What Ever Doesn’t Kill You Makes You Stronger

by PTBvisiongrrl

Morelli and Steph finally break up (for real) and Morelli can’t handle it. He does the unthinkable, and Ranger helps Stephanie deal with the results.

1. Default Chapter

Pen Name: PTBvisiongrrl

Story Title: What Ever Doesn't Kill You Makes You Stronger

Summary: Morelli and Steph finally break up (for real) and Morelli can't handle it. He does the unthinkable, and Ranger helps Stephanie deal with the results.

Story Rating: R

Status: Work in Progress

Genre: Drama

Couple: Stephanie and Ranger (eventually)

Spoilers: through Ten Big Ones

Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, but only gently use for my amusement.

Warning: If you love Joe Morelli, you aren't going to enjoy this story.

I started this out with a plan that quickly changed and still doesn't work. I would appreciate some serious help figuring out what to do with this. I've got almost fifty pages written and don't want to just scrap all that work. I'd appreciate any comments/suggestions- even flames!

Chapter One

Steph went from sound sleep to panicked awareness instantaneously. There was someone else in her dark apartment. She could hear them breathing. The hairs on her neck stood up and did a little dance, sending chills down her spine. This wasn't her body's normal reaction to Ranger's late night break-ins. She involuntarily shivered, eliciting a comment from her unexpected, middle-of-the-night visitor.

"Took you long enough to wake up, Cupcake," echoed from the doorway, along with the pungent scent of alcohol.

"Morelli! You scared the crap out of me!" Stephanie choked out past the lump of terror in her throat as she sat up, hugging the bed linens to her chest. "What are you doing here at-"she glanced at the glowing red digital read out beside her- "two o'clock in the morning?"

Morelli stumbled a bit as he stepped toward her bed and caught his balance by grabbing her bureau. He paused there and Stephanie could see the outline of his gun through the light jacket he wore. She was suddenly uneasy, as well as pissed off. She and Morelli had broken off their relationship a few weeks ago. He had no right to be in her apartment. "How did you get in?" she demanded.

Morelli held up a key chain with a single key dangling from it. "You gave me a key."

Stephanie wanted to kick herself. She'd forgotten that Joe had a key, so she hadn't asked for it back. "Thanks for returning that. Nice to see ya," she carefully got up, bed linens still wrapped around her, and purposefully marched over to take the key out of his hand. "Don't let the door hit you on the ass on the way out."

Morelli grabbed the hand holding the key. "You don't seem that surprised or upset by an unexpected visitor in the middle of the night. This a common occurrence?" His expression hardened, and he grabbed her chin to force her to look up at him. "Is this how Ranger visits you?"

Steph's expression gave the answer she didn't say. "Who ever is in my apartment, and when, is no longer your concern."

Morelli leaned into her face, shifting his hold from her chin to her shoulder. His hands tightened painfully into vice grips. "Did he visit you in the dead of the night while it was my concern?" He didn't allow her to turn her face away. She stared back at him, the fumes of his breath making her eyes water. When she didn't answer him, Joe shook her hard enough to rattle her teeth and snap her head back. She momentarily saw stars.

"What's wrong with you?" she hissed.

"You're what's wrong with me." Joe hissed back. "Why can't you just be a normal woman-"shake- "with a normal job-"shake- "and marry me? Why-"shake- "do you have to be so difficult?"

This behavior was very un-Morellli-like, and the unease Stephanie had felt since he first spoke increased. Her mind starting racing. What should she do? She'd never really confronted Morelli as an enemy before, even when she was chasing him as an FTA. And she knew she wouldn't be up to it. He wasn't acting like himself. He'd never reacted anything like this when they had broken up before.

It was sad that she had multiple episodes of breaking up with Joe to use as previous data. Given that she had no precedent, she decided that she needed to find out exactly what it was the Joe was here for. What did he want? Pulling her hand out of his required a great deal of effort. She felt what was the beginning of a bruise that encircled her wrist completely. Steph asked, "And the point of this little visit is what?"

Morelli stiffened at the tone she took. His eyes narrowed. His now-free hand grasped her chin again and painfully pulled her face back up to his. "You," he stated hollowly. "I want you back." He placed a rough, clumsy kiss on her lips. She tried to turn her head away, but Joe wouldn't let her go until he was ready to do so. "I miss you, Cupcake."

Stephanie pulled as far away from Joe as she could, but his grip on her shoulder wouldn't loosen. She was sure there would be a bruise left there to match the one on her wrist. "Let go of me," she demanded.

"No." His free arm snaked around her and pulled the linens away from her body, exposing the little t-shirt and panties she had gone to sleep in. He dropped the linens to the floor in a careless pile. His face looked like a stranger's; she couldn't read him. "I'm not ready to let you go." And he leaned in again for another harsh, brutal kiss, pushing her back toward the bed at the same time.

Stephanie tried to stand against him, locking her legs and fighting against the bed-ward movement. Her strength was nothing compared to Morelli's determination, though. She didn't like where this seemed to be going. Her heart started racing as her mind began searching for, and was unable to come up with, a way to defend herself.

Wait. She was trying to defend herself against Morelli? Morelli was a good guy, a cop. He worried about her getting hurt and tried to protect her. Why should she have to defend herself? His prickly moral code should kick in anytime now and save them both from the possible ramifications of his behavior. Pulling her mouth away from his and leaning her head against his shoulder, she tried to prod him into thinking about what was going on here. "Joe, just what is it that you're trying to do? You're not acting like a good guy here."

Joe continued the forced journey to the bed, pausing only momentarily when it hit the back of Steph's knees and she collapsed onto it. "Tonight, I'm not a cop. I'm not a nice guy. You're not a bounty hunter. And we're not broken up." Once she was down, he continued to force her back across the bed, following her on his knees until she hit the headboard and was forced to finally stop. "This is just you and me and how we feel about each other. Tonight is not about anything- or anyone- else." His hands began getting very friendly with parts of her anatomy that she wanted to keep private.

"Joe," she stated as calmly and evenly as possible. "We ARE broken up, and there will be no 'tonight'. Let me go." Her voice sounded distant to her ears. It held none of the emotions- fear, anger, embarrassment, the last lingering remnants of lust for Morelli (quickly dwindling, given the situation)- that she presently felt. She cleared her throat and strained to amplify her voice when he did not immediately stop. "Get off me, dammit!"

Joe ignored her requests, continuing his activities. One of his hands was under her shirt, painfully kneading her breasts; the other was removing clothing from her bottom half. Stephanie tried to push Morelli away, but only ended up with her hands pinned above her head in one of Morelli's and his other still busy undressing her.

Disbelief flooded Stephanie's mind. She could not believe what was happening, what Joe was doing to her. She continued to struggle against Morelli as best she could, and started to make some headway against his advances when he reached to unbutton his jeans. She managed to get one hand free and partially roll off the bed before Joe regained the upper hand again.

Reasserting his control, Joe grabbed and ruthlessly pinned Steph's arm behind her back. She immediately stilled, her joint and wrenched muscles burning with pain. "Where are you going?" he asked, low and gravelly in her ear.

She bit her lip, fighting a sudden urge to cry. When she didn't answer Joe, he forced her arm higher up on her back and pulled her back onto the bed. "Are these the games you play with Ranger when he's here?"

Stephanie simply lay on the bed, staring blindly at the ceiling. This is not real; this is not happening, she repeated over and over in her mind. This is not Joe, this is not my apartment, this is not happening. She repeated it over and over until Joe slapped her face. The physical shock brought back the reality of her situation- briefly. Then more abuse from Joe drove her mind to shut down again. She retreated into herself, her body enduring Joe's angry attention and her mind endlessly circling in disbelief. She knew she could never win a physical match against Morelli, even when he was drunk. It was better, she decided, to stop fighting and get it over with. As the attack continued, she fought less and less, until she eventually simply lay there still, as if dead.

Chapter Two

Stephanie awoke abruptly. She was cold and sore and someone lay beside her in the bed, his arm wrapped around her middle. It took less than a minute for the events of last night to replay in her head. She gasped out loud, pulling away from Morelli's arm. He grunted and rolled in the opposite direction, never waking up.

Steph's first reaction was to huddle in on herself, crouched on the floor in the middle of a pile of sheets, and try to cover herself up. She prayed everything was just a dream. The aches of her body were too real for it to be a dream, though, and drove her to the bathroom to look in the mirror. She stared in horror. Her left eye was blackened, and her right cheek had a gash in the middle of mottled purple. There were bruises up and down both her arms from wrist to shoulder. Other parts of her body ached terribly, and she didn't want to look any closer.

She shocked herself. How would she hide what had happened? It was written all over her body. She didn't want to have to go out in public, because people would ask questions she didn't want to answer and start rumors she didn't need to hear. On the other hand, there was no way she wanted to be in the apartment when Morelli finally awoke. If she left before he was up, he would just go away and she wouldn't have to deal with him. She wasn't sure what reaction of his would be worse- if he went after her again, or if he was apologetic. She decided to avoid the whole dilemma and get out of the apartment before him. Just in case he woke up while she was getting ready, she went and got her gun and bullets from her cookie jar, making sure to load the gun as well.

Holding her finger on the trigger, she tread lightly across the room to her bureau. Reaching in blindly, eyes never leaving Morelli's sleeping form, she fished around for a long sleeve t-shirt, jeans, and underwear. Hugging the clothes to her nakedness, she also stopped and picked up the cordless phone to take in with her. Juggling it all, she quietly shut the door and locked herself in the bathroom. She carefully placed the gun within easy reach on the toilet tank, and next to it the phone.

She started running the shower at the hottest setting she could stand, and got in. She scrubbed everything twice and so hard that it felt like her skin was on fire, and then repeated it once more for good measure. She then let the water run over her body until it was cold and she was shivering before she got out and toweled off.

