A/N: My apologies for this one. You'll need a box of Kleenex. I had a case of the sads to work through, so I grabbed my laptop and started writing. Some of the italicized bits are straight from JE's books including Three to Get Deadly, High Five, Hot Six, and Twelve Sharp. And as always the characters and back stories are 100% hers. I just borrowed them for a little therapy.
As he passed another mile marker, he began to notice the familiar aches and pains that came with overexertion and fatigue. His muscles urged him to make this his last mile. And on any other day he might have considered it. But not today.
He rounded the corner and continued. His legs wouldn't quit on him. He'd learned long ago to master his body and ignore the pain. There would definitely be repercussions for pushing himself like this. No doubt Bobby would give him another lecture, but he didn't care. It was better than the alternative.
His lungs burned, but his feet kept hitting the pavement in an even tempo. Suddenly he was reminded of all the other runs he'd been on. Runs to relieve stress, runs to clear his head. And the runs she'd been a part of.
It had been an ongoing joke of sorts. Honestly, he'd never met anyone who hated exercise so much. She begrudgingly did it on occasion, but it was more out of penance for her overindulgent eating habits. The biological mathematics were clear to her in the sense that excess calories would eventually lead to unwanted fat. So she tried to keep the dessert to running ratio in an amiable balance. Considering the mass quantities of donuts she frequently consumed, he had no idea how she always got the math to tip in her favor.
"If we're going to work together, you've got to get into shape."
She squinted to focus her eyes in the darkness. "Ranger?"
He nodded toward her bedside table. "I made you some tea. It's on your nightstand."
She leaned over, clicked on the light, and stared at the mug for a moment before picking it up. "I hate tea," she added before taking a reluctant sip. Her nose crinkled in disgust. "What is this?"
"Ginseng," he stated simply. He was already fighting a smile.
"It's weird. It tastes awful."
He gave a subtle shrug. "Good for your circulation. Helps oxygenate."
She made a face. "What are you doing in my bedroom?"
"I'm trying to get you out of bed," he answered as if it was obvious. "It's late."
Her arms went flying into the air in exasperation. "It's five-thirty!"
"I'll be in the living room warming up."
He shook his head. That first run together had been nothing short of a disaster. But she'd done it. He could always count on her for that stubborn streak and unrelenting sense of determination. She'd get this look on her face with an "I've got this" kind of attitude. And more often than not, she was right.
He was on the phone calling in the apprehension of Homer Ramos when suddenly his eyes met hers. "We could use a blue-and-white. Stephanie caught a bullet in the arm. It just sliced through some flesh, but she should have it looked at."
He ended the call and turned to face her. At that moment she looked particularly small and vulnerable. He pulled her close and wrapped her in his arms. Without a second thought, she leaned into his chest, and his heart skipped a beat. He nuzzled her hair and kissed her just above the ear.
"Are you ok?" he asked.
Her eyes were glazed, and her body was still trembling from the excess adrenaline. "Sure, I'm fine," she replied automatically.
He couldn't help but smile. "Liar."
She'd had that look a lot over the years. Even when the stakes were high and the outcomes weren't looking particularly good. That was Stephanie for you.
His pace slowed, and he eventually came to a necessary stop. His legs burned, but the ache of a different muscle currently held most of his attention. It was a pain he found unusually difficult to ignore. She had always been someone difficult to ignore.
"I have all these problems," she'd said with a frown. A tear slid down her cheek.
"Ironic," he thought. He did too. Well, maybe just the one. He moved closer to her. "Here's something else to worry about," he'd said. And then he kissed her. It was the kiss he'd been wanting to claim for months. Raw and passionate. And he was somewhat surprised at how she'd responded.
"Oh boy," she whispered once they'd broken apart.
"Yeah. Think about it."
"What I think…" She'd paused then. And he'd held his breath. "Is that it's a bad idea."
He wasn't sure what he would have done if she'd said otherwise. Maybe their whole story would have been different. One could go crazy contemplating all the "maybes" and "what ifs."
