Earlier this week I had an idea for a short story, but, working pretty much full time as I've been temporarily been promoted to Acting Assistant Coordinator, I've had barely any time for anything but sleeping. Until zee weekend. It's amazing what you can do on five extra hours of sleep.

Part 1

"No," Lester said in his best imitation of an interior designer with less interest in ladies than he had in curtains. "No, no, no, no. This just will not do!" He pinch his forehead and turned away with a flourish. "I can't work like this. It's atrocious. Did Cannibals set this up?"

I looked around the large conference room we'd just spent two hours decorating and couldn't see anything wrong with it. At least nothing that should worry burly men who enjoyed crawling through scrub for years. Streamers were draped rather artfully from the pendant light in the centre of the room to evenly spaced points around the room. Balloons, in groups of three, were tacked to the wall to add to the festive feel. The massive mahogany table that usually occupied the majority of the room had been removed, though I'm unsure how they could possibly have fit it through the door, and replaced with a few smaller tables I'd never seen before.

"There's nothing wrong with it," I pointed out, plucking a piece of streamer from the bottom of my shoe where it had latched on.

"Where is the ice sculpture? The mood lighting? The glitter!"

Ranger shook his head as he descended the step ladder for what must have been the millionth time as he adjusted the fairly lights I'd insisted he hang up. "It's just Tank, Santos. He'd be happy with a punch to the shoulder and a welcome back."

This was true. But having been on leave for the last three month months while he came to terms with his sudden lack of limb, I thought it would be nice to through him a welcome home party instead. Just to show that we missed him. Because we had. With him out of the building, there was no one to loom silently over you while you attempted to work. No one to boom instructions across the comm. floor when they could have easily been spoken in a whisper and heard just as well.

"At the very least, tell me you remembered to hire the quartet I suggested," Lester bemoaned, sinking dramatically into a chair.

I chuckled. He most certainly had not suggested a quartet, but everyone knew Tank enjoyed classical music. "We thought we'd just borrow Binkie's sound system," I explained, taking a seat next to him.

The sound that came out of Lester's mouth reminded me of a wounded bull. "You're killing my muse."

"Suck it up, Santos," Ranger said, the slightest smile curving the very edge of his lips as he crossed the space between us and snaked his fingers up my spine until they rested at the base of my skull, inching into the tangle of curls there. Leaning down to press a kiss to the top of my head, he let me know, "We're done decorating, Bobby should be here in a minute to help Ella set up the food. Tank's due in about fifteen."

"Cutting it fine," I pointed out. It was no secret that Tank liked to be early, so when we said he was due in fifteen minutes, we really meant he'd be here any moment. "Do you think he'll like it?"

"Tank has an inability to not like things that have your mark on them," Lester drawled. "We all do. You're our kryptonite."

"Really?" Ranger said. "Making Superman references in front of Batman?" Surprised, I let out a bark of laughter. Lester, too, seemed to be struggling with controlling his reactions. "What's so funny?" Ranger asked.

"That's the first time you've referred to yourself as Batman," I pointed out.

"You're rubbing off on me," he explained. "Damaging my mental capacities for controlling my mouth."

I was glaring half-heartedly at him when the door opened to admit first a trolley full of food, and then Ella.

"Where's Bobby?" I asked, knowing he would never have let her push the trolley herself if it was that full.

"He got a phone call," Ella explained. "He's just outside." Her warm gaze travelled from me with Ranger still tangled in hair to the rest of the room and her smile grew. "It looks marvellous!" she enthused. "I'll just set these up over here in the corner."

"Lester will help," Ranger said pointedly. Giving one last gentle squeeze to my skull, he extracted his hand from my hair and headed for the door, presumably to check on Bobby. He'd barely stuck his head out into the hall, however, when Bobby's urgent voice cut through the air.

"Everly's on the move," he announced.

Not even a beat passed before Ranger's reply: "Let's roll."

I was on my feet and following the men down the stairwell before I'd even fully registered what was going on. Everly… Johnny Everly. A shudder ran down my spine as I recalled exactly who this was. He was a convicted woman abuser and rapist, but had recently turned his hands to children instead. How he'd gotten out on bail was beyond any of our reasoning, but the point was he'd skipped out and the guys had been charged with bringing his ass back in. For obvious reasons, I had not been allowed out on any of the field work for this guy. And as I burst out of the stairwell door several seconds after everyone else, I found myself swiftly taken up in my fiancée's arms.

"Stay here, Babe," he said softly. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you."

"I feel the same about you," I informed him solemnly. I knew he was looking out for my safety, but I suddenly had a bad feeling. "Don't go," I pleaded.

"I have to. I'll be fine."

I shook my head firmly. "Then I'm coming with you," I told him, reefing myself out of his arms and crossing to the SUV Bobby had idling.

"Babe," Ranger called after me, a warning tone in his voice. But I ignored him. My gut was telling me I had to go with them, so I had to go with them. It was as simple as that. I turned to tell him as much, but my gaze caught on the opening of the gate and the black SUV pulling into the garage. It was Tank.

"I'll ride with Tank," I suggested, suddenly desperate. Tank still wasn't fit for full active duty, but he was fit enough to be moving around finally. "We'll cover you from the street. We'll stay in the car."

"What's going on?" Tank asked, sticking his head out the window.

"Everly's on the move," I said before Ranger could instruct him to keep me here. "Ranger, Bobby and Lester are going in. We're back up."

For a split second, Tank met Ranger's eyes over my shoulder. I don't know what he saw there, or what was said through their telepathic connection, but in the next moment Tank was commanding me to jump in. The moment I was inside the vehicle, pulling on my seatbelt while Tank received directions from Ranger, the lock on the door clicked down. Tank must have hit the child lock button. Figures that'd be the only way Ranger would allow me to go on this mission.