Steph dressed carefully and slowly, trying to avoid turning in ways that made her sore and arranging her clothing to cover as many of her injuries as possible. There wasn't much she could do about her face, though. Makeup actually made it look worse, so she gave up on that and decided that sunglasses would be her best bet, although even that wouldn't cover it all. She knew there was a pair in the car. She then laced up her purple, steel tipped Doc Martens and put on her gun holster.

The gun stayed in her hands, though, as she listened against the bathroom door. There were no sounds in the apartment aside from Morelli's slight snoring. She unlocked the door as quietly as she could, opening it only far enough to squeeze through. She made her way quickly towards the front door, grabbing her big black bounty hunter shoulder bag from the sofa and heading straight towards the elevator. She holstered her gun as she waited for the doors to open, still listening for the sound of Morelli following her. She didn't breathe easy until she slid into Big Blue and pulled out of her parking lot into traffic.

The office wasn't far from her apartment. It took no time at all, it seemed, for her to arrive. She sat for a minute, studying the storefront and lot. No sign of Lula yet- it was early- or Ranger. Good. She could bluff Connie, and maybe Lula- but never Ranger. And she didn't want Ranger to know what had happened. Taking a deep breath, Stephanie got out of the car and made her way into the office. Connie was busy writing something and didn't look up.

"You got any easy FTAs?" Steph asked her.

Connie motioned to a pile of paperwork on the corner of her desk, never stopping what she was doing. "Help yourself."

Steph picked up the stack and shuffled through it. Disorderly, drunk and disorderly, armed robbery, assault, assault, burglary, and rape. Steph bypassed the armed robbery- she didn't want to get shot- and the disorderlies. She went straight for the two assaults and the rapist. Her normal tactic would be to take the easy ones- but she wanted someone who might give her a fight and need to be beaten down. After all, she was armed and pissed. Look out, Trenton. The rest of the FTAs went back into the stack and onto Connie's desk.

"Thanks, Connie!" Steph called out over her shoulder as she left, thankful that Connie had been so preoccupied. She got back into Big Blue, and looked over her FTAs sheets. Barney Johnson, rapist, was sitting on the top. She checked his address, and realized that he didn't live that far from the office. Checking the physical description, she decided that she could probably take him down on her own. So she pulled out, drove four blocks to his house, and parked across the street and down a little bit. Vinnie had once told her that you should never park in front of the house, and it had turned out to be good advice, amazingly. So she left a bit of space.

Sitting in the parked car, she reviewed more of the details of Johnson's file. He was five ten and two hundred and fifty pounds. He wasn't armed at apprehension; the charges were brought against him by his girl friend. He drove a brown 'eighty-six Nova, which she noted was parked in the drive next to a red 'eighty-eight Caddy. Johnson worked the night shift at a local warehouse, driving a forklift. Johnson should be home now; his shift had ended over two hours ago.

The second car made Steph pause before she approached the door. A second car generally meant more people, and she didn't know who or how many or if he/she/they would help Johnson. She was weighing the odds when a fairly young, pretty, auburn haired woman in a waitress uniform exited the house, got into the Caddy, and pulled away.

One problem down. Getting out of the car, her gun holster unsnapped but gun not yet drawn, she walked more closely around the yard, noting details. No toys or bikes littering the yard, so probably no kids; absolutely nothing that would indicate possession of a dog- thank goodness. She made her way to the front door, which was open behind the screen door. She had a clear, unobstructed view of a sloppy, faded living room and Johnson himself, sound asleep and snoring to beat Grandma Mazur, on the sofa.

Taking a deep breath and repeating to herself "This is legal, I am a bounty hunter," she tried the screen door and found it unlocked. As quietly as possible, Steph drew her gun, keeping it aimed at Johnson, and opened the screen door as. She slowly shut it behind her, easing it into place with the palm of her hand so that it wouldn't slam.

Johnson hadn't stirred. The real question now was- how did she want to wake him up? If he stirred before both cuffs were on, should she shoot him, stun him, or pepper spray him? She didn't think that she could actually shoot anyone, but she certainly wasn't going to be able to carry him if he couldn't help her. That meant no stunning or spraying.

She'd have to bluff him. Maybe waking up to a gun at his temple would scare him. She knew how she, personally, would react to a gun in her face. So, gun held steady in her right hand, she slipped her cuffs out of her belt with her left hand. Gun close to his temple, she pressed her cuff on one meaty wrist, ready to spring back he whole time if he woke up and struggled. Johnson snuffled, she jumped back, and then he rolled over, taking her cuffs with him. "Dammit," she mouthed.

She made her way around to the back of the sofa, and carefully reached over to grasp the loose end of the pair. Still holding the gun, she tried to gently pull the loose end to snap it on the other wrist. She was almost there when Johnson woke up and effortlessly tossed her across the room.

He surged up, the cuff dangling from his arm. "Who the fuck are you?" he yelled at Stephanie.

Stephanie stood up slowly, leaning against the wall she'd been thrown into, and shaking her head to try and clear it. Her gun had fallen out of her hand sometime during her flight. Not good. She took a step away from the wall. "My name is Stephanie Plum. I work for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds. You need to reschedule your court date. I would be happy to escort you-"

Johnson leveled an interested look at her, his eyes roaming down and back up her body. "No, honey, I don't think I want to. And I don't think that you can make me." He crossed his arms. "Now, if there's something else you might like to do to pass the time..."

Reaching for her stun gun, Steph curled her lip in distaste. The stun gun, however, had also gotten lost during her flight across the room. That left- and, thankfully, it was still there- pepper spray, which she clutched in her hand. "Well, we can do this the easy way or the hard way." She hoped that sounded more threatening than it sounded to her ears.

The FTA smirked at her. "You're a pretty little thing for a bounty hunter." He began moving in her direction, the loose end of the cuff clasped in his hand and open.

Uh-oh. Steph moved quickly, keeping furniture of some kind between herself and Johnson. He had size, strength, and one handcuff as a weapon. Really, she had been counting on the element of surprise to help her out, and she had lost it. All she had was pepper spray, unless she could locate her gun or stun gun, and if she got close enough to spray him- he was close enough to get her with the other cuff. Given how tired and sore she was, she didn't think she was fast enough today. That meant bluff, look, and keep dancing.

"Yeah, I'm a bounty hunter. That means if you don't want to come with me, I will make you." Steph's eyes kept darting around the room. She was a glint of metal under the right hand end table, which she hoped was a gun. She started moving in the opposite direction, trying to fake Johnson out and get him to move away from the gun so she could retrieve it.

Johnson really wasn't that smart. He moved exactly where she wanted him to, giving her a chance to go for her gun. But then he realized what she was doing just a fraction too late, and came at her with a walloping, desperate tackle. They both went down in a tangle, hitting the gun and sending it skittering farther back under the table. Steph struggled with Johnson, careful to keep her wrists away from his hand- and the dangling, empty cuff. It meant a lot of elbowing, girl slapping, and double handed, kung-fu style punches she had never tried in real life before, but seemed effective.

Johnson held her relatively pinned with his massive bulk. She had a little bit of wiggle room, taking full advantage of his slight distraction as he tried to get her into the empty cuff. She managed to reach for the gun, on her hands and knees, when he grabbed her arm and tried to pull her back.

She snapped in that instant. She was suddenly back in her bedroom, last night, with Morelli. The difference was that this time, she could fight back. So she did. She twisted her arm free- not without a sharp pain- and sprinted for her gun, grasping it in her hand like a hammer. Whirling, she faced Johnson, who was still on the floor. "You fucking bastard," she stated in a calm, conversational tone. Then she smashed him square in the face with the butt of the pistol. Blood blossomed all over the front of Johnson, pooling on the floor, and one eye began the tell-tale swelling that heralded a black eye.

Johnson roared in fury, one had clamped over his broken nose and the other reaching out for her ankle and yanking. Steph went down on her back, the breath knocked out of her. She tried kicking her way free of Johnson's grasp and managed to catch his hand under the heel of her boot. She heard a wet, cracking sound, quickly drowned out by Johnson's scream. He crumpled, holding his injured hand close to his body and still covering his pulverized nose. "You bitch! You broke my nose, and my hand!" He seemed incredulous.

Seeing the damage she had caused, Steph had to talk herself down from hyperventilating. Johnson didn't move while she did this, just lay there and whimper. Baby. Once she had herself calmed down, she aimed her gun at him again and said, in a voice more confident than she in any way felt, "I'm going to finish cuffing you. If you give me any more trouble, I'm going to shoot you in the leg." She was shaky, but managed to put the second cuff on Johnson without fumbling it too badly. She reached back to a box of tissues she had seen on the coffee table, and handed a wad of them to Johnson. "Put this on your nose. I don't want blood in my car."

"I'm not going to fuckin' jail with you," Johnson mumbled nasally through the tissues.

Steph sighed. She needed his cooperation to get him in the car, or she would have to call for help. She did not want to call for help. Calling for help meant calling Ranger, and she did not want to see him for at least a couple of days; her bruises wouldn't look so bad by then. Her other option was to call the cops for help, but she'd die before she'd do that. With her luck, Morelli would show up. Well, she would have to improvise.

She aimed her gun at a lamp on the far end of the living room and fired. The bullet shattered a crystal vase next to the lamp. "I told you, give me ANY problems, and I'll shoot you in the fucking leg. You aren't the first man I've shot, and I'm sure you won't be the last. And I'll make sure that it really hurts."

Johnson had jumped at the sound of the vase shattering. "You're destroying my house!" he yelped.

"You don't really miss much, do you?" Steph sited on his leg. "So, are you going to get up and walk nicely to my car, that big blue one across the street, or am I going to have to shoot you?" She cocked the hammer for emphasis.

