NOTE: This is my first Stephanie Plum fan fiction. In fact, it's the first original fan fiction I've written in probably eight years, give or take a year. I'm currently working on a novel, but I'm having some writers block and have been reading some of the amazing fan fiction on here lately and got inspired.
I don't know where this story is going, but I can tell you a few things that I've predetermined about it: It'll be short, no more than ten chapters. I don't have time for anything more involved than that. It's going to be pathos, which is a much better word than angst. Angst always makes me think of my early and cynical teen years and/or emo kids whining about life. It's Babe and will be HEA because I want Ranger like an obese kid at fat camp wants cake. Morelli is safe and won't be taking any beatings from me here. I actually love Joe. I just have a thing about cops in general and, that aside, don't think him and Steph could make it work in the real world.
I'd love to hear from you. And please, feel free to let me know if I've got any grammar flaws or whatever. I didn't have a beta go over this and only read through it twice before posting. Thanks.
SPOILERS: Yeah, probably. But nothing will really be spelled out and I'm broke so have only read up to Thirteen and all the Diesel ones (mmm, Diesel).
RATING: There will be smut. There is definitely foul language. It could get bloody. We'll see.
CHAPTER ONE:
The man looked like him. Maybe an inch or two taller, fifteen pounds lighter, making him closer in bulk to Morelli than Ranger, but the resemblance was near uncanny. He had a diamond stud in each ear. His hair was slicked back, brushing his collar. He was dressed all in black, attractive, and Latino.
Stephanie was slim and pale, wearing a skirt that was four inches above her knees and slung low on her hips. Her shirt was a deconstructed number that was more holes than fabric, clinging to her breasts, baring her back and abdomen. Her hair hung heavy and damp, clinging to her forehead and her throat.
Her hands were holding those of her partner on her hips and, as he watched, she slowly dragged her fingers up her sides, skimming her ribs and then up to lift her hair off her neck, all the while gyrating and grinding against the man, sliding up and down the length of his body.
He saw her nearly every day at the building on Haywood Street. She came to work early every day and spent time on the gun range or in the gym, usually alternating every other day. Bobby had been teaching her hand-to-hand. She was careful choosing skips from Vinnie these days, staying within a reasonable difficulty level, but with the gym time and the other training the difficulty level had considerably risen. She hadn't needed any back-up for a take-down in four months. He'd been counting.
Sometimes one of the guys would ride shotgun for her, and if it wasn't Lester, Bobby, or Woody it was Lula. She never did them completely on her own these days. She'd finally admitted it was too dangerous to trust to her luck the last time she'd gotten unlucky, catching a side full of buck-shot from a skip that wasn't getting picked up for anything more hardcore than a DUI. Even "easy" skips could be dangerous with a gun in their hand.
Ranger's fingers curled tight into his palms as he fisted his hands, watching Stephanie rub herself against the man that looked like him. The blacklight had turned her skin to blue porcelain, shimmering with sweat. Her expression, eyes closed, lips parted, was pure sex. He'd always thought she looked good, even when she was self-conscious about a little roll hanging over the top of her jeans. Right now she was looking like five-feet six-inches of toned hormonal destruction.
Where had she gotten abs? he asked himself. And her arms. Christ.
As the DJ brought down the volume and put on something a little smoother for a short break, Ranger watched as Stephanie stepped away from her dance partner. Her arms dropped to her side and she spun to face him on what looked like four-inch fuck-me-pumps. The man reached for her hips again, his lips mouthing words that made Ranger want to kill him, trying to pull her against his chest. She brushed his hands away, taking another step back, shaking her head.
"No." Ranger could see her lips forming the word and even from his position on the balcony he could see that her face was blank. It was the face she'd been using on him for the past six months. It was his face. Emotionless. Inscrutable. She wasn't supposed to be fucking inscrutable to him.
The other man's face wasn't blank. Something dark flashed over his expression as Stephanie fended off his hands. Ranger tensed, ready to vault the railing. The dance floor was sunken into the center of the club, putting it fifteen feet below him, but there was a rise around the edge. He could land on that, only eleven feet down, roll to his feet, and plant his fist in the other man's face in about six seconds.
He didn't have to. Stephanie stepped up, her hands in front of her chest, and using the force of her weight and momentum she double-palmed her dance partner in the sternum and he fell back, stumbling into the people milling around the dance floor behind him. Someone stopped his backward sprawl and he was about to go after her again, but Stephanie wasn't done with him. Her hand flashed out, tight, controlled, and the back of her fist collided hard with the man's jaw. He went down like a ton of bricks. Ranger almost winced when he saw the man's head bounce on the dance floor.
