was on the way to me with blankets and his medical kit.
I shook my head No at Russell, who continued to eye me carefully.
Bobby wrapped one blanket around Steph and gave the other to Sally. Sally Sweet still held the Uzi and he looked like he was totally losing it, eyes wide and glassy.
I looked for Tank. First thing to do was lose the gun—permanently. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and carefully, no prints, I didn't need that complication, extricated the Uzi from Sally's death grip. I was thinking, Morelli really fell down on the job. He should have secured the gun and made sure both Sally and Steph were okay. But no, he was off to schmooze with the chief of police.
Tank sidled up to me and took the Uzi. And he left.
I hugged Steph some more, rocking her like a frightened child, as I casually glanced around to be sure no one was watching. Tank would make sure the gun ended up somewhere where no one would ever find it. My eye caught Robin Russell's. She saw what happened. Her face stayed blank but her eyes held mine. She was a strong woman, no sign of being intimidated by me. After a moment she tipped her chin just a little, agreement? Acquiescence? I understood her message, too—I had made a new and valuable ally tonight.
Uzi? What Uzi?
Only a minute or two had passed. Bobby finished a brief check of Sally and came over to me. He said, "He's shocky but okay. I suggest we get him home."
I nodded. "Take the rest of the band too. Have someone stay with them tonight." I turned to Sally. "My lawyer will call you in the morning and will go with you to the station to make your statement. My man will give you all his information. Do not go to the station or talk to the authorities without calling this guy, okay? He'll take care of everything. I'll do my best to keep the cops off your ass for tonight. Sally! Are you listening to me?''
''Uh yeah dude, you mean I can leave? Lawyer—how will I pay for a lawyer, man?''
''Don't worry about it. Just go.''
''But, dude, I'm fucking broke, I drive a school bus.''
''You saved Steph's life, Sally. I'll take care of any legal fees, man. No problem.''
I motioned Brett and Zero to follow him. ''Take him and the band home. Someone stay with him and don't let him smoke dope all night. He needs to be straight when he makes his statement.''
''Yessir, boss, but, Ranger, he may need a smoke to get him through the night, you know what I'm saying?'' said Zero.
''Give him a beer or two. No dope.''
''Okay, boss." My guys left with Sweet and the band.
Through all of this I'd been holding Steph wrapped in my arms, huddled in the blanket. Bobby had put a cold pack on her face, tucking it between her cheek and my chest. I was getting cold too. I leaned back and looked at Steph, lifting away the ice pack. Her eyes were unfocused and the shaking was getting worse.
''Let's get you home, babe.''
I carried her over to my Porsche and buckled her in. Bobby stopped me from closing the door and said, ''Ranger, let me check her out here. She may need to go to the hospital.''
''Noooooo!'' wailed Steph, her voice thin and high.
''Bobby's just gonna check you, babe. He has a Coke for you, try to drink it. Just sip.''
We kept the regular Cokes in the cars for emergencies. The sugar and caffeine were good for mild shock.
Steph sipped. ''Ick. It's warm.''
Bobby smiled. ''Okay. You sound good, Steph. Do you hurt anywhere besides your face?'' He did the penlight in the eyes thing as he spoke to her.
''I don't —I don't think, don't know—. Ranger!" Her voice cracked and tears trickled down her face unnoticed.
Bobby sighed but said, "Take her home, boss. I'll follow you up.''
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We made our escape from the scene. We were about 5 minutes out when my regular cell rang. It was Morelli. And he was screaming.
"What the fuck did you do, where is Steph? Where is Sally Sweet? They did not have clearance to leave the scene. Are you fucking crazy?"
God, I hate this guy. What an asshole.
I said, "Sally will come in tomorrow with his lawyer—who is MY lawyer—and make a statement. There was no cause for TPD to detain him since his actions were in defense of a third party who was in a life-threatening situation. Steph is a victim, not a criminal. She will respond to police enquiries when she is well enough, right now she is being treated for trauma and shock." I deliberately kept my voice low and neutral, ignoring Morelli's rant.
I hung up, redialed and told my dispatch to forward any calls to me to Tank. I'd have to call my lawyer too but not right now. Right now Steph needed me—at least she has someone who loves her, I thought.