Johnson immediately lumbered into an upright position. It took two careful attempts, cradling his broken hand, to manage it. She motions to the front door with the gun, and followed behind him. "Where are your keys?" she asked as she paused in the doorway. "I'll lock up."

Johnson looked at her funny before replying. "Right pocket," he nodded at a jacket hanging up in the hall. Steph reached in, extracted a set of keys, and used them to lock up behind herself. Johnson waiting placidly for her; he didn't try to run, thankfully, standing by Big Blue as she unlocked the car and helped him in. She took a second pair of cuffs out from the glove compartment and used them to secure his hands to the door handle for the ride. Then she settled into the driver's seat, her gun on the passenger's seat so that it would be easily accessible.

During the drive, she kept glancing back at Johnson in the rearview mirror. He didn't seem particularly scary, or deranged. It made her wonder why he had raped his girlfriend. He seemed almost normal, and right now looked down right pathetic. Curiosity and a burning need to know reared up in her mind. "So why'd you do it?"

Johnson just stared blankly ahead, silent for the rest of the ride, even after she had slammed on the brakes to avoid a dog in the road and he had been thrown into the front seat. When he resurfaced, he was sporting another black eye.

A critical evaluation of Johnson's appearance, once Step had pulled around to the back door of the police station, made Steph cringe. She had done a great deal of damage- most of it from blind luck, but she got a good shot or two in; she had beat him rather badly. She was sure whoever was at the desk was going to harass her about it. Luckily, it was Eddie Gazara who came out when she buzzed.

"Hey, Steph," Eddie greeted as he approached the car. She went around to unlock and open the back door, also unlocking the second pair of cuffs, when Eddie got a good look at her. "Tell me the other guy looks worse!"

She inwardly cringed, knowing that there wasn't a mark on Morelli. She'd been too scared to fight back. Instead, she motioned to her prisoner.

Eddie whistled again. "He does look worse than you. What'd he do, steal your donut or something?" he laughed

Stephanie waited for Eddie to remove Johnson before speaking. She reached in, scooped up and holstered her gun, and said, "Or something." She followed Eddie inside and nervously waited for her body receipt. It seemed to take forever, and her anxiety mounted every minute she stood there, looking around for Morelli and praying not to see him. As soon as she got the receipt, she barely said goodbye to Eddie, and took off through the door. She was so happy to be out of there that she headed straight for Vinnie's, almost forgetting about how bad she looked.

Chapter Three

Stephanie paused for a moment before opening the front door to Vinnie's, apprehensive about everyone asking questions about her injuries. She'd figured that she could cover by claiming they came from Johnson. No one had seen her before she went after Johnson; Connie had never actually looked up this morning when Steph came in for FTAs. Fingering the body receipt, she took a deep breath, wrapped herself in her Burg attitude, and forged ahead.

"Hey, Connie!" she called out, "I got a receipt!"

Connie looked up at her and immediately asked, "What happened to you?"

Lula stopped mid-file and whirled to look. "Damn, girl. You look like hell."

Brushing a stray hair nervously out of her eyes, Steph tried to use Eddie's joke. "You should see the other guy!"

Vinnie's voice echoed out of his office. "You didn't kill him, did you? My insurance company hates that!'

"I did not kill anybody!" Steph indignantly shouted as she made her way to the office couch, suddenly tired after this morning's adrenaline rush. She sat down stiffly- Johnson had given her a few more bruises on top of those from Joe. Her arms truly ached. She watched as Connie searched her desk for another one of Vinnie's bugs. She found it under her stapler, dropped it on the floor, and ground it under her four-inch heel.

Connie looked over at Vinnie's door and lowered her voice. "You didn't have to shoot him, did you?"

Vinnie's voice echoed again. "The insurance company hates that, too!"

Connie began a second search, this one fruitless. Her face was pissed. "He must have hidden this one in the furniture somewhere." She cursed eloquently in Italian. "Really, what happened?"

"Didn't go well. I had to threaten to shoot him in the leg." Steph peered over at a bakery box on Connie's desk. "You got any donuts left?"

Ranger walked through the door in time to hear the donut request. "Babe."

Stephanie frowned at him. "I've had a bad day, and I want a donut. No rabbit food and exercise lectures." Then she took the donut box from Connie and started searching for a Boston Crème. When none were left, she settled on a sugared jelly instead and took a bite.

Connie chuckled. "You should have been here a half-hour ago. The donuts are from Morelli. He brought them earlier when he was looking for you."

The mere mention of Morelli made Steph stiffen and she stopped mid-chew. She got up to pace the length of the sofa, hoping motion would make it less obvious she was upset. Unable to swallow, she talked around her food. "What did he say he wanted?" She felt nauseous and wanted to spit out what was in her mouth. But that would be suspicious. And she was trying to act normal, or at least normal for her. So she finished her bite and waited to toss the rest until no one was looking.

"He said he needed to talk to you, and he would catch up with you sometime tonight," Lula provided.

Steph tried not to cry or shake. "Did he say what time?" she asked tersely.

"Uh-uh." Lula's orange-this-week hair was just a blur to Steph's peripheral vision. Actually, everything was a bit blurry and there was a roaring in her ears. She abruptly sat back down on the sofa, sure she was going to pass out. Ranger obviously noticed, because he headed directly to her and crouched down in front of her. He shoved her head down between her legs and told her to push against his hand.

As the darkness started to fade to the edges of her sight, Steph suddenly felt uncomfortable with Ranger's slightly restraining touch. "I'm okay now," she shouted, sitting upright and removing Ranger's hand from her neck. When he moved up and sat close to her on the sofa, she shifted over so that his leg no longer touched hers.

Ranger frowned a little, betting a close up view of her face. "Babe. What happened to your face?"

She refused to look directly at him. "Tough take down." He could always tell if she was lying, and she didn't need to give him any information to help him out with that.

"Why didn't you call me for help?" Ranger's hand reached out, pulling her face from one side to the other to inspect the damage. His eyes flicked down and noted the long-sleeve t-shirt, then back up to meet her eyes. He didn't say anything else, just sat and looked at her thoughtfully.

Steph forced herself to maintain eye contact. "He settled down when I threatened to shoot him."

Ranger's mouth smiled, but not his eyes. "Did you have any bullets in your gun?"

Her voice was rough and deadly calm. "Full round."

His eyebrow quirked up. "You serious about it?"

"Fired a warning shot." Steph was suddenly shaky again, remembering the fight. Johnson would have won if she had left her gun home in the cookie jar, as was her usual habit.

"Hit anything?"

"Shattered a vase." Steph could feel the roaring in her ears begin to build again, as she realized that she might have to shoot at Morelli and actually hit him. If she could squeeze a shot off to begin with. She put her head between her legs again.

"Are you okay, Babe?" Ranger inquired, some concern apparent in his tone.

Steph waited until the roaring had subsided again. "Now I am." She raised her head slowly. "I think I need to go home and lay down. Is my check ready, Connie?"

Ranger grabbed the check from Connie and Steph's arm at the same time. "I'll help you out." He pulled her up from the sofa so quickly that Steph couldn't prepare herself. She hissed in pain and Ranger looked worried. "You aren't acting okay."

Steph took a deep breath and blew it out, waiting for the pain in her arms to pass. "Sorry. You just hit a sore spot."

Ranger continued to look at her without blinking. "How may sore spots have you got?" he asked, leading her out by the hand.

"A few." Steph let Ranger hold the door open for her, and weakly called out "Bye!" to Connie and Lula. She tried to get in her car, but Ranger got her turned around and was leaning across the door instead. Obviously, he wasn't done with her. She sincerely hoped that he wasn't going to be too friendly or ask more questions.

"Are you going to tell me what really happened?" Those dark eyes were intent on her. Ranger outwardly seemed to be calm, but those eyes always gave him away, if you knew what to look for, which Steph did. Right now, those eyes were turbulent with suppressed emotions.

"I told you already," she protested weakly.

"You lied," Ranger firmly stated. "Those bruises are took old to be from your skip this morning." His hands loosely gripped her wrists, but it was enough that she had to fight the urge to push him away.

"How can you tell?"

"I've seen enough injuries to be a good judge." Ranger's ESP seemed to have kicked in. "Morelli do this?" His voice was tight with control.

"I fell down the stairs last night, Ranger." Steph tried to sound like that was what had really happened. "I don't want to tell people that I fell down some stairs, because it makes me feel stupid and clumsy." It was the best she could do on short notice and with being so tired.

"Those stairs right handed?"

"I'm not having this conversation. Believe me, or don't." Steph looked at him expectantly. "Move so I can get in my car, please."

Ranger looked at her a half-second longer than her should have. She felt it, and she knew that while he didn't believe her, he wasn't sure what to do about it right now. So he brushed a kiss against her ear. "Rest up." Then he went back into the bonds office.

Steph sagged momentarily against the car door, then extracted her keys and unlocked the door. She drove home on autopilot, so exhausted she didn't realize until she pulled into her lot that Ranger still had her check in his hand when he'd left her. Damn. She'd have to call him later; she just didn't want to have to talk to him again right now.

And thinking about the check made her remember that Morelli had said he would catch her later. That thought made her panic. She could lock up, but he might still have his key. And at any rate, he was almost as good at breaking into her apartment as Ranger was. She broke out in a cold, clammy sweat. What could she do?

She could go somewhere else, she considered. She didn't want to see her parents and Valerie while she still looked this bad. Connie and Lula would also ask too many questions. And Ranger- well, Ranger wouldn't ask, he would demand, answers, which she already knew she didn't want to answer. He would get the truth out of her, because he could tell when she was lying and he would be persistent. So, no Ranger. Any call to one of the RangeMan crew wouldn't bring questions- those guys realy never talked much- but it would be reported back to Ranger almost immediately. See previous entry on the list as to why that would be a bad idea, she mentally noted.

