Disclaimer: Not Mine, not making money.

A/N:So I've been trying really hard to concentrate on Calamari Poisoning but this little ditty just refused to leave me alone so I decided, to hell with it, and got it out before it consumed me. It started life as a short based loosely from Micheal Buble's 'Lost' and kind of took on a life of its own, so there'll be maybe another parts to it.

VERY CUPCAKE UNFRIENDLY!!! Joe's a real fucker in this one. You have been warned.

Lost

Part One

As the wheels of the plane touched down at Newark Liberty Airport I felt my body heave an uncharacteristic sigh of relief. Okay, 'heave' might be a slight exaggeration but it was definitely an audible exhalation.

The op had been a bad one; bad Intel, bad team – bad, bad, bad. I took four of Washington's 'best' with me and only one came back by the skin of his teeth. I'd just spent five days in debriefing and somehow the suits had come to conclusion that, unofficially at least, the men's deaths had been my fault. Apparently I had 'underprepared' them or some shit like that. I stopped listening about thirty seconds into the first day. This is the reason my contract states I chose my own team. Because I get the shittiest jobs with the lowest survival expectation and no arrogant, wet behind the ears soldier who couldn't find his ass from his elbow had any fucking right being anywhere near these kind of missions. That's why three of them are now dead thank you very much Mr Secretary of Defence. Prick.

But it was over, until the next one at least. And as the engines of the plane were shut off I could feel the tension of the last eight weeks practically melt away. I was utterly exhausted, bruised and broken in several places. My body was screaming for sleep, fluids, real proper human food, but I had only one thought on my mind. Stephanie Plum. And see, there goes my blood pressure already, calming down just at the thought of her.

For almost two months, during waking hours anyway, I had barely allowed myself to think about Steph. She is a constant distraction for me and those beautiful big blue eyes of hers have the power to make me drop absolutely everything just to see her. In those circumstances, distraction means death and death means failure and for this op failure simply was not an option. Quite literally the future of America's national security depended on me not fucking this one up. So she had been tucked into a little box in the back of my mind until the job was done. When I slept however, it was a different story. Every time I closed my eyes I dreamt about her. Nothing sexual. Just me and her doing stuff together – walking on the beach, curled up on the couch watching a movie, carrying her bags while she shopped to her heart's content. I woke that morning with the strongest urge to run off and find the nearest mall just to have a little piece of that while I was awake.

In a way wet dreams would probably have been easier. I wouldn't have been constantly reminded of all the little things I enjoyed doing with her when I wasn't attempting to get her into bed. Or the way she smiles at me when I do something unexpectedly 'sweet', or the way she rolls her eyes and tries to hide her giggles when I'm being funny or just the way she looks at me with so much fucking awe that it's almost unbearable. As if I'm worthy of her... what? Adoration? Love? Sometimes even I can kid myself that maybe; just maybe she might be as stupidly in love with me as I am with her. Cause when I'm kissing her and she grabs hold of my shirt to pull me closer that's sure as shit how it feels.

But then she goes back to the cop and I realise that it's all been in my warped mind. I go back to Rangeman, to my sad, empty apartment and wait. Until the next time she needs me and I can catch a little glimpse of that 'love' that's become my lifeline.

Fuck sake Manoso. Strap on a pair.

Except something happened out in the jungle. Or desert. Whichever. Turns out that a few weeks away from Steph without thinking about sex at all has cleared my mind. I know exactly what I want. Her. All of her. And I do not share. But knowing what I want is the easy part. Cause I know for a fact Steph will accept no less than all of me in return. Even if I already give her more than fucking Morelli. But I'm kind of hoping that the reason she's been holding out on the marriage/babies thing with him is because she has some hope that maybe I'll see the light one day.

So the light has been seen and I know what I have to do. I've been showing her for years that I love her, now it's time for the words to speak for themselves. Unless she's gotten serious with the cop since I've been gone. In fact... fuck it, even if she's already married him by now I'm not going down without a fight.