A moment later Steph had the stiletto of her heal pressed against his throat. Ranger couldn't see if she said anything to the man, who was just staring up at her in the circle of people watching, his hands palms up complacently.
Stephanie stepped back, one, two, three steps and then turned and sauntered off the dance floor. Ranger tailed her movements from above as she approached the coat check where she was handed a black purse and a black leather jacket in exchange for a ticket she pulled from between her breasts inside her shirt.
There was a sharp intake of breath from somewhere and it took Ranger a moment to realize it was his own at the thought of her breasts under the thin fabric of her shirt, slick and pale. He knew what they tasted like and how they looked; perfect vanilla globes topped with creamed-coffee nipples. His pants were already tight across the seam, the zipper digging painfully into his erection caused by Stephanie's erotic dance. He had to admit the beating she'd given her dance partner was partly to blame, as well.
You're fuckin' sick, Manoso, he derided himself.
Moving quickly, he descended the stairs, not wanting her to get too far out of sight. He had to make sure she got to her car safely. A quick glance from the bottom of the steps assured him that the dance partner was just starting to drag himself to his feet; or rather, getting dragged to his feet by one of the club's many bouncers.
He moved close to the wall, moving rapidly towards the main exit and saw Stephanie duck out of the club as she pulled on her jacket. He could see her keys in her hand. Smart, Babe, he thought. There was a kubaton and a small can of defense spray on her key chain, precautions he'd pressed on her ages past. She hadn't argued, just pulled her keys from the thigh pocket of her cargos and wordlessly attached them to the large ring.
That had been the Monday after he'd fucked everything up. He hadn't known if she'd come to work after what had happened the previous Friday.
#
Six Months Earlier
Ranger heard the door of his apartment open and tensed up, reaching for his Glock where it rested on the counter near the tray of food Ella had left for him. No one had called up to say they were coming.
The door closed quietly and he heard it lock. He relaxed as he recognized the light tread of Stephanie's step on the plush carpeting. She come breezing into the kitchen, eyes sparkling and a carefree smile on her face.
"Yo," he greeted her, blank face firmly in place. He knew it drove her nuts and half the time he did it just to work her nerves and not because he felt like he had to hide his feelings from her.
Her hair was a riot of curls, her cheeks flushed and pink, and her lashes were coated in what had to be three applications of mascara. She looked like she'd just climbed out of bed. Or, he corrected himself, stamping down on jealousy, her Miata with the top down after a drive.
"Yo, yourself," she replied. She pulled open the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water.
The sight of her throat working to swallow the water as she tipped back her head made him think of thousand-count bed sheets, silky skin, and soft lips.
Stephanie wiped her mouth off with the sleeve of her cobalt sweater. He could tell she was trying to mask her emotions but they were flashing over her face obvious as the digital readout of a news station's ticker tape. Fear, excitement, hope, doubt... One after another, a whole slew of feelings warring with and against each other.
Her eyes were locked on his face, searching his blank expression. He wanted to ask her something simple. Maybe an easy, 'What's up?' but he waited to see what she'd do instead.
The eyebrow he raised clearly said, "Spit it out."
Her fingers were toying with the edge of the water bottle's label, peeling off little pieces that she twisted and rolled in her fingers.
With a breath that was almost a gasp she placed the water bottle on the counter and took a step toward him.
"I left Joe," she'd said finally, breaking the tense silence. Her shoulders rose a bit at that, as if she were taking courage from her own voice.
Ranger had continued to gaze at her impassively as she waited for his reply. "Left him where?" Ranger had asked finally.
Stephanie made a cutting motion with her hand, slicing it through the air in a gesture of finality. "Left him," she clarified. "Forever." There was a steady tone of finality in her voice.
The emotions on her face had shifted. There was still hope, and fear, but there was expectation there too. She took another step toward him, her hand reaching out for his arm. Her fingers landed just above his wrist, pressing delicately.
"On-again, off-again," he heard himself say and wondered where the hell that had come from.
Confusion pulled her brows together, tightened the corners of her mouth. She shook her head in the negative. "No. Just off."
Her hand slid off his arm and she turned back to the counter, retrieving her water bottle. When she faced him again her imitation of his blank face was in place and it was almost perfect. She took a long draw of the water and his gaze fixed on her mouth. He couldn't help it.