A quick look around the lot didn't provide any evidence that Morelli was presently here, so he was probably still working. That meant she could relax for a little while. He usually quit by five or so. After then, she needed to be aware and have her gun ready.

Steph pushed open the lobby door and headed for the elevator. She stepped into the empty car as soon as the doors opened, grateful that Mrs. Bestler wasn't playing elevator operator today. As she approached her door, a bit timidly, she realized that she still has her gun in her thigh holster. She drew it as she entered her apartment, not ready to take any chances.

A quick run-through of her poor imitation of a cop showed that her apartment was safe. Her search ended in her bedroom, where the sight of her unmade bed, smeared with blood and other fluids, made her nauseous again. She sat down on her floor, concentrating on not throwing up. She wasn't sure how long she had sat there, staring at the bed, when she felt anger stirring within her.

Surging up, she resolutely made her way to the kitchen and fished around under the sink for a trash bag. Snagging the whole box, she marched back into the bedroom and began stripping the bed. Sheets, blankets, pillows, comforter, and the clothes she had worn last night were systematically bundled into trash bags and stacked by the door.

Confronted with a bare mattress and box spring, Steph paused. She wasn't sure how to get them out. The window wasn't big enough and she didn't know if she could manage to drag them out and into the dumpster. Now determination filled her as she considered how much better she felt with most of the evidence from last night ready to go out, and she decided that it was worth the effort to drag the rest of it out as well.

A half-hour later, the mattress and box spring resided at a haphazard angle against the dumpster. The trash bags, though, were piled next to the trashcan in her kitchen. The anger had burned itself out before she had gotten to them, and she decided that they could wait until tomorrow. She was drenched in sweat, her bruises ached beyond description, and she was incredibly hungry.

She realized that she hadn't really eaten since early last night, and decided that she would shower and call out for Pino's. It would be the last of her cash until she got her Johnson check back from Ranger, but she considered it a reward for her hard work this afternoon. And tomorrow, she would go out and buy a new bed and all new bedding. One that Morelli had never- and would never- touch.

After calling and ordering a large sausage and black olive pizza, Stephanie jumped into the shower and let the hot water massage sore muscles until she was a large, wrinkly prune. Then she soaped up, rinsed off, and grabbed a towel to wrap around her wet hair. Slipping into sweats and a clean t-shirt, she popped Ghostbusters into the DVD player and settled down on the sofa to brush out her tangled hair and enjoy a beer. The doorbell rang as the librarian leaped at Bill Murray, and she snagged the twenty off her end table with half an eye on the TV. Reaching for her gun, she slipped it into the waistband of her sweats, at the small of her back.

She looked carefully through the peephole, and considered not answering. Dark chocolate eyes, one corner of his mouth curved up into a semi-smile. Damn. If she didn't open the door, Ranger would just pick the locks again. She'd tried this with him before, when he wanted to run, and he'd just dragged her out of her bed. She slid the locks open, hand on her hip. "You knocked? Since when?"

Ranger stepped in. "I always knock. You just usually don't hear me, so I have to break in and make sure you're just deaf and not dead." He drew her into a quick hug, balancing a brown grocery bag in the other hand, and she returned it awkwardly one-handed. Ranger's hand slid down to the small of her back, and she felt him press gently against the gun. "Expecting someone?" he asked as he reluctantly released her.

Steph nervously laughed, trying to cover. "Finally learning some of that caution you keep trying to drill into my head. I even looked through the peep hole before I opened the door." She followed behind him as he headed straight for the kitchen. She was suddenly sweating, as she saw the bags she had neglected to finish taking out earlier stacked next to her trash can. Trying to distract him from the pile, she attempted to peer into the shopping bag. "So you brought me food? Real food, or rabbit food?"

Ranger shook his head. "Babe, its called healthy food. I know its unfamiliar, but I don't want you to end up some fat old white chick. You gotta start eating better." He emptied the contents of the bag directly into the refrigerator without allowing her to view it. "I don't want any whining. I'll fix dinner while you go in the living room."

Steph protested, unwilling to leave him alone in the kitchen with the bags of evidence, but Ranger simply lay his finger across her lips to quiet her. "Shush." He turned her around and gave her a gentle shove. "Go." She stumbled a bit, but Ranger's hand wouldn't let her back track. So she went out in the living room, and tried to take comfort in the fact that at least a pizza would be arriving soon to round out the rabbit food dinner. She re-started Ghostbusters, but her mind kept returning to the trash bags she prayed Ranger wouldn't notice. She was so preoccupied that when the doorbell rang, she opened it without looking through the peephole, assuming it was Pino's.

And came face to face with Joe Morelli, a warm pizza in his hands. "You called it in while I was there. Thought I'd bring it to you." Joe was pale and his voice taut. "I thought maybe we could talk."

Only extreme effort kept Stephanie from screaming at the sight of him. As it was, her left hand gripped the door handle so tightly that her knuckles were white. Her right hand slowly crept around to her gun, loosely gripping it and flipping the safety off. Swallowing, she wondered how to respond. What do you say to your attacker when he requests to talk? "I don't want to talk to you. And I want my key back. You didn't leave it last night."

"Can't I come in so we can talk?" Joe reiterated, holding out the pizza.

"I don't have anything to say to you, Joe Morelli." Again, fear and anger warred in her mind. Anger won for now, though, and galvanized her into action. "I want my key back, and then I want you to leave."

Morelli's expression hardened. "I need to talk to you." Then his face smoothed itself out into 'charming' Joe. "Plus, I have your pizza. We can eat first."

Steph pulled out her gun and lowered her voice in the faint hope that Ranger hadn't heard enough already to piece things together. Aiming directly at Morelli's chest, she cocked the gun for emphasis. "Fuck the key, then. I'll change the locks. Just get the hell out of here, NOW, and don't come back ever again. Take the damn pizza with you. I don't want anything you've touched in here."

Morelli stared back at her, a bit less self-assured than usual. "You wouldn't shoot me."

Stephanie rolled her neck, and steadied her aim. "Be glad I didn't have a gun ready last night." She felt, rather than heard, Ranger enter the living room and pull his gun. He didn't make himself visible, but she knew he would back her up without any details given or questions asked.

Joe looked undecided. "Are you sure that I won't shoot you?" she prompted him.

"Steph, I'm sorry. I know I can't undo this, and I'm sorry doesn't even begin to cover it." He rubbed his face with his hand. "I was drinking, and I wasn't myself. I don't know how it happened..."

"Those Morelli genes really run true. I should have listened to my mother." Steph pressed the gun into Morelli's chest. "You wanna die young, like most Morelli men, too?"

Joe's shoulders slumped and he sighed. There was a shine to his eyes as he rubbed his face again. "I am sorry. Good bye, Steph." He turned and walked towards the stairs, pizza still in hand. Steph stepped out into the hall, he gun trained on his retreating back. She waited until he had disappeared behind the stairwell before she could relax.

Ranger stepped out and eased her gun out of her now shaking hands, slowly and carefully. "Babe, it's not a good idea to threaten to shoot a cop." He turned her chin so that she was looking at him, and held her there until she would meet his eyes. He saw hurt, fear, anger, and exhaustion there. Not the Babe he knew and loved. "What happened with Morelli?"

"He wasn't invited." Steph pushed her way past Ranger, who followed her in and pulled the door shut behind him. He paused to lock it, wondering why he bothered. Looking over the relatively good locks quickly, he wondered how it seemed like almost anybody could pick them. This wasn't a safe place for her, in general; but if Morelli wanted in, he would get in. If not now, then later, when Stephanie couldn't meet him at the door with a gun to prevent it.

Steph had headed out into the kitchen, so Ranger followed. He opened the cookie jar and placed her gun in it after checking that the safety was on, just as she pulled her head out of the fridge. "No peeking," he chastised.

"I'm hungry!" she stated, almost plaintively. Her face showed some displeasure at the contents of the refrigerator.

Ranger closed the door, then leaned his back against it and crossed his arms. "Then why did you turn down a Pino's pizza?" He studied her reaction, or more precisely her attempt to suppress her reaction. She held her arms crossed and sat on a chair, hunching down to make herself smaller.

"Maybe I'm listening to your 'healthy habits' lecture." No hint of a smile or laughter. Her eyes were dead, unfocused, and staring out the kitchen window.

"You won't do that until your first heart attack," Ranger replied dryly. He was getting tired of her avoiding the subject, and worried about her based on her reactions. He stood behind her chair, loosely looping his hands around her neck. She immediately tensed. He ran his hands down her arms, exerting slight pressure all the way down. She immediately hissed and shifted in her seat.

"We both know that skip didn't do all this damage," he spoke calmly, evenly. "And we also know you didn't fall down the stairs. Want to take a third guess?" He waited expectantly.

Steph declined to answer. As the moments stretched, Ranger sighed. Kneeling before her, he took her left arm and turned it over in his hands. She struggled against him. And he paused. "Let me look at your arms, please."

Steph, still staring off into space, said no with a nod of her head.

"Babe," Ranger pleaded, "let me see." He traced the bruises ringing her arm lightly with his fingertips, following the line of them up her arm until they disappeared under her short sleeve. The bruises were vaguely grouped like fingerprints- fingerprints made by very large hands. He gently took her other arm, tracing similar bruises before turning it back over and asked, his voice dangerous, "Morelli did this?"

Stephanie didn't reply, but a tear fell slowly, rolling down her cheek. Ranger stood and placed his hands loosely around her neck again. When she had the same reaction, he pulled at the neck of her t-shirt, trying to look beneath the collar. Again, a struggle at first, then placid acceptance when he refused to take no for an answer. And, again, a ring of hand shaped bruises.

Ranger cupped her chin, running a thumb lightly around the bruise on her cheek. "Tell me what happened," he asked in a forceful tone.

