This story has been in the works for years, which, for those of you who have read my other stories, should not be surprising. I tend to take ages to finish things. Anyway, I finally found the inspiration to finish and upload this little one. It's a songfic, which I haven't done in a while, but I was listening to "Hello" by Kate Miller Heidke and this plot just kinda stuck there and wouldn't go away until I started writing it. Hope you enjoy it.
Hello
I sat staring at the paperwork on my desk, silently willing it to go away. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, envisioned my empty desk for long moments, and reopened them. The paperwork was still there. With a sigh and a glance at the clock, I picked up my pen and began making the necessary marks on the pages as I read. Page after agonisingly boring page. This was my life. Day in. Day out. Drink coffee, sit at desk, try to make the paperwork go away, do the paperwork, call the office, put the paperwork in a manila envelope on the porch swing, drink myself into oblivion, wake up, do it all again. Don't ask me how the paperwork magically arrives on my desk, but it's always there when I sit down.
In the three months that I'd been hiding here, and I say hiding because I had no desire whatsoever to see anyone, my only contact with the outside world had been those phone calls to the office. Even those did not consist of anything substantial, their only purpose being to inform them that the paperwork was done. Nobody dared to ask me any questions, they simply let me say what I needed to say, responded with a "Gotcha", "Yep", or, on the occasion if they were feeling brave enough, "Aye aye cap'n".
As I turned over the final page I decided to break routine and put the paper in the manila folder and out on the swing BEFORE calling the office.
"It's out there," I told the person on the other end of the phone before they even spoke. "Pick it up when you're ready."
He sounded a little tense and nervous when he replied with an "Uh huh, okay," and quickly hung up. I wasn't sure what was going on, but I didn't care anymore. I had my routine and I was going to stick to it for the rest of the day. I grabbed a bottle of vodka from the cabinet in the corner and carried it to the living room, where I placed it with the utmost care on the coffee table while I retrieved a glass from the kitchen. I was in my third hour of drinking when something strange happened. I was distracted from pouring another drink by a loud BONGing sound ringing through the house.
I jumped to my feet and yelled, "TAKE COVER!" diving under the coffee table and spilling the drink I had just been pouring in the process. The BONGs continued and my head began to clear a little. I'd definitely heard this sound before, but it wasn't in battle. Rolling over, I stared at the spotless underside of the coffee table and wondered for a moment how it could be so clean. Shouldn't there be old chewing gum under there or something? Then the BONG came again and I remembered myself.
I crawled out from my hiding place, and heard the distinct sound of someone pounding on the door. "It's on the porch swing!" I yelled, stumbling towards the entrance hall. The damn couch got in the way and I ended up sprawled on the floor behind it, thinking it would be a nice time for a nap. Another BONG rang out and I was somehow instantly on my feet en route of the front door. "I said it's on the porch swing! It's always on the porch swing!"
The BONGing and pounding stopped and I was momentarily confused by the silence. Why was I standing in the front hall yelling about the porch swing? Just on a whim, I opened the door, and what I saw, there, on the porch shocked me into slamming the door closed again. I quickly staggered back into the living room and took a long swig of tequila, as the door pounding returned.
Shaking my head in an attempt to clear it, I slowly made my way back to the door and opened it once more.
"Ranger?" she asked uncertainly. I knew how she felt, my own reply was just as uncertain.
"Steph?"
"I had no idea this was your house," she gushed suddenly. "I don't even know where I am! I was just sitting in my cubicle, doing some research like usual. Next thing I know Bobby's there asking if I wanted to go to lunch with him and a couple of the guys. And I'm thinking it's a bit weird, because don't they usually just grab an Ella sandwich from the cafeteria? So I go with them anyway, because it's a relief to be out of the ass cramp chair, and they ride in the elevator with me except we don't go down to the garage. They start getting off at the lobby so I get off too."
Wow, she was talking really fast. And those hand gestures were making me dizzy. I had to grip the door frame to keep from falling over. This caused her to pause in her ramble.
"Are you alright?" she asked. "You look a little pukey. My mom says that's the kind of look I get when I've been drinking and then start moving too fast." She sniffed the air around me and frowned. "Have you been drinking."
