Perspectives

A/N: Hi everyone! It's good to be back and I hope you enjoy what I've come up with this time. The plan is to build up a collection of one shots, each from a different character's pov, maybe taking in some of the more periphery characters too – I'm not sure as I haven't gotten that far yet! Huge thanks to JazMitch for the encouragement and tweaking suggestions! You were all so wonderful in your support of Always There that I really cannot thank you and tell you how much I appreciate that enough. That has though, made me a tad nervous about this – maybe I should have quit whilst I was ahead lol! Anyhow, here we go with number 1. Enjoy! Xx

Ranger

He kept his eyes closed and made himself relax and wait – he'd played this game before and experience taught him that if he could just give himself some time, he'd be able to orientate and remember. He went through his checklist. Sights, smells, tactile and environmental responses, sounds, physical awareness – any elements that could make up his self driven 'cognitive interview'. It was an old trick, still taught: don't open your eyes until you've given yourself time to orientate to some degree. It helps you keep the 'edge' – and that 'edge' keeps you alive.

The smell. That was the first thing that he became completely aware of. Clean. Sterile. Familiar. A hospital?

He listened. A soft beeping, footsteps and some chatter. In the distance. Couldn't make out the language but the tones were not hostile.

Tactile. The linens felt good and clean. Pillows and bed - comfortable.

Sights/environmental. Turning his head very slightly, the insides of his closed eyelids became redder. A light was to his left. Not too bright. A lamp maybe?

Physical awareness. Mild headache. Toes could wiggle and he could feel the flex of his calf and thigh muscles. Spinal cord in tact. He took a shallow breath in. Pain. Ribs cracked or severely bruised. Soreness on his torso and upper arms. Clean air.

Conclusion. He was definitely in a hospital, and from the 'feel' of the room, he was alone. The clean linens and smell suggested he was safe.

Cracking open his eyes, he gave himself a minute for his vision to sharpen and then looked around. Yep, hospital. In his own room. Everything neat and spotlessly clean. Looking down at himself, he saw the drip in one arm and the monitors attached to his fingers and chest. Bandages covered his ribs and dressings were on his upper arms and chest. Turning towards the beside table he saw the obligatory jug of water and his dog tags – the chest wounds must have been bad.

Any further judgements were interrupted by the door opening and a figure that he recognised immediately, stepping in.

"At last, Sleeping Beauty awakes! About fucking time!"

He couldn't help but smile, but before Ranger could ask anything, Ram stepped back outside and called for a nurse. It was another few minutes before the two men were again alone and able to talk.

"Ok, first things first," started Ram. "How are you man? I mean seriously, you worried the shit out of us for a while there."

Ranger looked at his friend and colleague and smiled to himself. The professional line he and his men drew was baffling to others. Ram would never have spoken to him like that back in the RangeMan offices. But here, in the US Military Hospital in Germany – at least that was fairly sure he was – Ram was a buddy, even though Ranger was his commanding officer. Specialist Units like theirs didn't have the need for rank in the same way that the regular military units did. Bringing himself back to answering the question, he looked over at his friend – and the best sniper in the business.

"I'll live," he replied calmly, "although I think you're in a better position than I am to make that call."

He saw the beginnings of a smile on Ram's face, but also the underlying concern –it must have been bad for his brothers-in-arms to be concerned, especially after all they'd been through, all they'd seen.

"I'm good," he added, reassuringly. "I've felt worse. I assume we're at Landstuhl?"

Ram nodded his confirmation. Ranger continued.

"And so I guess that the Brass have told you not to tell me anything other than the basics as I've got to put it all in a report before I get to go home?"

The beginnings of the smile Ram had showed earlier formed into an all out grin.

"Bastards," he heard Ranger mutter under his breath, making his grin even wider.

Ranger let out an uncomfortable breath, the burning sensation in his ribs making it difficult.

"Okay, so tell me what you can."