They were both silent for a moment, watching each other. Finally she let out a ragged sigh.
"It couldn't work between us. He wants the 'Burg wife. I want to jump off the garage roof with my arms spread wide." A little smile twisted up one corner of her mouth. She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose as if she felt a headache coming on.
"It went alright, actually. I did it at Pino's." She gestured vaguely to what looked like little flecks of pizza sauce on her sweater. "I thought he was going to flip."
"Didn't he?" Ranger asked. He couldn't imagine Morelli giving Stephanie up without a fight. A loud, screaming, Italian temper fight with plenty of arm flailing and insults about her inadequacies as a bounty hunter and her relationship with him.
A little laugh bubbled out of her and he couldn't help the slight tilt of his own lips at the sound. "I thought he would," she replied. "That's why I did it at a public place instead of his house or my apartment. He clenched his beer bottle so tight I thought it would explode, but then he just sort of slumped into his seat and the moment of explosion passed.
"He asked me if I was sure. He said he loved me. I told him I loved him too, and that this didn't mean I didn't want us to be on good terms, but I couldn't be what he wanted. He wants a 'Burg wife, and if that's what he wants it's what he deserves." She shuddered. "God, I can't cook and I don't want to. I sure as hell don't want kids that don't double as hamsters. And the ring- Well, the ring at this point is completely negotiable."
Again she approached him. She reached past him to place her bottle on the counter then rested her hands on his biceps. Her eyes darkened and she swallowed convulsively. "Ranger," she said quietly. "I don't want to be with Joe."
Her meaning was clear. She wanted him.
Male satisfaction and a sense of victory warred with his hard-built defenses. His life didn't lend itself to relationships. He'd told her he loved her in his own way. He'd told her his love came with a condom, not a ring. And then he'd pursued her.
Stolen kisses. Spooning in her bed and sometimes his. The time he'd spent at her apartment while they'd tracked Scrog.
He'd wanted to come striding out of her bathroom naked, gun in hand, to shoot Morelli when he'd interrupted them that day that she'd been ready to give herself to him again. The day he'd stripped away all her defenses and morals concerning cheating with his hands and his mouth. He'd had her moaning under him and then the locks had tumbled. Because Morelli had a key. Because she belonged to Morelli, even if Ranger felt like she belonged to him.
And now she was standing in front of him, free of Morelli forever, her hands on his arms and love on her face and in her eyes.
If he wasn't so sure of himself he would have thought it was panic he was feeling. And in that instant that he shoved the twisting in his gut away something else reared up inside him. He realized now that the something was a lie.
He took her wrists in his hands, his skin dark to her pale, and he'd gently pushed her away from him.
His voice was blank as he heard himself say, "I'm proud of you, Babe." He released her and her hands dropped limp to her sides.
The expression on her face in that moment was as if he'd struck her. He felt like he'd struck her. There was a level of devastation in her eyes that said she'd just watched someone she loved die a horrible death. Tears flooded her eyes and she turned away from him on a sob.
He didn't move as she rushed out of the kitchen. He heard her wrestle with the lock on the door, heard it swing open but not closed, and then the slam of the stairwell door.
Ranger told himself that was the way it had to be. That he didn't want her like that. That he only loved her in his own way and that way was- he didn't know what it was. But he wouldn't allow himself to believe it was the kind of love that he'd seen in her face just before he'd figuratively kicked her legs out from beneath her.
The weekend had slipped past and on Monday he saw her on the monitors coming into the RangeMan garage, uniform on, her Sig P228 on her belt, a duffle on her shoulder, almost two hours early. She'd taken the elevator to the underground gun range and had proceeded to unload three clips at the paper targets.
He watched Lester approach her and listened to their conversation. Her voice and expression were neutral. Lester offered to give her some pointers and she accepted.
When her shift was ready to start, she reloaded her gun and put it back in the holster on her belt, thanked Lester, and went up to five where she'd gone right to work.
He called her into his office and gave her the defense spray and the kubaton for her keychain. She took it, asked if there was anything else, and returned to her cube when he said that would be all.
Six months of this and they'd hardly said more than a sentence to each other at a time, always work related, both of them affecting the blank face and the emotionless voice. Ranger found himself hating it viciously. He battled a case of Cuban temper that hadn't shown itself since his days as a young hood on the streets of Trenton years before. He wanted to see her emotions obvious as a parade strolling across her face.