"Of course it's a bad idea," he'd agreed. "If it was a good idea I'd have been in your bed a long time ago."
He felt his mouth suddenly twitch and almost curve into a smile. Smiles were few and far between these days. But the thought of her bed… His bed… Their bed… It was almost more difficult not to smile. A subtle warmth softened the dull ache in his chest.
His feet continued to move him forward along his familiar route. He did a mental frown when they stopped just outside of a Tasty Pastry. He willed them to keep moving, but they seemed to have a mind of their own. "Perfect," he thought.
She was facing the pastry counter, eyeing the donut selection when he walked in. Her body froze just before he came up behind her and brushed her hair aside. His lips grazed the nape of her neck, and he thought he felt her shiver.
"I could get you to look at me like that if I had five minutes alone with you," he shamelessly flirted.
She'd turned around and smiled. "I'll give you five minutes alone with me if you'll take over half my skips."
He knew she'd been mostly kidding. It was their usual song and dance. Edgy flirtation laced with a genuine underlying desire. The desire was always difficult to brush under the carpet.
"Tempting," he'd replied, "but I'm on my way to the airport, and I'm not sure when I'll be back."
He should have stayed. Well, at least when he could. Most days he wished he would have.
The bell clanged on the door, and he realized too late that his feet had decided to enter the bakery. The air was thick with the lingering aromas of yeasty bread and the sickeningly sweet glazes that covered the treats in the display cases. He wanted to turn and run.
"Um, can I help you?" came the hesitant question from behind the counter.
He just stood there, his voice lost for the moment. Before, he'd been known as a man of few words. Now he was a man of even fewer.
Talking felt tedious. And most of the time unnecessary. He remembered from an early college course that verbal communication accounted for only seven percent of total communication. That meant ninety-three percent of his communication could be conveyed nonverbally. So he became a master of postures and expressions. He was pretty sure she'd hated that.
Stephanie's communication percentages were atypical. At least according to the guy who did the verbal communication studies. Words accounted for seventy-five percent of Stephanie's communication. Fifteen percent came through expressions and body language, seven through frequent eye rolls, and three percent through Jersey-approved hand gestures. He shook his head. That woman was always talking.
She probably talked enough for five people. And honestly it had bothered him at first. The stakeouts that used to be silent affairs were now filled with the rants and musings of someone who had an extremely limited filter when it came to verbalizing her thoughts.
But it wasn't long before he started to appreciate and sometimes even miss it. There were moments on his away missions when he wanted nothing more than to be sitting beside her, listening to her prattling on about nonsense. He wished he would have told her. Guess it was just one more thing to add to the list.
The girl was still waiting on him behind the counter. She was probably debating asking him to leave. He took a step toward the case and pointed to a Boston Cream. She gave him a look but handed him the donut anyway. He put some money on the counter and disappeared out the door before she even had a chance to count back his change.
He glanced down at the bag as his feet continued to carry him toward an uncertain destination. His fingers crumpled the brown paper slightly in frustration. He should have gone with a coffee instead.
"I thought you didn't drink coffee," she said. "What about your body being a temple?"
He took a sip from his cup. "It's my disguise. It goes with the haircut." And because the Ginseng tea really did taste weird…
Her eyes narrowed a little trying to decide if he was being serious. "Will you let your hair grow back?"
"Probably."
"And then will you stop drinking coffee?"
He tried not to sigh. "You ask a lot of questions."
"Just trying to figure this out."
He couldn't tell if she missed the old image or was excited by the new. It was endearing nonetheless. She'd cared enough to ask. He crossed over to her before leaning down and brushing a soft kiss across her lips.
"Some things are better left a mystery."
He'd tried to keep her away from the truth. Always leaving the answers to her questions ambiguous and vague. He thought he'd been protecting her. But really he'd probably been protecting himself. Loving Stephanie was a risk, and he'd always known that. He knew she'd made it further through the maze of barriers surrounding his mangled heart than anyone else ever had. Somehow when he was around her, his well-constructed barriers began to fall.
"If you have an issue with me, I expect you to tell me about it, not run away."