I gave her what I thought was my sexy grin, but apparently wasn't if her expression was anything to go by. "I only had a little bit. I promise."
Her frown deepened. "You should sit down," she said. "Can I come in?"
I thought seriously about it for a long moment, and surprised myself by actually considering what she would say when she saw the empty bottles lining the perimeter of the living room. This was followed by the consideration of skipping the living room and taking her straight upstairs to bed. That thought was squashed soon enough when I remembered what happened when I tried to walk past the couch. Surely stairs weren't an ally right about now.
"Ranger?" she asked, leaning a little closer to look into my eyes as they drooped a little.
"Steph?" I asked. I couldn't figure out why I had a sense of déjà vu when I said it, so I just sent her another would be sexy grin. "Let's sit outside." She nodded, eyeing me warily, and started to reach out to help me walk. I swatted her away and stumbled forward. "I can wa-." I tripped over a massive suitcase lying in the middle of the porch and almost didn't catch myself in time. If it weren't for her hand on my arm I would have face planted on the top step.
When I had my balance back, she started to lead me towards the stairs. "Where are you taking me?" I asked bluntly, trying to wrench my arm free.
Her grip was like iron. I could get out of it. "To the stairs," she informed me gently. "We'll sit on the top step."
"NO!" I didn't want to sit on the steps. I wanted to sit on the porch swing. I don't think I'd ever sat on the porch swing before. "I wanna sit on the swing."
We were half way to the steps by now, and she paused to send a glance in the direction of the swing, considering it. After a moment she shook her head and started back on her original route. "I don't want to risk sitting you on something that moves. There was an awful lot of crashing inside before you opened the door." I pouted at her and could tell she was trying desperately not to laugh at me. I don't know what was so funny, but I started laughing anyway, and then she started laughing, and we were both laughing.
When she sat me down on the top step I had a bad feeling in my stomach. I wasn't quite sure what was going on until I was suddenly leaning over, vomiting on the steps below. That's when it started to rain. I felt the cool droplets on the back of my neck and was shocked into standing upright. Skirting the pile of vomit, I bounced out and stood in the middle of my circular driveway, my arms spread wide and my face tilted toward the sky.
"What happened then?" I asked her, suddenly remembering her ramble. "You got off in the lobby, then what happened?"
She shook her head at me, still standing on the safety of the porch, probably afraid she'd accidentally stand in the putrid puddle I'd made if she tried to follow me. "They ushered me out onto the street and Lester was there, holding a cab. I thought it was strange that we would go somewhere by cab, but didn't question it as I got in. The door closed behind me and I was the only one in the cab – with the exception of the cab driver. I wound down the window to ask them what was going on and they told me it was just something I had to do." She shook her head slightly again, and I watched in awe as her curls bounced. "I trust them, so I didn't try to object. Next thing I knew, I was here and the cab driver was removing my luggage from the boot of the car. I hadn't even realised I had luggage."
I nodded thoughtfully, turning around to try to get more rain on different parts of my body.
"Why are you here?" she asked. "Why not out saving the world from crisis like you usually are?"
"Even superheroes need a day off every now and again," I replied.
"You've been here for three months from what I understand."
I felt something roll down my cheek. It felt just like the rain, but different. It didn't hit and the roll, it just rolled. There was a stinging behind my eyes. Was I crying? This feeling was so foreign to me I wasn't sure what was happening. Before I could properly assess what was happening to me she was right there in front of me.
"I'm sorry, Ranger, I didn't mean to upset you, I just thought you were usually one to face your fears and problems rather than hide from them." She swiped at my cheeks and that's when I knew that I was, in fact, crying.
I couldn't stand it. She was feeling sorry for me. I could handle a lot of things, but that was just too much. "We should go inside," I informed her, sucking it up. "I don't want you to catch a cold."
"Will you tell me why you're hiding here?" she asked, following me to the steps. I turned to face her intending to answer her question while I walked up the steps backwards, but she stuck her hand out and grabbed my arm again. "Don't step in your vomit," she implored, steering me to the other side of the steps. "And just so you know, you don't have to tell me anything you don't want to."