"We had a disagreement he didn't want to loose," Stephanie mumbled, wiping away the tears that had fallen.

"Don't be flip. I want to know why I'm beating the hell out of a cop." Ranger didn't bother to hold the anger out of his voice.

"No!" Steph panicked. "Don't do anything! I can handle this myself."

Ranger looked at her skeptically. "Did you file a police report?"

"No."

"Are you going to file a police report?"

"Y-y-yes," she stammered.

"No, you aren't. And we both know it, and we both know that you can't lie to me." Ranger took both her hands in his. "How far did it go?"

She wouldn't look at him, and she didn't answer him.

"Babe?" he questioned.

She cleared her throat and looked him in the eyes. "No permanent damage."

Ranger pulled her up and out of the chair into a loose, friendly, and careful embrace. "That's not an answer."

"It's all the answer you're going to get, Ranger." She extracted herself from his arms. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to forget it ever happened."

Ranger let her go with a huge internal sigh. He knew that with some time and a little pressure, he could get the truth out of her. He had a pretty good idea of what the truth was already; he simply wanted confirmation. But now was not the time. "Dinner in a half-hour. Go relax until then."

Steph headed back out to the sofa and lay down. Ranger had given up too easily to be sincere in dropping the matter, she knew. She reinforced her determination that no one would ever know just how badly Joe had hurt her- just what he had done. It was all too embarrassing, and she was sure that somehow it was her fault. She looked up at the ceiling, following the lines of the ceiling tiles with her eyes.

She must have drifted off at some point, because the next thing she remembered was a delicious smell pouring out of her kitchen. It certainly didn't smell like salad. She stirred, slowly stretching before getting to her feet and padding into the kitchen.

Ranger was placing a plate heaped with rice and vegetables on the table, next to a plate with pieces of baked chicken. There was also a pitcher of ice tea with slices of orange and lime floating with the ice. And, miracles of miracles, there was a chocolate cake sitting on the counter.

"Just in time, babe. Thought I'd have to wake you." Ranger turned to face her and pulled a chair out for her. Gesturing to it, he waited until she was seated to take his own chair.

Surveying the table, she licked her lips. "Chocolate cake? You didn't make that, too, did you?" she asked, unfolding a napkin and placing it on her lap.

Ranger shook his head. "That was Tank's idea."

"The rest of it, uh, looks good, too," Steph added, trying to put some feeling in it. It actually didn't look half-bad. "Better than rabbit food usually does."

The expression on Ranger's face darkened. She didn't want Ranger to feel slighted- she was highly impressed and appreciative that he had cooked for her. Hell, she was amazed (and slightly terrified) that he was making such an effort to take care of her when she wasn't feeling so great. Body guarding she was used to, now; this emotional care taking was new, and under the circumstances, troubling. "Really, it does look good. Even without any kind of grease or sauce."

Ranger actually started frowning now, as he took her plate and served her. She was feeling flustered. "I'm trying here, you know. This is, like, foreign food to me."

The frown lessened a little. Ranger handed her plate back to her and filled his own. He didn't take a bite, though, until she had tasted some, so he could watch her reaction. The first bite was met with an immense smile. "Hey, this really does taste good," Steph remarked. She was surprised that plain, healthy food could actually taste this good.

Ranger almost smiled. "It's really easy. You could learn to cook like this, you know. Instead of ordering out."

"Blasphemy! What do you want to do to me, turn me into a housewife?" Steph sputtered.

Ranger flashed the outright, 100-watt, true smile. "Never. You'd probably burn down your house."

Not sure if she should be happy with his reply or offended, she opted for another mouthful of food. Chewing, she considered dinner conversation with Ranger. Generally, if they ate together, they were working on a case or in a crisis situation (usually, her life was threatened/in danger.) Dinner topics were limited, then. She took the opportunity to quiz the mysterious Ranger about his personal life. "So where did you learn to cook?"

Ranger chewed his own food, thinking over his answer. "My grandmother taught me Cuban style cooking. The army me taught me some more."

"I have a hard time picturing you big, strong, Special Forces guys slaving away in a kitchen all day." Steph smiled so that he would know she was joking with him.

"Campfire. Special Forces doesn't come with a kitchen."

Steph considered for a moment, but couldn't resist the temptation. That one comment gave more information about Ranger's time in the army than he had told her in the past two and a half years. "So, where were those campfires?"

"If I told you-"Ranger started.

"I know, you'd have to kill me." Steph finished for him, rolling her eyes. "The more you use that line, the less effective it becomes."

"Are you still scared that I really mean it?"

"Not so much." Steph took another bite. "I think you are just avoiding the question when you say that."

Ranger snorted. "This, from the queen of denial and subject change?"

Steph speared another piece of chicken. "Takes one to know one." She stuck her tongue out at him before popping the chicken into her mouth.

Ranger smirked, waiting until she was mid-chew. "Are you calling me a queen?"

Steph choked on her laughter (and chicken), coughing, as Ranger intended. He quickly poured her some ice tea and forced it into her hand. "Drink something. I'm afraid I'll really hurt you if I have to do the Heimlich."

Sipping slowly and concentrating, eventually Steph's laughter was brought under control and she calmed down. Ranger had continued to eat during her hysterics. She had studied him as he methodically cut up his chicken, mixing it with even portions of vegetables and rice on the fork. Each forkful was the exact same measured mix. She wondered if he had to think about that kind of preciseness, or if it was an unconcious part of him now. Really, she couldn't remember Ranger doing anything that wasn't thought out, well considered, and executed to within a hair of perfection. Was he ever spontaneous? Fun, and not serious? He did smile on occasion, but usually at something that was happening around him, not because of something he chose to do. Had that been trained out of him?

Steph returned her attention to her own plate, knowing that Ranger would probably not want to answer the questions her mind was producing. And she had a feeling that she wouldn't be getting a piece of that chocolate cake if she didn't clean her plate. So she set to work, but couldn't quite manage to derail her previous train of thought. "So what do you do for fun?"

Caught off guard, Ranger stalled. "Why do you ask?"

Steph crammed the last forkful into her mouth. She answered as she swallowed it, "I'm curious. I've known you for over two years. You're not a real sharer. I'm an open book."

"No," Ranger shook his head a bit vehemently. "You grandmother is an open book. You're tougher than that."

"I am?" Steph wondered in surprise. "Then how come you always do that ESP thing and know what I'm thinking?

Laying his utensils down on the now-empty plate, Ranger steepled his fingers and brought them up to his face. "I've studied your reactions. I know how you think. That doesn't mean that I know WHAT you think." He got up and brought the cake to the table, along with two small plates and two clean forks. He also retrieved two glasses and some milk.

Uncomfortable, suddenly, with the undertones she heard in Ranger's voice, Steph opened the milk and poured two glasses while Ranger cut the cake. He placed a plate in front of her and took one of the glasses of milk.

Steph stared a little at him. "Wow. You're actually going to eat horrible-for-you chocolate, and for desert, no less?"

"I actually do, on occasion." He ate the cake with the same measured precision that he ate dinner, which returned Steph's mind to the beginning of this conversation.

"Hey! You never answered my question!" she huffed.

Ranger played dumb, stalling again. "What question?"

"Fun!" Steph said, exasperated. "What do you do for fun?"

"I don't get much free time, Babe." He smiled down at his plate and deliberately not looking at her. "Being Batman is a 24-7 job."

She actually put her fork down, cake unfinished, and crossed her arms stubbornly across her chest. "You're doing it again. You're avoiding the question. Why are you so evasive about personal information?"

Ranger chose to look her in the eye and challenge her. "You never answered my question, either."

"Huh?" Steph looked genuinely confused. She didn't remember the question. "What question are you talking about?"

Ranger's eyes went dark and serious. "How far did it go?" The playfulness was gone.

Steph didn't answer. She resumed eating her cake, although she no longer enjoyed it. She had, albeit briefly, forgotten. Now the shadows of last night were in the room with them, threatening.

Ranger spoke and broke the silence first. "I watch old musicals."

Steph stopped chewing. "What?"

"I watch old musicals when I have free time. Singing in the Rain, Guys and Dolls." Ranger continued with his cake. "My grandmother used to watch them all the time when I was little. They make me think of her."

"Oh." Steph wasn't sure how to respond. This was definitely a new side to Ranger.

He finished his cake and started clearing the table while Steph finished. "If you want to know anything else, I get a question answered first." He turned around from the sink. "How far did it go?"

Steph handed him her plate. "I'd rather play Truth or Dare."

"My game, my rules." Ranger added her plate to the sink. "And you wouldn't like my dares."

"I don't want to play."

Ranger's pager and cell phone went off at the same time. He unclipped the phone from his belt, answering it with, "Talk!" while the other hand switched the pager off. He glanced quickly at the readout and cleared it. Steph left him alone in the kitchen, not interested in the conversation right now, and went back to sitting under an afghan on her sofa.

Hurrying out of the kitchen, Ranger grabbed the jacket he had left by the door. He stood for a minute, hand on the door handle. "Sorry, Babe, I gotta go. Got some trouble that I need to handle personally." He came over and brushed his lips across her forehead as she looked up at him. "I want to continue this conversation later. I'll be back tonight, if I can." Then he was gone.

Chapter Four

Stephanie sat for a while in an internal debate. Ranger actually had her considering this game. She had been dying to know more about him since...well, forever. She had stayed in his apartment with him for a week and hadn't gotten as much information out of him as she had tonight.

The problem was, although she knew Ranger would never tell anyone what happened if she asked him not to do so, and she was fairly sure that he would keep a promise not to hurt Joe, she still didn't want him to know what had happened to her.

His knee jerk reaction might be to protect her and go hurt Joe, but what about once he heard the details? How she had given up and stopped fighting? Or worse, as she considered the weird sexual dynamic between Ranger and herself. What if Ranger thought that she had wanted this to happen, to have Joe make the choice for her?