Her eyes narrowed. "You don't listen."
"I always listen. I don't always agree." She made a face like that didn't make the situation any better. "I have a problem right now that I can't seem to solve by myself. I need you to help me find my daughter. And there's an even bigger problem involved. I feel a financial and moral obligation to my daughter. I send child support, I send birthday and Christmas presents, I visit when I'm invited. But I've kept myself emotionally distanced. I'm not emotionally distanced from you."
That moment was probably the closest he'd ever come to admitting his true feelings for her. He wasn't entirely sure he was capable of love like that anymore considering his heart and soul were probably irreparably damaged from his past. But she'd known better.
There were other admissions he'd let slip along the way too. Like when she'd found his safe house, and he told her that it was no longer a safe house; with Stephanie as a part of it, it had become a home. Or when he'd flippantly mentioned that he'd contemplated marrying her; or at least moving in together. But he'd absolutely hated himself for the time he finally said that he loved her. Because he'd immediately followed it with "in his own way."
And he'd never amended that statement. Even after the night she'd showed up at his place with a duffel bag and laundry basket of her belongings. The soft knock on the door had completely caught him off guard. She was supposed to be somewhere else. With someone else.
She'd stood in his doorway with a strange confidence as she handed him a small folded piece of paper. He took it as she walked past him not even waiting for him to read it. He'd opened it and glanced over the top of the paper at her. It was a hand-written roommate agreement.
"Rules," it stated simply across the top. "1. No tossing me out the windows. I still haven't mastered the whole flying thing. 2. Small amounts of innutritious foods are allowed in the kitchen at all times. No Exceptions. In exchange I will agree to eat *on occasion* dishes containing things such as soy, tofu, and vegetables. Unless said items are deemed unpalatable (can be discussed further as necessary). 3. Bathroom must remain stocked with Bulgari products at all times. 4. Love me in any and every way you can. I'll accept whatever is available. Even when limited."
She'd pulled the paper from his hands and tossed it behind her. "This is going to happen," she'd added with a sly grin. "And it's going to be good." He remembered laughing at the lines she'd stolen from him. She'd been right. It did happen. And it had been good. In fact, it was nothing short of perfect.
Was. He hated that word. He hated all those words that indicated the past tense. They implied that events had come to an end. That they were no longer happening. Could no longer happen.
His feet knowlingly turned onto a path, and he was suddenly aware of their intended destination. Maybe he had always known. But he knew he wasn't ready yet. Instead he forced himself to keep walking until he reached a bench under some trees.
The air was crisp with the cooling temperatures of autumn, and the leaves on the trees were already starting to change color. She'd always loved this time of year. He'd been indifferent. No favorite seasons for this man of mystery. He never understood the point of having favorites anyway. Everything else became somewhat of a let-down in comparison.
"You don't have any favorites?" she'd asked incredulously.
"No."
"What about music? Don't you have any favorite songs?"
"I have a number of songs that I like and several genres that I find acceptable to listen to, but no, I don't have anything I consider a favorite."
"Food?" She waved her hand frantically. "Wait, don't answer that. I'm not sure I could handle it if your favorite food was a vegetable."
She followed him into the bedroom. "Activity?"
"Again, I have several activities that I enjoy such as target practice, sparring, and even reading on occasion, but they aren't weighted by the amount of enjoyment I get from them."
Stephanie glanced around the room. "Wait, wait, wait. You read? Read what? You own precisely zero books, Batman."
"I hear e-readers are great for that sort of thing."
She raised an eyebrow. "Where is this e-reader of yours?"
He gave her a mischievous look. "Oh I'm sure it's lying around here somewhere."
He thought he saw her make a mental note to track down the e-reader later. She'd probably find it eventually. But maybe not.
A seductive look spread across her face. "Favorite sex position?" she asked with a flirty smile. "I know I have one."
His eyes darkened as he began peeling off his clothes. "Babe."
"You have to have a favorite position. Everyone has a favorite position."
A small smile pulled at his mouth. "Hard to pick a favorite with you. I like them all."