*o*

The guys had crept inside the building fifteen minutes ago, and every passing second that they did not emerge with Johnny Everly in tow made me more nervous. I couldn't sit still, but I couldn't get out either, not unless Tank hit the door release, which we both knew would never happen. Tank was under strict, unspoken instructions to keep me safe. Allowing me out of the vehicle was violating direct orders.

"Tell me about how the wedding planning is going," Tank suggested, stretching out both arms. The empty space where his forearm and hand should have been sent a nervous flip through my stomach. Originally, the only problem he'd had was a nasty bullet wound from a stray gunshot on the job, they'd fixed him up at the hospital and sent him off to heal, but when a nasty infection set in and he continually ignored the signs, shrugging it off as the standard itch of healing, doctors were forced to amputate just below the elbow. Luckily for him, he'd already been proficient at doing things one handed from his training in the military where he was often required to hold a gun while carrying out tasks. "Have you chosen a dress yet?"

Last week I'd visited Tank to check on him after an all-day dress shopping session with my mother and brides maids – Mary Lou, Lula and Ranger's sister, Celia – I'd inadvertently complained a him for half an hour about how the women couldn't keep their opinions to themselves. Every dress I tried on had some flaw, no matter how much I liked it. It was too straight, too full, too ruffled, too plain, too much bling, not enough bling, it didn't give me enough cleavage, it gave me too much cleavage. You name it, I'd heard it.

I sighed, fishing a random receipt from the bottom of my handbag and starting to tear tiny pieces off creating confetti in my lap. "Not yet. I'm pretty sure if I ever want to make a decision I'll have to go on my own, pick a dress and wear their opinions when they finally see it. It's just impossible to please everyone."

"You shouldn't have to please them," Tank assured me. "You should find a dress that you love and wear it."

I nodded. "Finding the perfect dress is hard, though," I informed him. "I keep trying to think of what Ranger would choose for me to wear."

"Something you're comfortable in, and something that accents your long neck," Tank said at once. "If you like, I can come with you next time instead."

"That might work," I agreed. "You know Ranger better than an-."

I was cut off by a sudden loud crack. The unmistakeable sound of a gunshot nearby. As one, we turned to peer through the front windscreen as glass rained down from an above window. All the breath rushed out of my lungs, however, as I caught sight of a black clad body plummeting toward the earth. My eyes widened. I knew that body. I was well acquainted with that body.

Ranger.

His descent seemed impossibly slow, like I was watching a video frame by frame, his long ponytail whipping around, his clothes billowing upward. Body folded almost double from the force of the wind as he sped through the air. He hit the ground and I half expected his body to be torn limb from limb, like a pumpkin shattering on impact. But it didn't. An impossibly still moment passed. Surely he would get up, I though. But he didn't. All I could do was stare, willing him to move, twitch, inhale, something. But he didn't. He just lay on the asphalt, his limbs spread in positions I'd only ever seen on dropped rag dolls.

The strange reverie I'd slipped into was broken by Tank softly uttered, "Fuck."

"Ranger!" I screamed belatedly, clawing at the door latch, trying to get out. It took Tank a moment of fumbling to hit the release, and I was stumbling toward my fiancée, vision blurring and unblurring as I moved. Tank's one arm wrapped solidly around my waist drawing me back, just as I reached Ranger. "Ranger!" I implored, willing him to open his eyes and assure me he was okay as I scratched at Tanks arm.

"Slow down, Steph," Tank instructed, his voice low and calm. "Take it easy."

"LET ME GO!" I cried, somehow managing to extricate myself from the man's grasp and throw myself down on my knees, my hands fluttering helplessly over Ranger's chest and head as I assessed his injuries. There was blood pooling up from a wound in his chest and more seeping out from under his body. Too much blood. Too much red. A sob wrenched itself from my chest. Finally, I reached my fingers out and pressed them against his neck, the palm of my other hand caressing the side of his face gently. I couldn't feel anything. There was no fluttering beneath my fingertips.

"Tank," I said urgently, loudly, but he was already knelt on the other side, his one hand moving methodically from pulse point to pulse point, trying to find any sign of life. "Don't be dead," I muttered under my breath, following Tank's actions on my side. "Don't be dead," I repeated. "Don't." I pressed my ear to his chest, opposite the bullet wound, not caring that the side of my face would be covering in his blood.

"Steph he's -."

"No!" I shouted, shaking my head. "No! He's – he's not! You're not a medic you can't make that call." I took Ranger's face in both my hands, fingertips digging lightly into his hairline. "Ranger wake up," I pleaded. "Please." I leaned down once more and pressed my lips firmly to his mouth. There was no response. No air left his mouth. Nothing moved. "Ranger," I sobbed.

"Steph?"

This time it was Bobby's voice. I snapped my head up, meeting his eyes, even as I struggled to pull his face into focus. "Fix him," I demanded. "You can fix it. I know you can. You've-"

"You need to move back so I can," he said gently. Nodding, I somehow managed to remove my hands from my fiancé so Bobby could start CPR, absently wondering why Tank or I hadn't thought to do so as the sound of sirens pierced my ears.

In a matter of moments the scene was flooded by Ambulances and Police cars, both marked and unmarked, but I couldn't take my eyes off Ranger. He still hadn't shown signs of life but the paramedics had examined him and instructed Bobby to stop CPR. The next thing I knew they were drawing a sheet up over him. A strangled cry tore from my throat. I clawed frantically at the arms holding me back, but this time they would not let go. I screamed, and cried and clawed, and then suddenly, the world went black.

I'll be back soon (hopefully) to finish the story.