"You've been here three days where you've been unconscious for most of it, mainly due to the drugs they pumped into you. You've probably catalogued your injuries by now, but basically you have busted and bruised ribs, concussion, various cuts and a couple of burns and other wounds that were so infected it would have made a skunk vomit. Oh, and you have a catheter in and you were pissing blood for a couple of days," said Ram cheerfully. He looked towards the plastic sack at the side of the bed. "Looks okay now though.."

Ranger couldn't help but chuckle and instantly regretted it.

"I guess the nurse has let the Brass know you've come round," continued Ram, "so when they come to see you, can you ask the about calling home? "

"Fuck Ram, my parents don't know I'm here do they?" asked Ranger, barely containing his anger at the thought.

"Not that I'm aware of. Sorry, I meant RangeMan. The guys….. I mean… you were in a bad way when we got you here…"

Ranger leaned back, his memory suddenly coming back to him. Lester, Ram, Tank and Manny all shouting, running, him being carried in a portable field stretcher. One of them took point, the other the rear. He heard the whirl of the chopper blades, the screams of the crew to hurry, the defeaning sounds of gunfire, felt himself being unceremoniously dragged onto the chopper, smelt the nitroglycerin from the ammo and the odour – a mix of adrenaline and grease from the 'bird'. And the pain. Searing pain. Lester's voice screaming 'go, go, go.' Then nothing.

"…and well Steph…" added Ram.

Ranger's head snapped up, causing him to grimace.

"What about Steph?" he demanded.

"She's fine boss. Just, well, you know, the rest of the guys arrived home, you didn't….. They say she went a little crazy there. Bobby gave her just enough sedative for Lester to be able to tell her that you were still alive, but…"

"Steph, being Steph, won't believe until I walk through the door," finished Ranger with a smile.

"That about sums it up. I guess when you love someone as much as…" Ram pulled himself up quickly and breathed a sigh of relief when the door burst open and a deputation of doctors and officers walked in. He sprang to attention in the presence of his superior officers, if not his superior soldiers.

"Dismissed Martinez," barked one of the officers. Ram caught Ranger's eye and subtle nod as he about turned and left the room to make the 'phone call everyone at Haywood was stoically, but anxiously, awaiting.

ooOoo

It was standard procedure, but it was still a pain in the ass. Reports had to be filed – especially when the mission when FUBAR, as this one undoubtedly had. The way they collected the reports had changed though. Some bright spark psychologist had now decided that the best way to get an accurate report was to have the soldier tell what happened in his own words into a Dictaphone. To ensure no outside influence, he or she was to be kept in isolation until the report was recorded. It would then be compared to the others and then it would be decided if face to face debriefing was necessary. The problem was, for the most part, the guys making that decision had never seen a minute of front line service and so couldn't understand why certain decisions were made or actions taken. Often, a number of the guys had been asked if they'd talk to a shrink about how they coped under extreme duress. They all said the same; the training was first class and they all fell back on that. It was true – but there was more. That more was personal to each man, each had their own coping strategy and it was like, by talking about it, by letting out in the open, it was letting it escape. No, they would never talk about it, not even amongst themselves.

So here he was, Dictaphone in hand, trying to remember what the hell had happened in enough detail to satisfy those that needed to know, for no apparent reason other than to add to a large pile of filing.

He had detailed the first part of the mission. It should have been a straight forward 'snatch and grab'. Silent entry, grab the hostage, get the hell out of Dodge. The team were not even sure who the hostage actually was except that they had extremely sensitive information that was deemed critical to national security. His handler, Nicholls, was a man that Ranger had known for years and would trust with his life, so he knew it was what he said it was. However, it had all gone tits up from the second they entered the dwelling and the only option for escape was to lay down a distraction and create as much mayhem as possible as cover for the team to get the hostage out. Ranger had made the call that he would do this and had been captured as a result.

Now was the hard part. He lay back and forced himself to relax. He'd learned long ago that going over some things were a way of desensitizing, but this was still fresh, the ache in his body an ever present reminder. Taking himself through the sensory checklist he quickly got back to the dark, rank smelling room that he had been kept in.