Coming out of my internal dialogue I realised I'd unconsciously already made it to Steph's block. For the last few missions I've made a point of making her my last stop before I leave and my first stop when I return. I don't know if she's aware of that or not but I like it. Gives me the feeling of actually coming home to someone. Normally it's just an earth shattering kiss and instructions to be safe and call Tank if she needs anything but this time I actually had a few hours to kill before I caught my plane. We spent them in her bed, kissing and touching and then sleeping. I wanted so badly to make love to her but somehow my iron control came through for me yet again. When my alarm sounded telling me I had to leave I swear to God I almost didn't go. Funnily enough it was Steph who talked me into getting up and doing my job. She really is one of a kind that girl. So with a "don't get crazy" and a "don't get shot", I left. And Christ, am I glad to be home.

I glanced around the dark parking lot, noticing thankfully that the cop's SUV was nowhere in sight, but neither was Steph's car either. Then I saw an old Toyota Camry parked beside the dumpster with a bullet hole in the front fender and I smiled. If that car belonged to anyone other than Steph then I'd eat a whole birthday cake. Wonder what happened to the Pontiac?

I got out of the Cayenne that had been left in the airport parking lot for me and briefly inspected the Camry. Not great, but it'll have to do for now. I understand why she doesn't want to accept a car from me. Besides her fear of blowing it up, she absolutely hates feeling like a charity case. But the second she decides to take me up on my offer I'll take her to every dealer in the state and she can pick out any car she wants. Hell if she wanted a Bugatti Veyron then that's what she would get.

I glanced up – the lights in her apartment were out. Perfect. I could just slip into bed with her, fall asleep and not wake up till she did. That sounded like heaven right now. I made my way up the stairs to her floor and stopped at her front door. As I went to pick the lock I noticed a boot print above the doorknob. My stomach dropped about a foot and an icy tightness bound itself around my chest as all the warmth departed my body. I made quick work of the lock and moved to open the slide chain when the door slid open. Now I knew something was very wrong. A child could pick these locks in a few minutes but Steph religiously used them anyway. For one of them to be open was a sign of impending doom.

I withdrew my gun from its holster, flicked off the safety and noiselessly stepped into the foyer of her apartment. The door closed silently behind me and I saw the chain hadn't just been unhooked – it had been ripped away from the wall, most likely as a result of the boot print. I took a glance in the kitchen; apart from a disarray of empty pizza boxes and beer bottles there was nothing out of the ordinary. Her bedroom was a mess but clear and the bathroom the same. That left the living room. As soon as I opened the door I heard faint snoring coming from the couch in front of the TV and relaxed. The room was as much of a mess as the others and Rex had been moved from the kitchen to the coffee table. He stopped running on his wheel for a second to twitch his whiskers at me. I'm pretty sure the little guy likes me.

Coming round the side of the couch I caught sight of Steph in the pale moonlight that shone through the window, curled up in a ball and fast asleep in a pair of my sweats and one of my Rangeman hoodies. My groin tightened and my heart skipped a beat seeing her wearing my clothes until my eyes reached her face. Now her skin is pale anyway, a beautiful creamy colour with a pink warmth. But at that moment it was completely grey. Her eyes were surrounded by heavy purple bags indicating lack of sleep and her cheeks were marred with fresh tear tracks. To top off the horrific image before me was a massive, ugly black bruise starting just under the left side of her jaw and reaching up to her nose. I immediately felt a tidal wave of fury flow through my veins at whoever had hurt my beautiful, perfect Stephanie and had the overwhelming urge to throw something against the wall. But now was not the time.

I took a few (dozen) deep breaths to calm myself down and crouched down on the floor beside her head. Taking her hands in mine I recoiled in shock. She was ice cold and her bones were more defined than ever.

"Babe?" I whispered, not wanting to startle her awake. Nothing. I tried again and got the same response. After a few minutes of getting nowhere I decided to take her back to my apartment where she would at least be comfortable and secure. I headed for the bedroom, quickly packed a change of clothes for her and went back into the living room where she hadn't moved a muscle. I called her name one last time and, getting nowhere, slung the duffle bag over my shoulder and bent down to pick her up.

The second my arms slid under her legs her eyes shot open, her body stiffened and she screamed bloody murder. I tried to back away but she started flailing about, fighting off an unseen attacker when her fist connected with my jaw. I stumbled back in shock, bumped against the coffee table and landed on my ass on the floor. If it weren't for the circumstances it would have been hilarious. The first person in over a decade to take me down with a single throw hadn't been a giant like Tank but Steph, a tiny little thing with next to no upper arm strength.