What if Ranger didn't want her anymore? He had sent her back to Morelli before, and told her a relationship between them would be bad. Since then, the signals had been mixed, and she had thought that Ranger had wanted to pursue...something with her. But what if she had been wrong? What if he had wanted her, but after this he didn't?

What if he thought Morelli was right? That she should just marry Joe and quit bounty hunting?

Stephanie wasn't sure how long she had sat there, her thoughts moving in random, overlapping circles before she decided to lock up behind Ranger. Turning the tumbler, she remembered Morelli's key. She looked at the clock, surprised by how late it was- almost eleven- and realized that she wouldn't be able to have Dillan change her locks until tomorrow.

That meant that Morelli could still get in tonight.

The thought of Morelli breaking in and finding her defenseless again terrified her beyond description. She headed straight for the cookie jar, extracted her gun, and began checking the bullets. Satisfied, she brewed a pot of very strong coffee and prepared to stay awake and on guard. She doubted Ranger would make it back tonight, given the hastiness of his departure, so she shouldn't have to explain herself. She could sleep tomorrow, safe behind new locks.

The hours of the night passed slowly through a caffeine haze. She caught herself dozing at least a half-dozen times, each time taking a quick, cold shower and grabbing another cup of coffee to keep her going. By 5:30, she just couldn't keep it up. The strain of the events of the last 24 hours or so had wiped her out. She finally passed out sitting upright on the sofa, gun clenched in her hand, next to a half-mug of cold coffee. That's how Ranger found her when he broke in with the sunrise. He shook his head at the sight of her, his heart screaming at him to make it all better for her and his head telling him that his time, there was nothing that he alone could do for her.

Instead, he gently called her name. When she didn't respond, he tried again, louder this time. He didn't want to startle her awake, especially when she was holding a gun. But when she didn't respond to her name for a third time, he decided that she must be too deeply asleep to startle.

His mistake.

He went over to the sofa as quietly as possible and tried to extract the gun from her hand. The minute his hands touched her, she was moving. Her gun went flying out of her hands before she could pull the trigger- Ranger had that much control of the situation- but her arms swung wildly and she kicked out full force with both legs.

She caught him unprepared, and his left knee folded under her attack. He went down, directly into a wild fist to his left eye. He controlled his trained instinct to hit back, and balled up instead to protect himself. Steph slowly became aware of who she was hitting, but not before she got in some pretty good blows.

"Oh my god, Ranger! I'm sorry!" She was appalled by her unthinking reactions. "I didn't realize it was you!"

Ranger peered out at her from under one arm from his position on the floor. "Are you through?"

Steph leaned down to help him up. He took her hand and turned into a sitting position next to her. "Who did you think it was, Babe?"

She ignored the question, concentrating instead on the bruise already forming around Ranger's left eye. She reached out to touch it gently. "I gave you a black eye?"

Ranger reached up to gingerly feel his eye as well. "Yeah, I think so," he said, a touch of wonder in his voice.

Dread filled the pit of he stomach. Ranger had never had a black eye. No one had ever, in the time she'd known him, gotten close enough to score on him, much less mark him like that. Shot, yes- that could be done at enough of a distance that it held less threat to the shooter than a close encounter would.

Ranger noticed her reaction. He reached to comfort her, and she pulled away, wide-eyed. "Babe," he coaxed. "It's okay. I shouldn't have startled you like that, but you didn't hear me when I tried to wake you."

Sniffling, Steph apologized again. "I'm sorry."

Moving closer to her one the sofa, Ranger took her hand. "You already apologized. Don't worry about it." He rubbed his injured leg. "But maybe I should stick to knocking."

Steph hung her head. Lack of sleep made it hard for her to concentrate. "Let me get you some ice for that."

Ranger wouldn't let her up. "I'll get it."

Obedient for once, Steph stayed put on the sofa while Ranger got ice. She could hear the wet cracking of the ice as it popped from the trays, as well as the bubbling of a new pot of coffee brewing. The smell of it followed Ranger out to the living room. Stephanie wouldn't meet Ranger's good eye as he stood there, ice pack held against the other.

Ranger sighed. "Stephanie, it's really alright. This is my fault; you caught me by surprise." When she didn't answer, he sat back down next to her and leaned back. He motioned for her to lay back on him, which she did after a moment of thought. She wasn't entirely comfortable. His arm felt like steel around her, even held loosely, and she felt as if she couldn't move unless he allowed it. The restricted feeling made her stomach roil, but she held still. Ranger would never hurt her. If he had wanted to hurt her, she would never have gotten a hit in on him. He could have easily stopped her at any point with out breaking a sweat. He had chosen not to do so.

"I told you I'd be back. I just didn't think it would take so damn long." Ranger rubbed her arm gently. "Sometimes running your own business sucks."

A smile played at the corners of Steph's mouth until Ranger's next statement. "You thought I was Morelli, didn't you?"

An immediate denial died on her lips. How could she have ever, even in her sleep, have mistaken Ranger for Morelli? But she had, just for a few moments until she had woken up and gathered her senses. "I didn't get my locks changed yet," she settled for as a reply.

"I'll call Hector."

"No!' Her voice squeaked a little, and she tried to make it sound more normal and less hysterical. "I can't use those damn key pads. I'll only end up shooting it or melting it or something." Steph paused. "I might as well just leave the damn door wide open and save myself the trouble."

Ranger had to agree. "This isn't the safest place to live. I've told you that before."

"I know. But this is MY place, with my stuff, and no one else's. I have a bathroom all to myself." She sighed. "I can't go stay with my parents until the bruises fade some." She really hated the idea, but she hated the idea of being surprised by Morelli more.

"You can always stay at RangeMan," Ranger offered.

"Is that on the fourth floor, or with you?" Steph asked, quite curious as to Ranger's answer.

Ranger chuckled, that deep, sexy chuckle. "Your choice. It's always your choice."

"I'll think about it." Steph relaxed against Ranger, who seemed to be doing his best to appear non-threatening. It was a difficult task for Ranger, but the blackening eye helped with it. And giving her choices. She began to nod off again.

Clearing his throat, Ranger said, "You're tired, and so am I. I worked all night and haven't been back to the office yet. Can I borrow your shower, and then we could go get breakfast?"

Steph could nap while Ranger showered. She would be safe with him here, even if he was naked and wet. "You bet." Steph entangled herself from Ranger's arm. "Do you want some clean clothes to change into? They aren't going to be that ultra-cool, all black Batman look, but..."

"As long as they aren't pink or girly, okay?" Ranger stood up, limping on his gimped knee. Still holding the ice pack on his eye, he headed through the bedroom for the bathroom. Walking through, even lacking an eye, he noticed the empty spot in the middle of Steph's bed-less bedroom, clearly marked by deep indentations in the thick carpeting. Thinking back to the many trash bags stacked in the kitchen, and a mattress set leaning against the dumpster in the lot, Ranger knew for sure just what had happened here two nights ago.

Steph followed him into the bedroom. "Babe? Your bed's missing."

She ignored him and continued to root around in drawers for clothes for him. He observed that she did so with an awkward stiffness to her spine, and decided that he was too tired to press the issue. He shut the bathroom door behind him, leaving her alone.

Steph let out a held-in breath when she heard the door close. Discussion- or interrogation, depending on your point of view- avoided. She managed to locate sweat socks, dark blue sweat pants with a drawstring waist, and a gray Simpsons t-shirt. Ranger probably didn't know who the Simpsons were, she thought; then she amended that upon reflection, reminding herself how little she really knew about him. Musicals!

Bundling up the clothes, she left them in front of the bathroom door. Calling through and over the running water, she let Ranger know the bundle was there. She heard some kind of affirmative grunt, but couldn't make out the words. She paused briefly at the door, thinking of a wet, naked Ranger, before turning bright red and fleeing back to the living room. She sat down on the sofa and waited for him to come out, carefully blocking out events presently going on in the bathroom. It made her body respond too much for her mind to be comfortable right now, due to recent events. Retrieving her gun from where Ranger had knocked it to, she put it on the end table and tried very hard to relax her muscles.

At some point while waiting for Ranger, Steph drifted off sitting up. She resurfaced some time later, sleepily comfortable against a hard, warm surface. Snuggling into it, she realized that it was riding and falling in a steady rhythm. She also felt a weight across her shoulders.

She hadn't fallen asleep with Ranger, so he must have decided to curl up with her. Opening her eyes, she saw that he was still asleep. In sleep, Ranger looked different. The hard, dangerous edge that was always present, even under his best blank stare, was gone in slumber. The handsome face was almost innocent, or at least not as jaded, the face of a very young man, not the hardened mercenary. She studied his face, the curve of his full lips and angular cheekbones, the arched, dark brows and eyelashes a girl would kill for. (Add the black eye.)

Ranger's handsomeness had never been in question. What she always wondered about was his motivations, his intentions. And finding him with her, like that, she wondered more. The past two days, his behavior went above and beyond mere mentor. Thinking about it, his behavior often had. He had told her he was attracted, but that his life didn't lend itself to relationships. He had even told her that he loved her- in his own way. She felt, though, that they did indeed already have a relationship. Some bizarre, weird, fucked up relationship, but still a relationship.

So what exactly did Ranger want? And was it what she was beginning to think that she wanted, too?

That thought was left unanswered as Ranger shifted in his sleep, pulling her closer, tighter. The moment she felt him tighter his arm around her, she felt restrained and panicked, even as she mentally kept repeating "This is Ranger, not Joe. Ranger would never hurt me."

Aware even as he slept, Ranger felt the difference in her body and woke himself up. He was already reaching for his gun when he managed to ask, "What's wrong, Babe?" The look on her face made him ignore his gun and let her go immediately. "What did I do?"