*FLASHBACK*

He woke up, a bucket of fetid water drenching him. He had not gone down without a fight and he resisted a smile as he looked up to see the swollen, stitched and bruised faces of some of his captors. He had a headache and there was a small pool of blood on the floor, so there was how they finally put him down. He was trussed like a Christmas turkey, hands behind back and ankles tied. This gave him a clue that these were not real professionals. Had they been, his shoulders would have been pulled backwards, the bindings would have gone further up the leg and he'd be in a bent knee position. This was good and bad. Good because amateurs, although they could still hurt, didn't necessarily know how to inflict the worse kind of damage. Bad, because they could kill you accidently by not knowing what they were doing. But he was trained for this and it wasn't his first party. Digging into his 'zone' as Steph called it, he schooled his blank face further.

He was dragged on to a chair and left until the door opened and three men entered the room. Ranger carefully made mental notes in as much detail as he could about them for later. He had also been able to catch a glimpse of weak daylight when the door had opened and figured that it was just after dawn. They had assaulted at 01:00 so he'd been here roughly 4 hours. He knew his team would come back for him and best case scenario meant that they would be back tomorrow or the day after. Knowing the time frame that he had to hang on to always helped. Small goals.

The interrogation began in earnest. Questions, beatings, dowsing with water, more questions, more beatings for what felt like hours. He said nothing. His ribs crunched as they fractured but he consoled himself in that these were street thugs who didn't really know where to hit. And his body was rock hard, offering some protection to his fragile organs. It hurt like a SOB but at least his lungs were still inflated.

He could feel their frustration and knew they would up the ante. They gave him nothing to eat or drink but he had tried to take water from what they had thrown over him as some form of hydration. As they went out the sun was high. He'd made it to the afternoon. They kept him on the chair but every time he tried or move or fall to sleep someone slapped him, kicked the chair over or threw more water over him – only this time is wasn't water. Piss.

The door burst open again and his tormentors came back, this time with a car battery and some sort of prod. He steeled himself. He'd done this before, he'd do it again. Some guys could visualise a different place and take themselves there, but he wasn't one of them. He'd never been able to take himself to a favourite place, he was far too much of a realist for that. No, he had to go deep inside to a mental shelter his training and experience had helped him create. He heard himself scream, but he held strong. By the time they gave up he was in a huge amount of pain and he could see his own body steaming and smell the burning flesh. He was just able to register that it was dark outside. One more day.

Even his captors had to sleep and so there was reprieve from the physical torture. But not the psychological. They wouldn't let him sleep, wouldn't feed him. They gave him a cupful of water to keep him healthy enough to start again, but refused to allow him mental rest. He was tired and knew that he needed to give his mind time to recharge to face what was inevitably to come. His body was getting weaker but the greatest challenge was keeping your mind from becoming so.

Once more, he went through the training in his mind. Knew what he had to do, what he had done in the past had confidence in it and confidence in the men that would come back for him. And Stephanie. What the…? Stephanie. Where had that thought come from? He tried to chase it away – she had no place here, he didn't even want to think about her in this room, didn't want to taint her beautiful, clean spirit by thinking about her in this rat hole. But the image refused to go. Confidence. That was the word that kept coming back. Confident in the fact that she would be there worrying and waiting, regardless of the status of their relationship. When he left she was in an off phase with Morelli, but who knows now? He realised that it didn't matter. She would be there. She would be waiting – as an employee, friend, lover, girlfriend, wife – it didn't matter, but she would be there.

The door burst open again and this time his main antagonist - a guy called Rem - was accompanied by a thin, weasly looking man who was carrying a small, leather pouch. Laying it carefully on the table he took out some syringes and some small vials. Ranger immediately closed his eyes and tuned Rem's voice out. He breathed deeply in spite of the pain and deliberately used techniques to slow his heart rate down. If they followed type, the drugs they would use would heighten pain receptors and/or suppress breathing, giving the subject the feeling of suffocating. If he could lower his heart rate, he could lessen the effects of both of these things and also hope that they would be concerned about killing him. He had overheard the guards talking and from what he could make out, Rem wanted to break him before his boss arrived. Not happening.