She slumped dramatically onto the bed. "This is horrible!" she exclaimed. "No favorites? That's just…just…wrong!"
He'd poked his head out of the walk-in closet and felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest. She looked so perfect sprawled on his bed. Even in all her exasperated frustration. And suddenly he realized he'd lied. He had exactly one favorite. A person. And her name was Stephanie Plum.
Minutes passed. Maybe hours. He recognized that he'd lost track of the time. And he didn't really care. The world had come to a stand-still here.
Eventually he snapped out of his silent contemplation and finally decided to go where his feet always seemed to lead him on this particular day. He retraced the path to a quiet corner where the grass was always kept neat. The headstone was currently covered with little trinkets and flowers. A pair of handcuffs, a toy Porsche, a laminated menu from Pino's. She would have approved.
He leaned down and kissed the headstone. "Happy Birthday, babe," he said quietly. "Sorry it's been a while." He held up the slightly crumpled bag from the Tasty Pastry. "I brought you something."
The Boston Cream wasn't in pristine condition. But it didn't matter. He took a small bite and closed his eyes. He never ate the donuts. Even with her constantly badgering him to try one. But that didn't stop her from eating and kissing. And despite how he felt about junk food, he'd grown fond of the sickeningly sweet donut kisses.
He savored the flavors as they moved along his tongue. The small bite was almost like getting a Stephanie kiss. If he imagined hard enough. He set the remainder of the donut in the grass.
His heart weighed heavy in his chest, and his vision suddenly blurred. But he willed the tears to keep from falling. Once the dam broke, he wasn't sure he'd be able to hold it in any longer. And tears always made him feel weak. He hated to feel weak.
"You don't have to pretend this is ok," she said quietly from the hospital bed. "It's not ok, and quite frankly I'm mad as hell about it!"
He came and sat next to her. "What do you want me to say?"
"Say that this sucks. That you're angry, furious even. Tear a magazine in half. Punch a hole in the wall. Jeez! Do something!"
Her blue eyes were wild with emotion. But he saw the fear that was buried behind it all. She wasn't just scared. She was terrified. They both were.
The treatments had stopped working. How could they possibly have stopped working? They were state-of-the-art, top-of-the-line. The very best that money could buy. He'd flown in doctors, specialists. Failure wasn't an option.
And yet he'd failed. He was going to lose her. But he still couldn't say it out loud.
"I'm not going anywhere, babe."
She tried to glare at him, but the tears started falling before she had a chance to control them. "Dammit!"
"Agreed," he said softly as he crawled into the bed next to her. She felt small and fragile as he wrapped his arms around her. He'd buy her all the donuts in the world if she'd just go back to healthy figure she had all those months ago. He rested his cheek on her head.
"I want you to promise me something," she said through some sniffles.
"Anything."
"Promise me you won't go back to the old you when I'm gone."
"How do you mean?" He knew exactly what she'd meant.
"Don't you dare blame yourself for this and close yourself off again. As much as you'd like to deny it, you need people. And I know several who still need you. Don't go doing something stupid just because you're hurting."
He was already hurting. His chest ached more and more with each passing day. He'd always known it was a bad idea to have favorites. Because everything else always paled in comparison.
"Promise," she demanded, turning to face him.
"What if I can't promise? What if without you I'm forced to be that other man?"
"Not an option, soldier. Now promise, or I won't let you give me my sponge bath later." Her coy smile was almost too much.
"I promise," he whispered into her hair.
"Sorry I broke the promise, babe. It was harder to keep than I thought." He felt a single tear slide down his cheek. Damn. "And I should have told you every day that I don't just love you in my own way. I love you in every way. And I'd give anything for just one more minute with you."
The wind picked up, and he felt a slight chill run down his spine. It was probably getting late. He leaned down and kissed the headstone again. "In the words of Robert Frost: I've got promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep. But I'll be seeing you, babe. Don't give up on me yet."
His feet begrudgingly walked away as if they knew he somehow belonged there with her. But he was determined not to let her down again. He'd made a promise, after all. And this time, he was damn well sure going to keep it.