She had been so determined to put Joe's attack behind her, and she had failed miserably. A completely innocent gesture on Ranger's part, and her body immediately rebelled. She felt the tears start to well, and she got up and marched to the bathroom, ignoring Ranger's concerned questions. She absolutely refused to cry in front of Ranger. She shut the door carefully behind her and leaned her forehead against it. The wood of the door was cool on her heated skin. She could only imagine what was going through Ranger's mind. Probably he was complaining about the sissy waterworks and the fact that he had wasted so much time on her. She let the tears flow, making as little noise as she could by swallowing her sobs.

Little did she know that Ranger was in a similar posture on his side of the door, his eyes flashing with anger at Joe Morelli and deep concern for her. She obviously needed help to deal with what had happened to her, and Ranger wasn't sure that his presence was helping. Neither of them had realized just how long they had stood there when Stephanie turned the handle.

Ranger stepped back and looked over the red splotchy face Steph stuck out. "You didn't do anything," she solemnly told him.

Ranger shook his head. "I obviously did something that made you uncomfortable, or you wouldn't have locked yourself in the bathroom to cry." He wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "And don't say it's just you. Something happened to you, and I think I did something that reminded you of it, and you reacted. That's normal. There's nothing wrong with that."

Steph's eyes started welling up again and she tried to shut the door, but Ranger wedged his (good) knee in the frame before she could close it all the way. "You don't have to hide it. It's normal to be upset about what happened; it's normal to have these...moments, where you can't control your reactions."

Steph took a deep breath and shook her head. She wouldn't look at him. "I don't want you to see me cry."

Ranger reached for her, tangling his fingers in her hair and laying his cheek to hers. "Babe, its not the first time." He brushed a kiss across her ear. "It probably won't be the last time, either." She relaxed enough for him to wrap his other arm around her. He spoke low, his breath stirring her hair, "Why don't you want me to see you like this?" Pulling away to watch her reaction, he raised an eyebrow at her.

She kept his gaze with effort. "It's a weakness. I don't want you to see me as weak."

He sighed. "You are not weak." Ranger considered his next words carefully; he didn't want them to be misinterpreted. "Talking about what happened may help you get rid of this fear you're carrying around- the reactions you can't seem to control. If you are conscious of the things that will set you off, it's easier for you to control your responses."

"Is this an Army trick?" Steph sniffled.

"Special Forces get into a lot of bad shit. Psych training is part of it, to help you deal with it when it happens and keep yourself sane." Ranger paused, obviously holding something back. "I know that it helps."

"How do you know?" Steph asked, eyes wide and hopeful.

Ranger looked away for a moment, then back at her eyes. "I can't tell a civilian about the details, Steph. You really wouldn't want to know; trust me." Ranger took her hand, leading her back to the sofa and ignoring the bare place where the bed had stood. "It was a long time ago. And I told you- I get my question answered first, then you get another answered. Equal trade."

"Can we start this off with a different question?" Steph sniffled again. "Anything but that one."

Ranger nodded. "We can start smaller. I just need to think of a question."

Steph waited. Ranger thought for a few minutes. "Do you still want to go eat?"

"That's the question?"

"No. I'm too hungry to think," Ranger replied.

"Yeah. But I need to clean up some first." Steph swiped at her nose again.

Ranger agreed. "Okay, babe. I've got a few calls to make, and I need to talk to Tank. I'll get him to drop off my car." Ranger looked for his boots and started lacing them up. "I'll be out in the parking lot for a few minutes at some point. Please don't shoot me on my way back in, okay?" He smiled, but she didn't smile back.

She was completely serious. "I'll try not to shoot you, but I can't guarantee anything." She headed abruptly towards the bathroom, leaving Ranger on his own.

Chapter Break

He looked after her for a few minutes, awash in unaccustomed wave of emotion. This girl- no, he corrected himself, this amazingly strong woman- had gotten under his skin. He didn't do relationships, by his own admission, but he wanted (very badly) to break his own rules. Wouldn't be the first time he'd done so, for her, and wouldn't be the last. Shaking off his mood, he grabbed his cell phone and went into the kitchen.

He dialed and didn't wait for hello in the other end. "I need my car. Be here in ten." Pacing, he began trying to plan in his head. He needed a plan for this situation, because it was spiraling quickly. Steph's refusal to deal with it would- already had- compromise her ability to adequately function. That would be bad for anyone, but it was especially bad for someone in their business. Steph could hurt someone else, not just herself.

He made another call, and a complete roster of Morelli's current caseload, approximate schedule, and other pertinent information would be delivered to RangeMan in under an hour. A third call, and he had set up 24-7 surveillance on Steph for the next week. The fourth, and final, and a new alarm system was on its way with Hector. He would arrive and install it while they were out. This one would be a bit more than a simple watchdog; because it would also be linked to the RangeMan monitors. This way, he would know if someone broke in before Steph would. And there wouldn't be a keypad for Steph to shoot.

By this point, Ranger expected Tank to be out in the lot. He was getting ready to head out when his cell phone rang. "Talk," he answered.

"In the lot, boss." Tank disengaged.

Ranger headed down the stairs, locking the door behind him. The shower was still running, he noted. He took the stairs, and met Tank in the lot as he climbed out of the Bronco. "How's bombshell?" Tank queried.

Ranger leaned against the Bronco, arms folded against his chest and legs crossed at the ankles. "She's been better. You're on Bombshell duty, first watch, this week."

Ranger trusted all his men, but he and Tank had worked together the longest. They didn't even need to speak sometimes. Ranger could relax, knowing that Tank was watching over her.

"What should I be watching for, Ranger?" Tank asked, mirroring Ranger's position against the Bronco.

Ranger growled. "Morelli."

Tank almost hid the surprise. "I thought you didn't want to interfere in that relationship." He knew Ranger's feelings about Stephanie. Anyone who knew Ranger well could tell, even if Ranger refused to admit to it. Tank also knew why Ranger wouldn't push the matter. The sudden change of plan puzzled him. Ranger never acted irrationally.

Ranger could read Tank as well as Tank could read him. "The parameters have changed."

Nodding, Tank asked, "Something to do with that black eye?"

Ranger chuckled. "Sort of. That was Bombshell."

Tank's face registered true surprise. He hadn't managed a score like that on Ranger in years. "What did you do to piss her off?"

"Didn't. I startled her. Seems she'd getting better at taking care of herself." Ranger smiled. "She even has bullets in her gun."

"Be careful she doesn't shoot you, Ranger." Tank warned, humor in his voice. "Call me when my watch starts." He pushed off the truck just as Ranger's cell phone rang again.

Ranger answered it. A few short answers, and Ranger's morning- or early afternoon, whatever it was by now- was shot to hell. "Fuck," he stated flatly, looking up at Steph's window. "I have to go and personally handle this, but I need to stay here with her." He looked down at the ground. "Fuck. This is why relationships don't work for me."

"Guess my watch starts now." Tank checked his gun in his holster and reached into the Bronco for his flak jacket.

Ranger frowned. "This isn't normal circumstances, Tank."

Tank looked at him. "Normal circumstances for Steph aren't normal to begin with."

Ranger didn't respond.

Tank prodded him. "Is this 'isn't normal,' you might get hit with a rocket launcher, or 'isn't normal,' I may end up with a black eye to match yours?"

"You better not get it the way I for mine." Ranger left it at that, taking the keys from Tank.

"A little more information, boss," Tank requested as he dropped the flak jacket back inside the truck.

Ranger considered what to tell Tank. He wanted him prepared, but he also didn't want to spread details that Steph wanted hidden for now. He settled for cryptic, but specific. "Don't ask her about her bruises, don't scare her, and keep Morelli away, even if you have to shoot him." Ranger climbed into the truck and turned the ignition on. "Take her out to breakfast, and I'll be back as soon as I can"

Tank may look like he had more muscle than brain, but that was a common mistake people made about him. He usually chose to use it to his advantage. In truth, he was very perceptive. Ranger didn't have to fill in the blanks for him. He cracked each of his massive knuckles slowly, picturing his meaty fist smashing into Morelli's face. He'd never really liked the cop, anyway.

He saw the curtain in Stephanie's window flutter, a hand visible on the edge. He waved up at her and indicated that he was headed up. He headed into her building, bypassing the elevator for the stairs. When Steph didn't answer by his second knock, he had a twinge of worry. He was ready to pick the lock by the fourth knock when she finally answered it. "Hey, Tank." She stood aside to let him in.

He controlled his reaction. Her eyes was horribly black; a black eye always looked worst the second day, and he really hoped that today was day two. He was so intent on her eye that he almost missed the other assorted bruises. "Hey, Bombshell. Ranger had to leave. Emergency."

"I figured that out." Her voice was unhappy, with a touch of anger. "Are you babysitting today, then?"

Tank shook his head. "I'm escorting. Ranger's black eye tells me that you don't need a babysitter anymore."

"Then why do I need an escort?"

"Because that's what Ranger told me to. He said I'm supposed to take you to breakfast." Tank took a seat on her sofa.

Steph sat down on the opposite end of the sofa, conflicting emotions warring on her face. There was stubbornness, anger, and fear. Tank prepared himself for the worst. Tank genuinely liked Steph; she had guts, was piss-ant riot funny, and damn fine to look at. She'd twisted Ranger up and made him hurt for years, but Tank also knew that it wasn't entirely her fault. Ranger could be difficult and an ass at the best of times. But when stubbornness lost, and Steph meekly- meekly?- asked, "Can I pick where?" Tank was shocked.

Then worried. Bombshell would have lit out of here, like a house on fire, tried to lose him on her way to McDonald's, and then at some heart-stopping point about a half-hour later, when he found her, offer a "sorry" and share her food. Steph was not acting right, and Tank began to wonder what unseen bruises Steph had acquired along with that black eye.