Ranger felt his heart rate gradually drop. Again, from nowhere images of Steph swam into his head. He was watching her sleeping. The soft sound of her breathing soothed him like nothing ever could. He loved the little O of her mouth as she slept and the way her curls caught the moonlight as they spread out over the pillow. Somewhere he thought he felt a sharp scratch on his arm. More though, he could feel his Babe snuggle down in his arms and the soft skin that he stroked over and over again. His chest tightened and he thought he felt this teeth grind together, but he was so taken by the image in his head of himself and Steph making love that he could not be torn away. He could see her beautiful face, how the blue of her eyes changed, darkening as her pupils dilated with arousal, he could smell her perfume, her femininity, feel her love. Their bodies moved in perfect unison, as closely connected as two people could be. He could feel them both getting closer, closer….

He gasped as he vomited, coughing as he wretched again. He spit the blood and vomit away and concentrated on sucking in air. Adrenaline. They had sent him too far and had given him adrenaline. The pain heightening drugs had not worn off completely yet, as his body tightened in pain to any movement. It felt as though it were on fire. He continued to suck in air as he looked up at Rem – a very pissed off Rem. Ranger felt himself being untied and he knew what was coming. Curling into foetal position as best he could he rode out the angry blows and kicks, attempting to use his tired arms to give his kidneys some protection. He knew instantly the blow that hit home though, the searing pain giving it away.

Eventually they left, but still there was the order to not allow him to sleep. He managed to look through his swollen eyes as they left. It was pitch black. One more day.

Through the night he had been moved, he guessed, every half an hour. He was stripped and taken outside where it was bitterly cold, thrown in a cage where he had to remain curled up, taken back to his usual room where a ghetto blaster from twenty years ago blasted out something obnoxious that passed for music, stood ankle deep in god knows what where he could feel the insects biting. He was so tired, his body getting weaker – and yet there she was, in his dreams, coming to him whenever he needed her, so powerfully he could smell her, taste her. Babe.

Rem and the Weasel came just after sunrise. More drugs. This time it was hallucinogens. Ranger hoped that they wouldn't be as powerful as last night's drugs, reckoning that having to use the adrenaline would have scared Rem a bit. He'd have to see.

He knew he at a huge disadvantage here. Sleep depravation, the lack of nourishment and hydration, plus the physical toll on his body, made for a weakened state no matter who you were, how well trained you were. Only in Hollywood was the hero able to endure all this and then fight a twenty minute, high energy mixture of hand to hand combat and gun wielding battle before running at full speed through thick jungle to escape. He also would be open to a massive amount of suggestion if they were using hallucinogens, so he'd have to try to keep himself on the ball.

He was past caring whether the needle was dirty as once again, he felt the sharp sting of the drug going into his body. So much for keeping the temple pure. He smiled inwardly at the thought. Maybe the odd tiramisu or piece of pineapple upside down cake wouldn't hurt.

Rem gave time for the drug to work and once Ranger began to feel slightly nauseas and had to concentrate the questions began. He managed to blot most of them out but then he heard a few phrases that forced him to take notice. He knew this all part of it, talking about his family, his mom and dad, his siblings. How they were going to kill them all if he didn't talk. He forced himself not to react. They knew nothing.

"But what about the special lady in your life Manoso? You do have a special lady don't you? What is she like? Let me see, yes I know your type, a latina with long hair and big brown eyes?"

Ranger smirked. Wrong fuckwit. Stereotype number one.

Rem's eyes narrowed. "Ah, no the blonde with artificial tits, who promised to wait for you has you left – but who's screwing a different man every night."

Ranger almost sighed. There it was, stereotype number two. No, his girl - his girl? he'd have to analyse that one later -was a curly haired brunette. As for screwing a different man every night? That wasn't his Babe. Morelli maybe – but he was used to that. Yes, that stuck in his craw big time. So why hadn't he done something about that?