That sounded a bit off to me. I was sure this part of the conversation should be reversed. Me telling her that she didn't have to say anything, but things were the way they were. It was hardly my place make important decisions right now. I'd probably end up sky diving naked... Now there's an idea. I wonder if I could somehow persuade Steph to go naked sky diving...
I thought about taking her into the living room where it would be nice and comfortable. Or maybe the bedroom. Hey, there's a good idea. Wait, no. More stairs. The five stairs the lead to the front porch had been trial enough, if I had to try traverse the stairs all the way to bedroom I thought she might have a heart attack out of worry. Not that there was any reason for her to worry. But the look on her face as I'd almost tripped on the top stair outside had definitely been in the realm of panic. I didn't want to cause that look again.
So I couldn't take her to the living room because it was lined with empty booze bottles and the bedroom was out of the question because that was an expedition and half in my current state. What did that leave me? The kitchen. I thought about it for a moment. Trying to remember what my kitchen looked like last time I was in there. Nothing out of the ordinary came to mind. I think I'd made a sandwich in there some time last week and there didn't appear to be any booby traps at the time. Not like the guest bedroom.
As the thought occurred to me I glanced over my shoulder at the suitcases still sitting on the porch. It was obvious she intended to stay a while. I'd have to clear out the traps. That could be interesting.
"Ranger?" Steph said, looking at me with concern in her eyes. "Is everything okay?"
I looked at her, not really understanding why she would ask such a thing, until I realised that I was still standing in the front doorway and she was still on the porch. With her suit cases. And the rain was getting harder. I had to take action. I had to let her in. And keep her away from the living room and the guest room until I disposed of all the things she didn't need to see.
"Ranger?" she said again.
"Why don't you head into the kitchen?" I suggested. "I'll take your suitcases into the guest bedroom." And set off all the traps at the same time. I thought about the axe suspended from the ceiling. Maybe I should leave the bedroom stuff until I was more sober.
Steph watched as Ranger picked up her suitcases and started down the hall toward the stairs. She grimaced as he stumbled a little but didn't try to stop him. He was a grown man known for being independent to the point of reclusiveness, so there was very little she could do. As he made it to the base of the stairs she looked around the entrance hall and realised she didn't know where the kitchen was.
"Ranger?" she called uncertainly, wincing when he dropped the suitcase and it landed on her foot. He turned to look at her, seemingly oblivious to the dead weight on his toe. "Where's the kitchen?" she asked.
He pointed to the hall that lead past the stairs to the back of the house. "Last door," he mumbled, picking up the suitcase again and clomping up the stairs. "Only open the last door," he warned her. "I'll be back down in a minute."
Making her way down the hall as he moved out of sight she couldn't help but wonder over his words. What was in the other rooms on this level that he didn't want her to see? It wasn't that it was unusual for Ranger to hide stuff from her – see hiding himself from the world for the last three months – it was just that his behaviour was so out of character, she was starting to get worried.
She let out a short, harsh laugh at the though. Starting to? No she was quite a way past starting to. There was obviously something wrong here.
For a start, the Merry Men had felt the need to send her out here without a warning as to what to expect and were evidently hoping she could fix whatever was wrong. Then there was the fact that Ranger appeared to be drunk at three o'clock in the afternoon. She'd never seen Ranger even slightly tipsy before despite the fact that he'd drink the same amount as her. She knew it took a lot to get him to the point he was at right now, the problem was, why was he drunk? What was so bad about his life that he couldn't face it?
By this time she'd reached the end of the hall and the last door was right in front of her. She took a deep breath and pushed it open, revealing a well kept, little kitchen. Everything was spotless, right down to the fresh fruit sitting in the glass bowl on the counter looking polished and fake. Steph briefly wondered if the cleanliness was Ranger's doing or if someone was coming in to clean and restock his kitchen. If he made a habit out of being in the same state he was in at the moment then her bet was on the latter option.