Tank kept his thoughts to himself. "Today, you're the boss. Whatever you want, as long as its not sending me packing." Tank tried to elicit some reaction from her. "Even the mall."

A smile toyed briefly with the corners of her mouth, but never quite made it all the way across. "Good. I have some shopping to do after I cash my check. Let's go." She grabbed her big black coach bag and opened the door.

Tank reluctantly drug himself up. Shit, he'd been joking about the mall. Been there, done that with her, and it was damn scary. And boring. Oh, well. At least he knew he'd eat well today. Steph had much better taste in food then Ranger.

Tank snagged her keys from her hand and locked up behind him, corralling her toward the stairs. Steph weakly protested, but Tank was determined. "No. I don't want to get eyeballed by some creepy old woman," he stated firmly. He loosely gripped her elbow to guide her, but he let go when she hissed. He assumed it was more bruises, and he was careful not to cause her more pain.

She tried to keep pace with him going down the stairs, but it was a struggle for her. Tank slowed just a bit to allow her to match pace with his longer legs easier. "So where to for breakfast, Bombshell?"

"McDonald's."

"Drive-thru?" Tank asked.

"Yeah," she answered. "We'll eat on the way to the bank. By the way, thanks for the chocolate cake. Ranger doesn't understand food very well." Steph looked at Tank out of the corner of her eye. "And after the bank- the mall."

Chapter Five

It was lunch, not breakfast, by the time Tank and Stephanie for to the drive-thru. A large coke and fries later, Steph was felling a bit better. Maybe Ranger really did have work to do, and he didn't leave out of disgust. One deposit slip and a wad of cash in her pocket later, and Steph forgot about Ranger leaving. She was ready to shop.

Tank trailed a few steps behind Stephanie as they entered the mall, but she waited until he caught up. "You're here with me, not following me, right?"

Tank nodded.

"Then don't walk five steps behind me. It makes me nervous." Steph stated.

"Okay." Tank agreed. "But we're not going into Victoria's Secret unless you're modeling."

Steph ignored his comment and lead him into Macy's. She headed the past shoes- another surprise for Tank- for the escalator and the second floor.

"What, no shoes? Not even a quick look?" Tank asked.

Steph shook her head. "Bigger items. Got some redecorating of my own to do today." She stepped off the moving stairs easily, and set off at a fast walk towards furniture. Well, if it's furniture, at least he wouldn't have to lug shopping bags around for her all day, he thought.

Steph stopped in front of the mattress display, suddenly a bit self-conscious. It was weird to shop for a mattress with a guy who wasn't going to share it. She tried to ignore it, at least until Tank chose to speak up. "Uh, Bombshell, don't you already won one of these?"

Steph didn't answer, just started trying out each of the king size mattresses on sale. If she was going to spend this much money, she was going to splurge a little. Tank looked on, not intruding, and most definitely not helping. She took so long and asked so many questions of the saleswoman- and she had specifically waited for the saleswoman as opposed to the salesman present- he began to wish for shoe shopping. He could at least enjoy looking at Steph's legs in those killer heels she went for, then. This was too intimate for him. He'd even rather visit Victoria's Secret.

A half-hour later, Stephanie was a bit poorer and now in need of linens. Tank walked over with her, silent and alert. She was busy looking at a bedspread, and didn't see a little old lady behind her. Tank did, and he reached out to move Steph out of the woman's way. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled.

Things clicked in Tank's head as soon as he lay his arm on her. Steph's reaction completed the story Ranger had declined to tell. A woman like Steph would normally make an innuendo at his sudden closeness or joke about the physical contact. Tank had been around her enough to have experienced it.

But that's not what Steph did today.

Steph's whole body instantaneously stiffened, and her breathing became erratic. She immediately tried to pull herself out of his reach. Tank, being stronger than her, prevented it, but automatically regretted it at the look on her face. She went white, and scared, and her hand reached for the gun she didn't- thankfully- have on right now. When she realized that she didn't have it on, she tried to fight him. Tank continued to move her, pulling her further down another aisle stacked with sheets, and only after surveying the area released her.

"Bombshell," Tank tried to snap her out of it. "Stephanie!"

She looked at him, but she didn't see him. She tried to back away, hands in front of her to protect herself, when he released her, but she only managed to back into a shelf. Tank could see her interior struggle to calm herself. Her gave her a few minutes to let her collect herself. He kept an eye out for anyone intruding on their privacy.

He was going to kill Morelli when he found him.

Steph wouldn't look directly at him. She was so embarrassed that she didn't even want to talk to him. She just wanted to disappear, to melt into the floor. She bit her lip and waited for Tank to yell at her for over reacting. When the dressing down didn't come, she ventured a look at him.

Tank had arranged his face in a carefully neutral expression. This was not the time or place to get into this, but it would have to be done at some point. "You okay now, Bombshell?"

Amazed that Tank hadn't yelled, or even really reacted, Steph managed to nod. "Y-yeah," she stammered. "I'm okay now."

Tank nodded in return. "Do you want to talk about this, or drop it?" Tank's voice was as neutral as his facial expression. He had dealt more than once with the after-effects of rape, and he knew by her reaction that she hadn't even begun to deal with it. He didn't think Steph would talk to him, but she also obviously hadn't talked to Ranger. He fully understood the change in parameters, and Ranger being torn about leaving this morning. She obviously needed to talk to someone, and soon.

"Drop it." Steph visibly pulled herself together. "I've got a bed ensemble to shop for, and new curtains." She turned and headed right back to where she had been looking.

Tank watched her even more closely now, studying her action and reactions. Her fear had done what two years of Ranger and his merry men had not been able to do. Whatever exactly had happened, she was now aware of her surroundings, at least within her line of sight. She looked around constantly, shifted her stance and position regularly, and was ready to move on a moment's notice. In this state, if she had had any really effective fighting training, she would have been deadly.

As much as Tank had wanted to see Steph this capable, he was very upset at what he thought had given it to her. But he also knew that she was going to need some serious training, so that her reactions would be effective and achieve something. Although, reflecting on Ranger's black eye, she seemed to be doing okay for right now.

Tank decided that he would talk to Ranger about the need for training later, then realized that Ranger had probably already thought of it. The question wouldn't be if she should get trained, but who would do it and when would she be ready for it. She would need to handle being that close to a man that could be very dangerous and the close situations necessary to train her.

Steph distracted him. Trying to be friendly, he guessed, she held up two sets of sheets, a warm green and a light khaki. "Hey, Tank. Which do you think would looks better?"

Tank decided to test Stephanie a little bit, needle her. See if... Picking up a deep warm ruby set, he grinned. "Ranger would like these?"

Steph frowned at him, thinking. She ignored the set he held up, studying others, until he moved away. Then she stared at the red- wine, really- for a good five minutes, trying to decide if it was a bit too bordello for her bedroom or not. She dropped the green set, and looking at Tank out the corner of her eye to see if he was watching her, she picked up the red in the correct size.

Color scheme chosen, she was now on a redecorating roll. She moved on the bedspreads and duvet covers, choosing a thick, soft maroon and cream spread with a matching cream dust ruffle. She also picked out new sheer curtains, a light cotton blanket, and a slipcover for her bedroom chair. She had picked up so much stuff that she needed Tank to help her carry it to the register. She noticed he smirked to himself when he saw the colors she had chosen.

Gathering the bags, she announced that she was done shopping and ready to head back home. Tank pretend-pouted, jutting out his full bottom lip. "But I didn't even get to see you try anything on. The last time we went shopping, it was quite a show."

Steph stiffened, but controlled herself better this time. Verbal jests, apparently, did not trouble her the same way that physical actions did. Interesting point to note, which Tank did. "I am not modeling lingerie or fuck me pumps for my..." she paused, obviously looking for a word, "Ranger's best friend. That's a bit kinky for me."

Tank smiled, a wide, genuine smile. "You were going to call him your boyfriend!"

Steph turned furious eyes on him. "I was not. And if you tell him I was, I'll tell him that you suggested I model flimsy underwear for you." She crossed her arms as well as she could, weighed down with so many bags.

Tank shook his head, internally a little afraid of Ranger's reaction if she did that. "Never. Take it to the grave."

Steph narrowed her eyes, trying to decide if he was serious or trying to make fun of her. "I don't like that I can't read you Army guys. Are you making fun of me?"

The humor left Tank instantly. "I am deadly serious. I will not tell him." He paused. "As long as you tell him, and soon."

"What? Are you trying to black mail me?" Steph had shopping bags shifted into one hand and a sharp index finger was pointing into his substantial chest, jabbing to emphasize her words. "I will not be blackmailed into a relationship with Ranger. If I tell him how I feel, I will tell him myself, in my own way, on my own time schedule." Then her eyes widened, she squeaked, and slapped a hand over her mouth, amazed at what she had just so freely admitted.

"Bombshell," Tank said, laying a hand on her cheek. "I would never interfere in your relationship with Ranger. But I wish the two of you would sit and have a serious talk sometime soon." Then he turned and silently obliged Steph's request to go home. He led the way, making sure that she was only a step or two behind. Having given Stephanie something else to dwell on, other then whatever had happened with Morelli, she had largely returned to her usual self. As he continued to observe her on the way to the car and during the drive back to her apartment, he wondered if he had misread her a bit earlier. Maybe there was more to this constant, emotional state than just Morelli. He didn't think that he had misread her, but there was always the possibility. Ranger had at least hinted at what Tank's personal assessment led him to believe.

The ride home gave Steph time to think. Her reaction in the store to Tank's simple touch kept replaying in her head, despite her efforts to lock it down. By the time the Bronco eased into her lot, she was tightly wound, trying very hard to seem normal; she was so tightly wound, she felt as if she would break.