Super short fic, un-beta'd..

He was dying. And I was a coward.

My name is Stephanie Plum and for three years now, I've been in love with two men. Joe Morelli is Birthday Cake, comforting, familiar and delicious. Carlos Manoso is Passion Fruit, exotic, forbidden and well.. Passionate.

Joe and I recently decided that enough was enough and decided to just be friends. He was tired of waiting, and I was tired of his ultimatums'. It was far less dramatic than the Burg was expecting considering how my divorce went. That was three months ago, and three months later, I still haven't told the elusive man in black that I love him. Yup, I, Stephanie Ellen Plum loved him.

But it was too late.

I had called him to help with a skip. It was supposed to be an easy take down. Easy for him that was. I didn't realise the guy had a gun, and knew how to use it. The image of his blood on my hands as I tried to staunch the flow was too much for my brain now. The waiting room was full of large bodies dressed in black, each one of their eyes full of pity for me. I didn't want pity.

I wanted Ranger back.

Normally I'd send a quick prayer, promising God that I wouldn't eat TastyKakes for a month, or I would lay off the Boston Crème's, or call my mother more. But that wasn't going to be enough. I needed a miracle and for that I needed a Church. I didn't go to St Christopher's in the Burg, I couldn't go to St Peters by Morelli's house. I stopped at the light and thought hard.

Ten minutes later I was pulling into St Theresa's a few blocks from Stark St. The parish was rough, but more with age then abuse. I lit a candle and sat at one of the pews in the front. I stared hard at the image of the Virgin on the wall, I ignored the familiar ache in my knees as I knelt, I crossed myself more times in that hour then I did in my entire childhood.

"I need him." I whispered, "I love him, please, just this once, I need a miracle."

It had to work, it had to help. I sat on the pew and cried. I cried for all the times I could have said something, for all the times I pulled away, for the wasted years with Morelli chasing circles around each other. He had been there, all along, from the beginning and I took him for granted. And most of all I cried for the bullet that should have pierced my chest, that had been meant for me, if it hadn't been for those useless cheap sneakers causing me to trip, I would be the one on the table and he would be the one-.. Well certainly not crying like a crazy woman in a Church.

No, he'd be stoic, calm. Prepared for anything. I took in a deep breath and stood. I crossed myself once more of good measure, sent one more quick prayer heavenward and left.

My phone buzzed just as I stepped out into the warm sun, "Bomber, he's out."

"Is he."

"Just get back here." God, you owe me at least one. Let it be this, give him back to me. I walked to the black sedan that I had borrowed and turned over the engine. The purr reminded me of Ranger, and I bit my lip.

"Please." I said and pulled away from the church. If I had one miracle left in my bucket, I would give it to him. I needed him to wake, I needed to tell him.

I need him.

Like I said, short and sweet. This one has been on my mind for a few weeks now and I hope I did it right...

Happy Reading, R&R

S.W.L