He should have just told her.
It was the only thought that he could focus on, it had been for the past three days.
Ever since it happened.
He had seen her slowly breaking, giving in to the belief that she was a fuckup. He had watched her as she tolerated it, from her mother, from her so-called friends, from that dickhead Morelli, from Vinnie.
He had seen and heard the jokes and pranks directed at her, he had seen how it was slowly wearing her away. The cops had a running bet on her next screw-up, even her so-called friends at RangeMan laughed at her. Nobody seemed to believe in her, except for him.
And he hadn't told her.
He had kept himself closed off from the world for so long that he wasn't even sure that he could've told her how much he loved her.
He had caught her watching him, seemingly waiting on him to make a jab at her like everyone else was. He never made fun of her.
But he had never defended her, either.
Nobody seemed to realize how bad she had been the past few weeks; he had watched her hold back tears many times, but never once did he comfort her.
He was too worried about opening up to someone.
What a fucking idiot.
He had not let it slip his attention that she was quieter than normal; no longer the spunky, hardheaded woman he was used to. She just took the abuse, and retreated within herself.
He had seen it before, in the Army. He wanted to take her in his arms, cradle her.
He never did.
He was the silent, cold-hearted, blank-faced man, and he had been so afraid to ruin that image that he had let her slip through his fingers.
He would do anything to turn back the hands of time, he saw so much he could have done differently.
But he couldn't.
She was gone.
He had been there, had seen when Stephanie Michelle Plum, stubborn Burg girl who jumped off of the roof when she was a kid because she wanted to be Wonder Woman, hard-headed, sweet, beautiful Stephanie Plum had broken.
Her mother had always wanted her perfect Burg daughters, and, every chance she got, she reminded Stephanie of how she had screwed up the plan. Stephanie had, at first, taken it head on. But, he could tell, she began slowly doubting herself, until, after a long lecture from Ellen about how Stephanie was a screw up and would never find a decent man to marry her, Stephanie had broke.
"I'm sorry, Mom," she said, tears streaming down her face. "I'm sorry I'm a disappointment, I'm sorry I'm not a perfect daughter, I'm sorry Mom, I'm sorry."
That had been the last anyone had ever heard of her.
Stephanie never saw her true beauty, she was always hard on herself, calling herself too fat, or too ugly. Despite her view on herself, she still viewed the world as a great place, with a few exceptions. She was a Burg born-and-raised girl, but she rebelled against her upbringing from the beginning.
He had always thought that she had guts, going against her mother and the entire community that she had grown up in. She was always compared to someone -- her sister, or Angie Morelli's daughter, or Lucy Cambell's granddaughter. She had been her own person -- an individual -- and had been critized for it. She had an unfortunate streak of bad luck, and because of that, she was singled out. She considered herself a freak.
He remembered the call perfectly, but even then, he had not cried. He had listened to a blank-faced Morelli as he told about the suicide. The only time he showed emotion was when Morelli had shaken his head.
"Why did she do this?" Morelli had whispered, almost as an afterthought.
This had risen his temper. "She did this because of you," he said, his voice harsh. It did more than a punch ever could have, and it got his point across.
Now, three days later, they were lowering her coffin into the ground. He stood by in the shadows, her mother and so-called friends all acting like they still didn't know why she had done it. They had shed their tears, then left to continue on their day.
They all passed by him as they left -- Ellen, Lula, Vinnie, Connie, Lester, Bobby, Tank, Valerie, Mary Lou, Eddie. None of them would meet his eye, which he knew blazed with anger.. and pain.
He waited, glaring at each and every person who passed him, knowing that they knew they had a part in her death. When the last person left, he stepped up to the new gravestone.
"Stephanie Michelle Plum," he read out loud. "Loving daughter, sister, and friend." It made him even more mad, to see that on the precious stone. He wanted nothing more than to take the headstone and smash it against a wall, but he kept his hands at his sides. He stood over the grave for a few minutes, saying nothing, just allowing his tears to fall. They traveled a winded path, from his eyes, down his cheeks, each splattering on the hard concrete of the headstone.
"I'm so sorry," he said, his voice filled with regret. He fell to the ground, tears flowing freely now as he threw the macho act aside and sobbed loudly. "Christ, Stephanie, I'm so fucking sorry."
He heard the snap of a twig behind him, and turned to find the one man who had tried hard to help her out, no matter what. The one person who truely stood by her side.
"You weren't at the funeral," he said, his voice gruff.
Ranger nodded. "I.." he looked at the headstone, and when he spoke again, it was full of the same emotion that was in his eyes. "I loved her."
The two men stood together, both with tears streaming freely.
"I never told her how I felt," Ranger muttered finally.
Beside him, Frank Plum shook his head. "Me neither," he said softly.
He traced the engraved letters of her name. "Love you pumpkin," he whispered, then in a louder tone, he repeated, "Me neither."