He knew she wasn't blank with all the guys. The Merry Men, as he'd heard her call them. They'd even started referring to themselves that way while they called her a variety of names. Lester called her Beautiful. Bobby called her Bomber. Woody called her Darlin'. They all referred to her as Bombshell. She had them all wrapped around her little finger and seemed completely oblivious to the fact.
They took her out for pizza, pool, and beer whenever they went as a group and she never turned them down. He tried to act like he didn't care that she was spending a good chunk of her free time with his men and would sit in his office, checking reports and monitoring the various accounts, but he always found himself bringing up the GPS to see if anyone's car sat next to hers all night in the parking lot of her apartment building.
Sometimes one of the guy's cars would sit next to hers, or would travel there alone, letting him know she was accepting a ride. Usually it would leave after a moment. Sometimes it would stay for close to an hour, maybe a little more, but then it would leave and he knew that Stephanie was alone in her apartment, listening to Rex run a stationary marathon.
And now he was stalking her, like one of the sick fucks that she seemed to be preternaturally plagued with. Since she'd started working for RangeMan almost full time and was being careful with her skips she hadn't had so much as a flat tire, but he still couldn't stop watching her. He had to know she was safe.
He had to know if she was seeing someone else.
Just a month before he'd watched the little blip that was her cruise to Morelli's house. Wanting to prove to himself that sending her away was the right thing to do, that she still wanted the cop, he'd cruised to Slater and parked two blocks down on the opposite side of the street from Morelli's house.
The upstairs was dark but the lower level was lit. Her car was parked behind Morelli's SUV. He'd sat in his Porche, staring at the windows for what seemed like hours but the clock told him was only thirty minutes.
Curiosity and jealousy gnawing at him like rats, he'd slipped out of his car and positioned himself across the street where he could see through Morelli's picture window.
Stephanie had stood, obviously leaving the couch in front of the television. She had what looked like plates and beer bottles in her hands. She'd passed out of sight towards the kitchen and then returned a moment later, carrying two more beers. She'd dropped back down onto the couch.
Ranger continued to watch, melting back into the shadows of a huge rhododendron. Two hours crept by and then Stephanie had come back outside, Joe at her back. They'd hugged, laughing and joking, but it was obviously strictly platonic. Morelli had dropped a kiss on her forehead and she'd patted his cheek affectionately before padding down the front steps to the sidewalk. Morelli had disappeared inside.
As Stephanie moved toward her Miata she'd suddenly gone still and then had ducked down beside the car. His babe was aware she was being watched and had taken cover. He felt pride that she'd finally started to become more aware of her surroundings but sad that his presence was what triggered defensive action.
When she'd come back into sight it was with her gun in her hand. Morelli's door had flown open and the cop had appeared, holding his police issue. He called to Stephanie and she ran up the steps, disappearing back into the house.
Ranger took the opportunity to get back in his car and drove away. Back at Haywood the GPS told him that Stephanie only stayed at Joe's for another half hour before she'd gone home.
#
Present
Jersey was hot. The heat from the day was heavy and trapped by a storm system rolling in from the coast and the smog that gave Jersey its own greenhouse effect.
Ranger slipped out of the club, keeping Stephanie in sight and himself out of it.
She crossed the parking lot toward her Miata on steady legs, her keys jingling in her hand. She seemed completely unaware of her surroundings and he scanned the dark, looking for anyone that might try to hurt her, mentally upbraiding her for her carelessness.
Stephanie moved to the far side of her car to reach the driver's side, stooped as if to key open the door and then dropped and slid to the left, reappearing with her pistol in her hand, aiming it in Ranger's direction over the hood of her car.
Ranger froze, hidden in shadow between a massive Dodge pick-up truck and an Escalade. He knew she couldn't see him but she was well under cover and aiming almost directly at him.
Neither of them spoke for a long, tense moment. He waited for her to call out for him to step into the light and reveal himself. The seconds ticked by and then Stephanie stood. Her shoulders were a little slumped and she pushed a hand through her damp hair as she dropped the Sig into her purse.
He thought she'd decided no one was in the shadows watching her but gave a start when she called out, "Stop following me, Ranger. Get another fucking hobby."
With that she climbed behind the wheel of her car, locked the door and started the engine. Her headlights flashed on and she pulled out, illuminating him where he stood but not looking at him before pulling out onto the road and disappearing toward the 'Burg.
Ranger stared after her diminishing taillights feeling like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar and then kicked in the gut for his trouble.
"Babe."