Setting her bag down on the counter, she grabbed a bottle of water from the fully stocked, top of the line, stainless steel fridge and sat down on a nearby stool. As she listened to the footsteps overhead she looked around the room. It was very Ranger. No colours. Just black, white and steel. The footsteps stopped and there was a thunk she assumed was her suitcase hitting the ground again. Hoping it hadn't landed on his foot this time, she pulled out her cell and tried calling Tank again. She'd tried several times during the ride over here but no one was picking up their phones.
"We had to do it, Bombshell," Tank answered apologetically. "We didn't know what else to do."
"You could have at least told me what was going on instead of dumping me out here with no knowledge at all," she retaliated sharply. "Has he been hiding out here the entire time?"
"We're pretty sure, yeah. He told us he was in the wind at first, but when I check on his mission status with his handler a couple of months ago they had no idea what I was talking about."
"Why am I here, Tank?" she asked quietly. "What can I do that you all can't? I've got no experience with this kind of thing."
On the other end of the line, Tank sighed. "We don't know what you can do for him apart from just be there. He loves you, we all know that much. Hopefully just your presence will somehow snap him out of whatever stupor he's developed."
"A pretty big one from what I can tell," Steph informed him. "He appears to be drunk."
Tank let out a soft curse before warning, "Be careful. Ranger can be a paranoid drunk." And with that he hung up. She tried calling him back to get more information out of him but the line was apparently busy.
Coward, she thought, returning her phone to her pocket and glancing at the clock on the wall. Ranger had been gone an awful long time, considering he was only supposed to be putting her bags away. Steph made the decision to check on him. Knowing her luck he'd passed out in the hall, which may well have been the thunk she'd heard earlier.
As she neared the top of the stair case she could tell that the hall was empty, meaning he hadn't passed out there, but it didn't rule out the fact that he'd passed out at all. She spied her suitcase next to a closed door and thought chances were he'd dropped it there and gone inside, getting distracted or falling asleep. Anything was possible for the international man of mystery in a drunken state.
She crossed to the hall and listened briefly before knocking lightly. When there was no answer she slowly turned the doorknob, allowing him time to protest if he was, indeed, in there. Steph was just about to push the door open when there was a creaking sound from down the hall. She paused, her hand still on the handle and called out to Ranger. When there was no reply she returned her attention to the door.
No stone left unturned, she thought in response to the little voice in her head that said Ranger was probably in the direction of the creak. She gently pushed at the door finding it harder to open than she originally thought it would be.
Inside the room a full bag of quick-dry cement perched on the small ledge above the door, as Steph pushed the door open just a little the ledge angled down ever so slightly, lowering the sand bag behind the door that pulled on the rope that lead across the room and out the window, trailing down the side of the house and attaching to the faucet of the hose which was propped on the window ledge ready to add the vital ingredient to the cement mix should the trigger be set off. The door opened another centimetre. The cement ledge tilted down a little more. The sand bag lowered another fraction of a week. The rope pulled tighter. The tap downstairs turned just a smidge.
A cough sounded from the other end of the hall and Steph let go of the door handle, oblivious to the danger she had marginally escaped, and made her way toward the sound.
"Ranger?" she called quietly, wondering what state she would find him in. Again there was no answer, but a small snore gave her the extra bit of direction she needed to find him. The door at the end of the other landing was slightly ajar. She made her way to the door and pushed it open a little further, finding Ranger sprawled half on a massive bed, his left leg and arm hanging over the side, trailing on the floor. He let out another snore as she stood there, confirming Steph's assumption that he'd passed out or fallen asleep.
Letting out a sigh, she moved over to the side of the bed, gently lifted his leg back onto the bed, removed his loafers and pulled the sheet up over him before taking herself back down stairs.
Right beside the bottom of the stairs was an open doorway she hadn't noticed earlier. Ranger's warning to only go through the last door flitted through her mind and she considered it for a moment before deciding that the fact that this room had no physical door excluded it from the warning. The first thing she noticed when she entered was the massive flat screen television. It took up the majority of the wall it was mounted on and was framed by deadly looking speakers. Steph followed the cable to the speakers set in each upper corner of the room and smiled to herself, wondering what it would be like to watch Ghostbusters with surround sound.