"You think your woman will be waiting at home pining for your return don't you? But you know what? She isn't. She doesn't give a shit about you, a man who's always away. I'll bet she's at her boring little desk job, looking after her glossy nails thinking about how she's going to get herself away from you."

Ranger couldn't help but snort, choking back his amusement. How the hell could he find amusement in this? Steph. Rem couldn't be further from the truth if he tried. He could see her now, panting and blowing running after some skip only to catch up with him as she slid on a pile of dog shit and barrelled them both into trash cans.

Rem clearly thought he was getting to Ranger and ploughed on.

"She's probably going to finish work and drive her smart little car – and I'll bet you bought her that car didn't you? – yes that, safe, economical little car, over to her new boyfriend's house."

Ranger groaned again at the statement. The Prick! Doesn't have a fucking clue. The POS she was driving that was probably rejected from the junk yard in the sky, should have been off the road ten years ago. And Big Blue hardly qualified as 'economical little car!'. His girl was too proud to drive the one he'd bought her. And good luck to any new boyfriend's insurance policy if he put her on it! But it was non issue. Steph wasn't like that – and besides she could barely juggle an almost relationship with Morelli and a 'friends only' relationship with him.

"You think your faithful girl is sitting there picking at her food, losing weight with distress whilst her big, brave man is away…"

Ranger almost choked. That'll be the day! Steph eats like a lumberjack when happy or sad. He pictured her wide eyes at just the thought of a meatball sub.

"…but she isn't. She's too busy screwing, probably your best friend, the one who's there for her."

Ranger pushed his lips together hard to stifle the smile. His Babe and Tank! Ok, it was visual he seriously didn't need, but it really didn't matter. Steph is still wary of Tank and he's shit scared of her. Besides, Tank likes much more of a woman than Steph could offer him.

Rem pressed on, sure he was getting closer to breaking the tough soldier before him.

"Can you hear her Manoso? Can you hear her moans of pleasure? Can you feel her? He can too. Did she moan your name?"

Rem was really close, up in Ranger's face and he could smell the foul breath and feel it on his face. He pushed on.

"But she's not moaning your name now is she? She's moaning his, screaming his!"

Ranger was transported to that night, that glorious night when Babe was his. Even though she'd had sex with Morelli more times than he wanted to imagine, it was his name – Carlos – that she moaned and screamed over and over again.

Rem's voice suddenly became quiet.

"You know you won't see her again don't you? You'll never hold her again, never see her face again, never smell her again." He left a dramatic pause. "Tell me what I need to know and you have my word I won't go after her – after all she won't have you there to protect her anymore. I'll give you some time to think about it. But remember -you won't be able to save her and she can't save you."

Rem turned on his heel and left the room. Ranger gave him about ten minutes before he came back in again to see if he would talk. Ignorant fuck! Only Stephanie could make an interrogation go so wrong. He thought about Rem's last statement. Steph wouldn't even notice someone else trying to kill her she has that many crazies after her and he knew she had a building full of her own personal Men in Black to protect her if he wasn't there. As for not being able to save him? She already had.

ooOoo

She already had. Those words kept playing over and over as he made the long flight back home. He had finished the report with an account of how his guys had come back for him. They had all but obliterated the hovel where he was being held and gotten him out in the confusion. It appeared that he too, was deemed worthy of a rescue mission – not that his team would have cared less about the official word. They'd have come under the guise of mercenaries if they'd had to - you don't leave a man behind.

Time away recovering gives a man time to think though. Not all of it good, but this one had more good than bad – all packaged up in blue eyes and a mane of curly hair. Had it really taken being tortured to make it clear? She already had. Stephanie Plum had saved his sanity and possibly his life. She alone had stopped him from going to those dark, dark places, the places where he had to leave a little bit of his soul every time he'd been there. She'd saved him. She'd saved him. The whole confusing, jumbled, frustrating, gorgeous sexy mess that was Stephanie Plum – and he loved her. She often said that he was always saving her, but actually it was the other way around.

Stephanie Plum was his salvation – and now was the time to let her know.

It was time for their someday.