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Back at Haywood, we got on the elevator with Bobby and Snake and Junior. All three are African American and I thought Steph cringed away a little bit, but didn't think much of it. Lots of big guys in a relatively small space.
Bobby punched 5 and when the doors opened he motioned off Junior and Snake, saying, "Send up Lester or Manuel."
I looked at him.
Bobby said in Spanish, "She's afraid of us, boss. We look too much like Slayers.''
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Bobby
Ranger looked a little bit clueless. He tends to be unaware of—or he deliberately ignores—racial distinctions, having no clear cut racial identity himself. I mean—yeah, he's Latino, but that covers quite the genetic spectrum. He has the Anglo features and straight hair and very dark Latino eyes, medium skin—lighter than me, waaaay darker than Stephanie, whose white was turning an icky grey shade even as I watched. Like skim milk.
Some woman once joked about Ranger that God was having a very good day when He made Ranger. Mostly what people notice about the boss, after they finish pissing their pants from fright, is that he's very good-looking, I guess. The mulitracial thing gives him an unusual blind spot. It actually makes him a good boss because he doesn't differentiate with his employees by race or ethnicity. Nor does he allow it among his men.
On the other hand, Steph didn't need to be overwhelmed by a whole lot of big, scary black men tonight. Lester was a better choice, he looked a lot like Ranger. She didn't seem afraid of Ranger at all. I followed in silence as he carried her into his apartment.
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... ... ...
Ranger
We got Steph into my apartment and I sat down on the sofa with her on my lap. She was shaking more violently and seemed to be losing focus. Tears slowly flowed down her face, unheeded. I was crooning and babbling to her in a mixture of Spanish and English, almost baby-talk, like you'd use to soothe a child's night fears.
I wasn't really paying attention to what I was saying, I just wanted her to know I was there and to be reassured, but suddenly she tipped her head back and stared into my eyes.
She said, ''Did you just say you love me, in Spanish?''
Bobby stifled a laugh.
''Uh, maybe. Anyway you know I love you, babe. I keep telling you.''
Our eyes met and held. Time was suspended, eons passed—or seconds. My mouth met hers, tasting blood and—Stephanie—and...
''Ranger! Hey! Ranger!'' (Bobby)
''What!''
''You need to get her in a hot shower and into clean dry clothes, okay. Go! I turned the shower on for you. I'll give her tea and a sedative when you're done.''
Geez.
''I can do it myself,'' said Steph when I set her down in the bathroom.
''Let me help, babe, okay?''
I carefully undressed her and set her in the hot shower. I made a fast exam as I did so and though she had some bruising on her ribs and hip, the injuries did not look bad, no broken bones or deep bruises that might signal internal injuries. After a few minutes I reached in and turned off the shower, wrapping her in my robe and winding a towel around her wet hair. I took her in my dressing room and dressed her in—what? I couldn't think—I finally chose a pair of my silk boxers and a tank top. That's what she usually wore to sleep, right? Well—panties but no panties were right here. I tried to focus and led her to the bed, sitting her down on the end while I towel-dried her hair.
Bobby came in with hot tea—two cups—and a pair of pills. He set everything on the nightstand and said, ''Jeez, boss, she needs more clothes than that. We have to get her warm. What's wrong with you?''
''It's what she usually wears.''
''She needs to get warm, man.''
I said, ''Get some sweats out of my closet.''
A few seconds later, Bobby's voice said, ''Don't you have any clothes that aren't black, Ranger? Jesus.''
I sighed. ''Other side.''
Bobby and I dressed Steph in grey sweatpants and a gray cashmere sweater. I have no clue why grey is more socially acceptable for a sick person than black, but Bobby was happy. Bobby rummaged in my dresser and found socks for her too. He gave her the pills and the tea.
Steph said, ''I hate tea.''
''Drink it, babe, please.''
''Um. OK, Ranger.''
She was out of it but the shakes were subsiding.
Bobby said, ''Lester made tea for you too, Ranger, you're not doing great, you gotta focus here.''
I took the tea and drank because I realized I was exhibiting symptoms of mild stress or shock myself. I needed to be strong for Steph. I nearly gagged. They put sugar in it! Eeeewww.