As she approached the cabinet set up under the TV she noticed the line of bottles set up around the skirting board. Each one showed a label boasting some kind of booze. Bourbon. Rum. Vodka. Various kinds of wine. Several six packs worth of beer. She followed the bottles around three walls and then travelled her gaze to the coffee table in the middle of the room. There she found a half empty bottle of tequila, a shot glass lying on its side and a puddle of liquid. That must have been a victim of the crashing about she'd heard while waiting on the porch.
Shaking her head she made her way to the kitchen once more to retrieve some paper towel to clean up the spill then settled into the couch to enjoy the perks while she could.
I sat staring at the paperwork on my desk, silently willing it to go away. I squeezed my eyes shut tight, envisioned my empty desk for long moments, and reopened them. The paperwork was still there. With a sigh and a glance at the clock, I picked up my pen and began making the necessary marks on the pages as I read. Page after agonisingly boring page. I paused to take a swig from the scolding hot coffee and swallow a couple of asprin for the splitting headache that was throbbing in my head. My hangover was much worse than usual. The fact I even had a hangover was a new development.
My ability to focus on the pages before me was impeded by insistent thoughts of Stephanie. She was constantly popping into my mind, which was strange, since I hadn't thought of her in over a month. I figured it was caused by the dreamed I'd had the night before. My subconscious had conjured up her image and made me believe she'd turned up on my doorstep. It couldn't be right though, she had no idea where my home was. What she would call my Batcave. It was my Batcave because it was a secret.
By nine hundred hours I'd managed to suffer through the same repetitive paperwork and shoved it into the prepared manila folder. I don't know why I was still bothering with it all. If I skipped the paperwork I'd have that much more time to spend on drinking my life away. I picked up the phone handset and started dialing as I made my way to the office door. The control room monkey picked up on the second ring as I reached the hall.
"Sir?" I heard his nervous voice but couldn't respond as my gaze caught on the suitcase in the hall. "Are you there?"
"Paperwork's done," I said absently, running my hand over the case to make sure it was real. "I'm putting on the porch now."
"Yes sir," he said quickly. "Someone will be by soon to pick it up."
I hung up without acknowledging his words, my thoughts consumed by the vision before me. Was the suitcase mine? It definitely looked familiar, but I didn't remember buying it, let alone filling it and putting it in the hallway. A scene from my dream flashed through the front of my mind of me carrying a suitcase upstairs, but I pushed it aside, knowing it was purely coincidental, and made my way downstairs. I placed the manila envelope on the swing like always, noting the day old vomit on the stairs. Guess I'd gone a bit too hard on the liquor yesterday.
Brushing it off, comforted by the fact that my ninja of a house keeper would clean it up later, I went back inside, grabbed a new bottle of booze and made my way into the living room to begin the day. I stopped dead, however, when I noticed the blanketed form curled up on the couch. The wild curls poking out from the top of the blanket caused my breath to catch in my throat. I moved around to the front of the couch, staring down at Stephanie's sleeping form as another dream sequence flashed through my mind.
I was standing in the driveway, my arms spread as the rain came down, dampening my clothes. I looked up at Stephanie, her eyes filled with concern as she asked me why I wasn't out saving the world. She came toward me, wiping the tear from my cheek as it intermingled with the rain droplets and told me it was okay. As I remembered the look in her eyes I felt my knees give way. I didn't bother to catch myself, instead allowing myself collapse onto the floor next to Steph's head.
I lowered my face to my hands on a slight groan as I realised that the dream was real. I'd left Steph waiting for me to come back from putting her suitcase upstairs. Obviously, she'd decided to make herself at home eventually, if the dinner plate on the coffee table was anything to go by. I was grateful that she'd felt comfortable enough to do so, but a part of me was screaming at the rest of me, asking what the hell I was doing.
Hesitantly, I reached out and stroked a curl away from her face, immediately jerking it away when she started awake. It wasn't just a startled eye opening though. She sat bolt upright and must have hit the broken spring as she did so, because she yelped and jumped off the couch landing in my lap. I held her close as she rubbed her rump. I couldn't bring myself to look her in the eye, so I buried my face in her nest of curls and murmured, "Babe, I have a problem."