Disclaimer: I own nothing, sadly.

A/N: Cupcake fic to the max! Although this chapter might seem a bit Babe-y. Probably there will just be one or two chapters after this.

Summary: After witnessing Stephanie and Ranger's heavy flirtation at the bonds office, Joe decides to turn on-again, off-again into off forever. Can Stephanie change his mind? Does she want to?

On My Mind.

"Please."

Even as I said the word, I could feel myself pulling an irritated face, my toes begging to tap impatiently and my arms itching to cross. Not the right attitude when looking for a favor, but I'm from Jersey. The extra-small t-shirt should have excused me of these formalities. Ranger seemed to disagree.

My name is Stephanie Plum, and I'm a bounty hunter, although sometimes I wonder if I'm better suited for an easier job. Like coal mining.

I'd been working on the same FTA for three days now; Ciro de Luca, part man and (larger) part worm, wanted for grand theft auto. I picked him because he wasn't armed. What I didn't know was the he was the wiliest little shit ever, with eyes on the back of his head, and who had probably been a track star in high school. I've run into him twice, and couldn't even lay a finger on his grubby shirt.

"Ask nicely," Ranger was standing so close that I could feel his breath on my face, and our bodies were touching in places that they definitely shouldn't be. I had to not think about it, so I could keep breathing.

"I am asking nicely."

"You can be nicer than that."

Oh no. Ranger was in a flirty mood. I briefly checked the clock; Morelli was picking me up in fifteen minutes, so at least if Ranger got me into a state I could get Morelli to take me back out of it tonight. And it was guilt free, almost. I had a feeling that even though Morelli would be getting the physical gratification, he might not be pleased if he learned why.

"Pretty, pretty please, with a cherry on top," I said in a perfect monotone. Ranger gave me his hint of a smile, and my stomach did a somersault. He reached a hand around, tangling his fingers into the hair on the nape of my neck. I swear to god, Ranger will kill me some day. If he keeps doing stuff like this, my heart might explode.

"How about pretty, pretty please, with a Stephanie on top?"

Yikes. I was sure that he could feel my heart beating. That must be the reason his usually implicit smile had become a real smirk.

"What do you want?" I sighed and tried to take a step back, but Ranger held me securely by the scruff of my neck. His eyes darkened.

"Kiss me."

There was no way out of it. Honest to God. I'm not usually such a slut, but when it comes to Ranger all of my rules and morals seem to fly out the window. Ranger wanted to kiss me, and I wanted help picking up de Luca. The problem was, I also wanted to kiss Ranger. And that fact made me a little sad; I was disappointed in myself, but I kissed him anyway. I tried to make it chaste. A quick peck on the corner of his mouth, but he caught my lips with his own, and coerced them open. His hands had disentangled themselves from my hair and were sinking lower, resting in the small of my back. I felt my own hands impulsively grasping at the front of his tight black shirt. I responded, and forgot about Joe entirely.

When we stopped to breath, I spotted Lula flapping her arms wildly over Ranger's shoulder. She reminded me sharply of the flock of geese that stole my box of Cracker Jacks, once upon a time. She kept opening and closing her mouth, bouncing up and down. I gave her my best huh face, and finally she gave up.

"Joe!" She shouted.

There are a few images that just stick with me, no matter how many greased-down FTAs I wrestle, or dead bodies I stumble across. One is finding Lula bloodied up on my fire escape. Another is Joe's face when I finally turned around. Until that moment, my mind had been racing, reaching desperately for excuses that refused to materialize and pleading to all the gods in history that he'd somehow not seen. Then I saw his face, and I couldn't think at all.

It should have gone like this: Morelli comes to pick me up from work, to take me to my parents from dinner. I can tell even before he says a word that we won't make it to their house: his eyes are pools of liquid chocolate, and he's feeling particularly touchy, running his fingertips across my exposed skin. Every place he touches becomes warm. It's not a massage or anything, but somehow all my muscles relax until I'm a puddle of goo in the passenger seat of his SUV. His voice is husky with desire.

"Let's stop home first. Bob misses you."

He started calling his house home a few weeks ago. I couldn't bring myself to correct him, and I couldn't admit to myself that maybe, somewhere deep down, where I was more honest, I called it home, too.

"I miss Bob," I'll rest my hand on his leg, and he'll press heavily onto the gas pedal.

Instead, he was there for a second, and I don't think I could have looked at him for much longer. His eyes were blackened, cold. His body still had its angles, but they had changed, becoming dangerously sharp. He turned on his heel, stormed out. I tried to follow, by my feet wouldn't move, like they'd been nailed to the ground. And there was Ranger, who hadn't spoken a word, but refused to release his hold on me. I heard a car door slam, and his SUV screamed into traffic, heading anywhere. Anywhere except my parent's house.

"Well shit," Lula just stood there, trying to process what had happened. I was probably doing the same, gears turning and steam pouring out of my ears. What just happened?

"Babe?" Ranger's single word panacea broke me out of my thought. I licked my lips. They were salty. Was Ranger crying? Never, so the tears must have been mine.

Contrary to popular belief, I'm not stupid. It's not like I didn't know that there was something between them. I've seen the way they look at each other, and I've heard all the rumors. I've gone out of my way to avoid running into her when I know he might be there. I didn't care though, because I love her. And I thought she loved me too. That at least she loved me more. So maybe I am stupid.

I could see her kissing him. The image had burned itself into my retinas and superimposed itself onto the highway in front of my car. I knew that I needed to get myself off the road, but I was afraid to go back to the house. I was afraid that Stephanie would come home, and I'd blow up at her. I was more afraid that she wouldn't come home at all.

I pulled into the parking lot of the 7-11 and called Costanza. He picked up on the third ring, sounding tired as hell.