Bobby handed me the cold pack, saying, ''Ten minutes on, 20 off. Put salve on her lip.'' He clunked the pot of Carmex on the nightstand and pulled the covers back.
''Take your boots off, boss.''
I untied the laces and kicked off my shoes.
''Get in.''
We got in. Bobby can be so bossy when he's doing his doctor thing.
I had had the foresight to bring a comb with me and I sat up against the headboard, Steph in front of me. I carefully dabbed the salve on her poor cut lip then I combed and braided her hair. Bobby stood and watched in openmouthed amazement. I said, "What?"
"Oh, man." I guess he was speechless. What—he never saw someone's hair braided before? I vaguely wondered who braided his hair. Brown has cornrows with long-ish braids in the back. No beads, I don't allow them. Too noisy. He added, "You got it bad, my man."
I told him to fuck off, in Spanish, then I added the details about the bruises on her body. Bobby gave me a rundown of symptoms to watch for, including internal bleeding and concussion. As if I don't know them as well as he does.
I finished Steph's hair and she turned in my lap, hiding her head against my waist. I scrunched back and made us more comfortable.
Bobby said, ''Tank is here. Ill be downstairs if you need me. Do you want Tank to report?''
''Yeah.''
As Bobby left, Steph roused herself and said, ''Bobby? Thank you. I didn't want to go to the hospital—so—thanks.''
His eyes met mine.
Yes. She is special. No, she never thought you were a Slayer.
"You're welcome, Stephanie.''
Tank appeared in the doorway. Tank and I really don't need words, anymore than Steph and I do. After a minute he nodded once and left. The Uzi was taken care of, Sally and the band were stabled somewhere safe. He'd sleep in the living room and he'd make sure no one, especially Joe Morelli, intruded before we were ready for them.
Like maybe never.
I kissed Steph's sleeping face.
I love you, babe. Thank god you're okay.
I slept too.
... ... ... ...
Tank
Tank got halfway back to the living room and stopped. He turned and went back to Ranger's bedroom, hesitating in the doorway. Ranger and Stephanie both appeared to be sound asleep. Which was good, right? Except that Ranger was still fully dressed in his usual urban commando gear, all but his boots which he'd removed before getting into bed. Otherwise he was dressed for the street, combats, flak vest, even his black Gortex windbreaker—and all his weapons. Two Glocks in shoulder rig, ankle gun and knife, no doubt another gun in the back of his pants. Ranger usually locked away all his weapons when he was home but tonight it was obvious that he wasn't thinking so clearly. And right now he looked exhausted and deeply asleep.
Tank wondered if Brown or Santos had drugged the tea.
Tank started to slip away again and Ranger said, ''What?''
Tank shrugged, "Nothing, boss. Nothing."
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Ranger
Ranger woke himself up again an hour later. One of his guns was digging into his side, but he had spent years in the Rangers and Delta, always fully armed 24/7 and wearing much heavier body armor than the flak vest he wore tonight. It wasn't comfy, as Steph would say, but it was familiar.
Ranger checked Steph who slept soundly still. He got up, removing his windbreaker on his way to the shower. He threw the jacket and the bulletproof vest on the black leather bench in his dressing room. The jacket caught his eye.
Ooops. It wasn't his usual Rangeman jacket. Same black but the back said in big yellow letters: JOSF [Joint Operations Special Forces]-Anti-Terrorism Task Force. He had grabbed the wrong jacket from the car at the Slayer scene. Hopefully no one except maybe Russell noticed, Ranger thought, as he rolled the jacket up and put it in the locked drawer with all his weapons.
Oh well, could be worse. Coulda worn the FBI jacket. That'd really make Morelli livid.
Ranger's work for these alphabet agencies was very Top Secret—but somehow the cops always knew to back off. Don't ask/ don't tell thing—but Morelli, he was a loose cannon at times. Italian temper and all.
Ranger showered and went into the living room where Tank and Lester were quietly watching the American League baseball playoffs on TV. Ranger stood and watched for a minute, feeling the old draw of the game, the pitch, the face-off. Glory days.
He chose a different path in his life, a long time ago. No room for what ifs.
But, well,what if? At thirty, he'd have been at the height of his pitching career; it could have been him in his NY Yankee uniform, closing the game, getting another save. Another win. Pitching in the Series. No. Don't go there.
