Disclaimer – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. This is not for profit, just for kicks.
Xy's 4th of July Challenge – PerfectlyPlum, July 2011
Ranger's Red Glare
By PinPin
A streak of white fire split the night sky. Pbbfffffzzzzzzeeeeeee… Its tail faded away before igniting again, blooming in a scarlet shower of light. BOOM!
Stephanie sighed and trudged down the block to where her Q7 was parked at a small distance from the expanding, strobing, technicolor crime scene. Not far from her car, were two black trucks. A thick knot of Rangemen had appeared only moments before the police and fire departments. They stood back, watching the spectacle with raised, gadgety cell phones, recording it all for posterity and future nights filled with drunken boasting and hilarity.
"Well, this is definitely the most dramatic so far," one of the strong deep voices commented. "I didn't think anything could top what happened at the Outdoor Living Expo, but this might make the national news."
"No chance this takes longer than an hour to go viral," said another.
Yet a third lamented, "I wish we could sell tickets to these things."
But there was one man who wasn't smiling. Keeping one eye on Stephanie, Tank watched the sparking sky with numb detachment. The house burned unevenly, spitting forth picturesque explosions at unpredictable intervals. It lacked the precision of coordinated, holiday pyro-displays and sounded out in an irregular rhythm, eerily mimicking the chaotic tattoo of scattered ordnance colliding with crumbling landmarks and broken cityscapes. "I'd hoped I'd never hear sounds like that in person again," he murmured to the other men, draining the levity from the moment and replacing it with dark, fading memories of nights when it had rained sandy dirt on tarp canopies and the shudder of the ground worked its way deep into tired bones.
A strong gust of wind swept chemical ash and the scent of burnt sulfur across rooftops and through trees, finally swirling back down to Earth to settle its dusty payload amongst the awestruck witnesses. Behind the house, the garage collapsed in a giant puff of embers that threatened to ignite the dry twigs and leaves littering the alley and neighboring yard. In front of the charred heep was a rusted out Mark VI that had finally seen its last serviceable day. The car wasn't so much damaged as it was simply upside down. Watching the tow truck driver scratch his head, Tank was thankful that for once the recovery of the vehicle wasn't his responsibility. Stephanie's car had miraculously survived the incident unscathed.
He pulled a packet of wet wipes out of his pocket as he made his way over to her. "You've got a little something," he said, pointing to her cheek.
From crown to ground, she was grimey with soot and gravelly soil from when she'd dived for cover. Accepting the wipes with a pursed frown, she asked, "Do you know what it looks like when thirty thousand sparklers ignite at the same time?"
"No," he answered with a straight face. "Was it pretty?"
"It was horrifying," she cried. "It looked like the fourth dimension caught on fire and was in so much pain that space and time threw up on each other. At least I think that's what happened; I got a D in physics."
Tank didn't answer. He stood silently watching her dab at her hands and arms.
"Don't laugh," she ordered, correctly interpreting his silence as mirth-preventative.
"I won't." He noticed the blood on the used wipes as she tucked them back into the empty package. "You're bleeding. Do you need the paramedics to look at you?"
Stephanie glanced over at the idling ambulance with a scowl.
He followed her gaze and gently held up one of her arms, inspecting the scratches that ran down from her elbow. "Wouldn't you rather endure a ten minute check right now instead of being admitted tomorrow because you ignored a problem tonight?"
"Nice try, but I'm immune to level-headed notions."
"Do you really want me to try harder?" he asked and clearly read her answer in her crooked attempt to raise only one eyebrow. "Bobby then, at least?" he conceded.
She nodded her agreement immediately, a sign of how tired she truly was. "I swear all I did was step onto the stoop," she said. "I wasn't even within arm's reach of the door when the whole thing just lit up like a beacon for intergalactic travelers."
Tank held up her other arm for inspection, finding similar spots of road rash. His fingers then grazed a path at the side of her neck where glowing shrapnel had left a series of small cuts and burns. "Well, even if it wasn't friendly, at least it was a warm welcome."
"Don't laugh; it isn't funny," she demanded. "It's tragic. How high do you think people have to be before deciding it's a good idea to use a house for both their meth lab and storage space? They'd loaded up the attic, second floor, and garage with hazardous chemicals and their full inventory of illegal fireworks!"
Tank was silent again.
"You want to laugh though," she accused. "Everyone else did."
"Not me," he insisted. He held her eye and asked, "can I smile?"
Stephanie planted her hands on her hips. "Why?"
The ends of his lips curved upward and he took a step closer, "I like fireworks." He brushed some hair from her face and pulled out several blades of dead grass tangled in the curls. "Besides, how often do the stars align as perfectly as this? This is impressive, even for you."
She squinted in disbelief. "You think this is perfect?"
He pulled her even closer to him, stepping to the side to hide them further behind the far end of the nearby fire engine. Bursts of light in every color flared and faded above them while rotating red and blue lights flashed on either side. "It's the best kind of perfect."
They mirrored each others' smiles. Even lifted on her toes, steadying herself with a hand on his chest, stretching her neck; Tank still needed to lower his head for her to reach his lips. He waited a beat to watch her long lashes flutter closed before shutting his own eyes and closing the distance, gently tasting her.
She loved how soft and full his lips felt. He loved the way she had to spread her smaller, thinner, fingers as wide as they'd go in order to thread them through his. He felt her breathing quicken while she felt his heart pound. What was developing between them was still new enough to be exciting, a push and pull of exploration, learning each other and what they could be together.
He kept possession of her hands and spoke quietly, "you scared me."
"I didn't do anything. It wasn't my fault."
"I know and I don't care," he said, "I was scared anyway."
Stephanie kissed him again, tracing his lips with the tip of her tongue until he let her in to soothe his fears with warm, intimate caresses.
When they broke apart again, Tank searched Stephanie eyes with undisguised wariness. "Ranger's back," he said. "He's on his way here."
Stephanie's eyes bulged. "What?"
"He's been back for a week," Tank confessed with more than a little worry about how she'd react, "and I begged him to go see you."
She nodded her head in understanding, but the information wasn't fully registering. "Did you tell him about us?"
"No, and I made sure no one else has either," he vowed. His hand cupped her cheek. "I promised. You'll decide how and when."
"Well I can't tell him right now, not here, not like this," she said, pushing him and stepping away to a distance far less cozy. "And until I do…" she trailed off when she saw the sudden change come over Tank's features and felt a chill grip her chest. Like an ice bath, it hit her; that creeping tingle along her neck.
"I'm so sorry, Steph," Tank whispered, looking over her shoulder at something across the street, "but he already knows now."
She snapped her head around to find Ranger standing there in the street, watching them, as rigid and ominous as the bronze Leonidas. His angry stare burned a bloody red and brighter than flames.
Stephanie's hand automatically found its way back into Tank's, tangling their fingers once again. As his firm, devoted grip tightened for a moment, his thumb soothed over her tense knuckles. Stephanie's own hand mimicked the gesture and gave an answering squeeze. They would confront the firestorm together.
(1,410 words)
A/N: Special thanks go out to BoxsterGirl for her generous input and help with revisions. This is a one-shot, written in response to a group challenge at Y!PerfectlyPlum. (Though I may consider adding to this at some point in the future.) Thank you for reading.