"Ask me for help on another case and I'll put a bullet between your eyes."

Not the best greeting, although it was welcoming to know that I wasn't the only miserable person here.

"It's over with Steph."

A pause. That probably wasn't the response he'd expected. We'd been on again for a while now. So long that we'd almost dropped the again, and become just on. Or at least I thought so.

"How over? Two days? Three weeks?"

"Over, over. Forever over," my voice cracked. Forever over. I couldn't seem to wrap my head around the concept. Even staring at the empty passenger's seat I could see her. She's only ridden in the SUV a handful of times, but that was enough for her to just be there every time I looked. "Shit."

"Where are you?"

"7-11."

"Stay there. I'll come pick you up."

The phone rang as soon as I hung up, the tiny screen informing me that Cupcake was on the line. I traced the curves of the letters with my thumb until they were gone, replaced by One Missed Call. The phone rang, and it was her again. Two missed calls, and a voicemail. My heart didn't want to hear her voice or what she had to say, but my thumb did, and that appendage had a bit more sway.

"Joe. Are we fighting, Joe? I'm home, so you have to come back. Yell some, and wave your arms." I couldn't believe she was joking. I felt sick, and I wondered if she was right. If waving my arms and shouting could possibly make me feel better. Make us better, just like all the other times. "Please, Joe." Her voice cracked, and I thought she might have been crying. I don't know why. I was the one who should be crying. "Dammit." Click. A computer let me know that if I pressed 7, I could erase her message. I hung up instead.

Costanza tapped on the window and opened the door.

"Hand it over," he commanded. I reached for my gun. "Not the gun, the cellphone." I gave it to him. He paused, looking me over, assessing a fresh crime scene. "The gun, too."

We went back to his place. He got two beers from the refrigerator and a stack of cult horror movies. He didn't even ask if I wanted to talk about. I appreciated the quiet understanding between us. Now that Steph was gone, Carl would have to be my best friend. I shared this sentiment with him after I had a few more beers, and he found it much funnier than I did.

Halfway through the Satanic Rites of Dracula, the doorbell rang. Whoever was outside leaned on the doorbell, and I knew it was her. Carl grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and dragged me, stumbling, into the kitchen. He closed the door.

"Stay in there."

I pressed my ear against the door. In my mind's eye, I could see Steph shouldering her way into the house, taking in the mess; two beers on the table, and eight empty bottles on the floor. She'd know I was here.

"Where's Joe? I need to talk to him."

I could hear her voice clearly. She was standing just on the other side. There were only two inches of door between us, and 63 fights, and 62 make-ups, 13 attempts at living together, innumerable nights together, and immeasurable feelings.

"He left already," Carl was a shitty liar. I'm sure that while he said those words, his eyes were darting towards the kitchen door. I took a step back, to avoid getting hit when she swung it open. My mind was clear, sober, as long as I didn't more too quickly.

"Hey," I said, bracing myself against the kitchen table.

"Joe, I can explain. It was just some stupid deal. It was a joke. I needed help on a case," she was stumbling over her own words, trying to get it all out, but before what? Before I blew up at her? I didn't feel like blowing up. I felt like taking a nap.

"And the other times?" I was surprised by the deadpan of my voice. It didn't even sound like me. She seemed surprised to, opening and closing her mouth a few times before answering.

"What other times?"

"Stephanie," my head started pounding. I knew that logically it was impossible to be hung over, since I hadn't fallen asleep yet, but that's what it felt like. Like my body was rejecting my life. "Stephanie, I'm so tired. I'm too tired, Steph. Can we please just end this?"

"For how long?"

Forever.

I wanted to scream it, but I couldn't. Steph just stood there, waiting for me to answer. Like she thought there could possibly be a sentence less severe: A three-week break-up, for the crime of falling in love with someone else. I was setting her free, giving her a guiltless relationship with Manoso. So why did she look so sad?

There was an empty wine glass on the table. I remembered that night, a few weeks ago, when we were trying to figure out a date for our anniversary. We'd broken up and gotten together so often that probably every day of the month was an anniversary of sorts. So she took out the special occasion wineglasses, and poured our beer into them. We tried to do that thing where you link arms to drink, but she started laughing so hard that she poured most of the beer onto her shirt. She took off her shirt.

The empty wine glass was in my hand. Then, the empty wine glass was in pieces on the floor between us. Ahh, there was my Italian temper. I was wondering where I'd lost it.

We both stared at the fragments, dumbfounded. Carl stepped in at this point, and I sort of wish he'd stepped in sooner. I wondered how long it would take for the news of my domestic violence spread throughout the Burg. I hadn't meant to throw it. I just didn't want to hold it anymore.

"Joe, go upstairs. Go to sleep," Steph wouldn't move while Carl pushed me towards the staircase. For a long second, our shoulders touched, and I was looking straight into her watery blue eyes. Then they were gone, and I was lying on his bed with my shoes off, listening to their hushed voices downstairs. I felt like a little boy again.

I knew that as soon as I closed my eyes, I would dream about her. The dream would start from the beginning, the same way it did every time we broke up. Not when she was hunting me down after she became a bounty hunter, or that afternoon at the Tasty Pastry. Or even the infamous choo-choo incident. The beginning was the first time I saw her, when I was six and she was four. Her family sat next to mine at the church; She wouldn't shut up or sit still during the service. When it finally finished, she introduced herself as Catwoman, and then head butted me so hard that I blacked out. When I woke up a few moments later, she was on my mind.

Now Catwoman had her Batman, and I was alone. But besides that nothing changes. I fall asleep, and I wake up, and she's on my mind.

..Review please! And keep an eye out for the next chapter, featuring an awkward date with Ranger!