The Yanks struck out the other side—who are they playing, anyway? Detroit? Ranger had been too busy the past weeks to follow the playoffs—and a commercial came on. Tank looked over at him.
Ranger said, ''Coward.''
''I'm not your mom, Ranger. You wanna sleep on your guns, boy, you go right ahead.''
We smiled at that. My mother would no more question her adult son's desire to sleep fully armed, locked and loaded, than she'd walk through Time Square naked. My mother was a soldier's daughter, well-versed and encoded in the life, a lot like Connie or even a Terry Gilman.
I wandered to the kitchen for food, wondering what Steph would make of my mother if they ever, God forbid, met.
My father was Cuban American, from an old and wealthy Havana background. He had been a soldier, a banker, and a spy. And I know I look Cuban or Latino—but my mom is third generation Italian American, a pediatric orthopedic surgeon whose family is Family, if you know what I mean. I smiled thinking how the Plums might love me if they only knew. The Newark "Burg", you ask? Please. I have one word for that story: cover.
Ella had left sandwiches and soup. Homemade chicken meatball soup. How did she do it?
I ate and called my lawyer, set things up for Sally Sweet. With no weapon in police hands, Sally would probably be let off, no problem, with a defense of third party ruling. My guy would make it happen. It would cost me, but I could afford it.
A sleepy voice said, ''Ranger? I'm hungry.''
Steph was awake and looking for food. She was padding along in my sweats which were too big and too long for her, holding the material up at the sides like a child. The v-neck of my cashmere sweater drooped off one shoulder and the arms pooled around her wrists. She looked adorable.
''Come have some soup, babe. Ella made Cuban meatball soup, it's good. You'll like it.''
Steph ate her soup and watched the game over her shoulder. After a moment I reached for the remote and turned on the TV that was on a flat screen on my fridge. Usually I use it for closed circuit TV, to watch my entrance or the garage but it had regular TV too. All 453 worthless channels.
Steph looked in awe. ''That's so cool. Especially for someone who says he never watches TV.''
I smiled at her. And the Yanks clinched the AL East title. Glory days.
"Start spreading the news...
I'm leaving today
I want to be a part of it - New York, New York
I wanna wake up in a city, that doesn't sleep
And find I'm king of the hill - top of the heap
These little town blues, are melting away
I'll make a brand new start of it - in old
New York
I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps
And find I'm A-Number One, top of the list, king
of the hill
And if I can make it there, I'm gonna make it
anywhere
It's up to you - New York New York..."
The Yankees theme played, credits rolled.
The end...
(sung by Frank Sinatra, written byFred Ebb & John Kander)
Glory Days
Bruce Springsteen
I had a friend was a big baseball player
back in high school
He could throw that speedball by you
Make you look like a fool boy
Saw him the other night at this roadside bar
I was walking in, he was walking out
We went back inside sat down had a few drinks
but all he kept talking about was
Chorus:
Glory days well they'll pass you by
Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye
Glory days, glory days
Well there's a girl that lives up the block
back in school she could turn all the boy's heads
Sometimes on a Friday I'll stop by
and have a few drinks after she put her kids to bed
Her and her husband Bobby well they split up
I guess it's two years gone by now
We just sit around talking about the old times,
she says when she feels like crying
she starts laughing thinking about
Chorus
Glory days well they'll pass you by
Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye
Glory days, glory days
My old man worked 20 years on the line
and they let him go
Now everywhere he goes out looking for work
they just tell him that he's too old
I was 9 nine years old and he was working at the
Metuchen Ford plant assembly line
Now he just sits on a stool down at the Legion hall
but I can tell what's on his mind
Glory days yeah goin back
Glory days aw he ain't never had
Glory days, glory days
Now I think I'm going down to the well tonight
and I'm going to drink till I get my fill
And I hope when I get old I don't sit around thinking about it
but I probably will
Yeah, just sitting back trying to recapture
a little of the glory of, well time slips away
and leaves you with nothing mister but
boring stories of glory days
Glory days well they'll pass you by
Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye
Glory days, glory days
Glory days well they'll pass you by
Glory days in the wink of a young girl's eye
Glory days, glory days
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