"Ranger?"

I looked up still rubbing my aching jaw and saw Steph sitting bolt upright on the couch, her eyes wide with a mix of fear and disbelief.

"Babe."

"Oh my god, Ranger I'm so sorry, I didn't realise it was you. I'm so, so sorry. Please don't hate me." What?

She started wringing her hands and fresh tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. I pulled myself up to my knees and reached out a hand to touch her cheek when she flinched away from me. Before I could stop myself I felt my blank face slam down, erasing any emotion from my features. A second later and it was gone, Steph didn't need me to be that guy right now. But for the first time ever, she didn't want me touching her. No matter what the scenario, whether or not her and the cop were fighting or getting along great she has never refused my touch. Quite the opposite in fact, sometimes I could swear she craves it. For me this was the final proof, if any was needed, that something was very, very wrong. As much as my body was screaming to hold her, I settled for placing my hands on the couch beside her knees and leaned back on my heels to give her a little space.

"I could never hate you babe. Never"

Steph looked so tiny and fragile, her eyes sparkling with fear. I was sure she wasn't afraid of me – she never had been, even when she probably should have been. No, the fear was for whatever had happened to her, not me. But she certainly seemed uncomfortable around me, almost wary. Even in the darkest, most dangerous moments that she had been around me to witness, she had always been at ease in my presence. So to see her now, observing me with caution was slowly chipping away at my heart.

I ached to touch her, to reach out and offer her comfort. To give her my strength and relieve her of the burden of her pain. But I had the feeling that if I were to do that unasked she would react much the same as she had the last time I touched her.

"Steph? Babe... would it be okay if I took a look at your bruise?" I asked, keeping my voice low and soothing. She stared into my eyes for the longest time before cautiously nodding her consent. I started slowly, raising my hands off the couch and wrapped them around her still clenched ones, drawing circles with the pads of my thumb. She relaxed slightly then I raised each hand to my lips, pressing a light kiss on her knuckles. I briefly caught a glimpse of her fingers in the pale moonlight and noticed her nails were ragged and surrounded by spots of dried blood and scratches. Defensive marks. Interesting. My eyes found hers again and I gradually trailed my fingertips up the length of her arm to her shoulder. Steph's gaze held my own, never flickering or showing any signs of distress so I continued softly past her collarbone and along her neck. Her eyes closed and she shivered; in my mind I simultaneously smiled and heaved (definitely a heave this time) a sigh of relief. At the very least her body was still reacting in its normal way to my caresses.

As I reached her jaw I paused and Steph opened her eyes again. Silently I asked her permission to continue and she nodded her head slightly. This from the woman who thinks she can't ESP. She tilted her head to the right giving me a clearer view and once again I had to tamp down the rage inside of me. The bruise was very fresh – a couple of hours old at the most – and there was still a lot of redness surrounding the area. What wasn't red was a dark purple and her whole jaw had swollen an inch out. I didn't bother touching it. Her recoil from my whispering fingertips over the unblemished skin around the bruise told me that it would have been incredibly painful for her.

My other hand dropped hers to cup her unsullied cheek and this time she didn't back away.

"Can you tell me what happened?" She lowered her eyes and shook her head. "Babe, whatever it is, no matter how upsetting or terrible it is, you can always tell me. And I will always help you."

She continued to shake her head and still wouldn't meet my gaze. I gently placed my index finger under the good side of her chin and tipped her head up. "Steph look at me. Have I ever not helped you before?"

"No," she whispered hoarsely.

"Then what? Did a skip do this to you? Do you have a new stalker?" Back to the head shakes again. I decided not to push any further; hopefully she would open up to me when she was ready. I glanced at my watch – 12.48am. "Do you want me to call anyone for you? Your parents?" She shook no. "Joe?"

At the mention of the cop's name she violently shook her head and all the tension I had carefully worked out of her body returned with an alarming ferocity. Her eyes were again wide and fearful, spilling tears down her beautiful face. And just like that the rage was back, pounding through my veins. Thank god Steph still wasn't meeting my eyes because I could feel the fury showing on my face. What the fuck had that son of a bitch done now?

TBC...