Sorry for the delay, I'm writing more now! Let me know what you think!

Part Two

It had been over a month since I first found out I had cancer. I wrote a letter to nobody almost everyday; it helped keep my emotions in order and stopped me from falling apart.

I had a morning routine now. I would get up, take my pills, go for a walk, write a letter, and spend the day bounty hunting. I got my FTAs more and more, but that's probably because I took more risks, and why shouldn't I? The chemotherapy wasn't working, and the cancer was spreading.

Apparently my cancer was high grade, which meant it was fast spreading. For the past week I've been having radiotherapy five days a week. It had replaced my morning doughnut run and eaten into my morning walk. If Connie or Lula asked why I was late into the office I always had an excuse prepared: hair appointment, dentist, car trouble, PMS, headache, family trouble. After a while they stopped asking why I was late, because my late had now become my on time.

I didn't run into Ranger at the office because we both avoided each other strenuously; at least that's what I was doing. I would give him all the space he wanted, and he could have even more when I was gone. A whole planet full.

Joe hadn't made any effort to see me, which, given how often I was bringing in skips, probably meant he was avoiding me too.

On the plus side, I now had enough money saved to pay for my own funeral. I wouldn't be a burden on my parent's finances - they didn't deserve that. And on the off chance that I survived, well, I would have myself a nice nest egg.

I'd taken to wearing baggier clothes to hide my weight loss and inches of foundation to hide the circles under my eyes. I tried to ensure no one but Rex saw me crying, and no one but the porcelain toilet-god saw me throwing up.

I kept living my day-to-day life like everything was fine, but my weekends were a different story. With all my successful captures I didn't need to work weekends, which meant I could use those two days to do things I've always wanted to do. I go to Church every Sunday morning, funny how a potential dose of death reminds you of your own spirituality. No matter what anyone says though, it wasn't really a fear of death that had me there. It was a need to know what was coming, what to expect; a need to prepare. I visited the priest every Wednesday, he counselled me to tell my family. I probably would, but not yet. I wasn't ready yet.

Saturdays were my 'fun days'. I went on a hot air balloon ride and ticked it off my list with a huge smile as I remembered the feeling of soaring so high above everything else. I went bareback horse riding and couldn't stop smiling the next day, despite the ache in my legs from the use of neglected muscles. I went to an art museum and a history museum. I went to dance classes and wore racy red dresses, and I took Spanish classes every Sunday evening, followed by a cookery class.

I never wanted to be a wife who has dinner on the table by 6 sharp, but being able to make more than an olive and peanut butter sandwich was nice. Besides, a good diet was definitely recommended for people on chemo and radiotherapy.

Despite my silent resignation that my life was coming to a close, it didn't stop me hoping that it wouldn't. I spent hours crying in secret despair, hours raging at the unfairness of it all, but always in the confines of my home. No one would ever, could ever, know. I would be strong because I couldn't lean on my rock. I would be strong because no one would be strong for me.


I chased my skip into the bar, running easier than I'd ever done before; I guess regular exercise does help. I ducked easily under the knife that he threw my way, ignoring the momentary urge to let the knife hit. I kicked him in the back of his knees and pulled his arms behind his back. He was cuffed before he hit the floor. I heaved him up and dragged the surprised idiot into my car before it occurred to him to struggle.

As I finished shackling his legs and putting him in my car, I felt a familiar tingle run through me. Ranger was near. With an ease born of practice, I pushed aside the torrent of emotion I had when I thought of him. I slammed the back door closed, locking the car, and turned to where I knew Ranger was.

He was flanked by Tank and Hal. He looked great, and that made me mad all over again. Dammit, he was supposed to be suffering, not looking like he'd just come back from vacation. His skin was a fraction darker than usual, and his body had a hint of more muscle.

I faced him, blank faced, and rose an eyebrow like he had done on so many occasions. I waited for him to break the silence, but when he didn't I shrugged and moved to open my car door.

'Babe.' He said.

The snarky part of me wanted to insist that my name was Stephanie, but the other part of me enjoyed the way my nickname sounded on his lips. He closed the distance between us, and grabbed my wrist loosely. I turned back to face him but said nothing, eyebrow raised again.

His hand tightened on my arm and he frowned fractionally, 'you've lost weight.'

'Shit happens.' I replied levelly. 'Was that all?'

His jaw clenched. 'You took a risk in there.' Ranger said, 'you should have called me for back-up.'

I felt my anger swell whilst I fought to keep it in check. I pulled my wrist free from his grasp. 'You made it clear that you haven't got my back, Ranger.'

He looked like I'd sucker punched him in the gut.

I took advantage of his silence and got in my car, cranking the engine and driving away before he'd even moved. I looked in my rear-view mirror and saw him staring after me as I drove away. Not my problem, I told myself, blinking rapidly to stop the tears falling. Not my problem, I repeated, and tried to make the ache in my heart go away.

After I'd dropped off my FTA I went to my parents' house for dinner. I laughed with Grandma Mazur, played with Angie and Mary Alice, and I complimented my mom on dinner. I sat next to my dad and soaked up his warmth. But even surrounded by my family's love my heart still ached.

I stopped at the seven eleven on the way home and brought Ben and Jerry's Chocolate Brownie Ice Cream. I ate the whole tub, but I wasn't particularly worried about it; I would probably throw up after radiotherapy tomorrow. I normally did. I had taken to eating snacks throughout the day, I just couldn't handle big meals any more. It made dinner at my parents interesting. I had become adept at the art of swiping my food into my napkin when no one was looking; as far as they knew I was eating as much as always.

I watched a new film for once. Ghostbusters was great, but I knew it from start to finish, and I wanted to try as many new things as possible while I still could. So I watched Ned Kelly, it was a great film with Heath Ledger and Orlando Bloom, worthy of my drool. Not Ranger level by any stretch of the imagination but I wouldn't say no to either.

I crawled into bed with a mug of hot chocolate and a book. I fell asleep in chapter two of Wuthering Heights, but it was a start.


I went through my morning routine and made my way to the hospital for my treatment. I sat in the waiting room waiting patiently with my copy of Wuthering Heights. I never had to wait long.

'Babe?'

I jumped in surprise, dammit, where was my warning tingle?

Ranger was a few seats away, surrounded by people that were clearly his family. He was dressed in jeans and a cream jumper that looked like it would be soft to touch.

'What are you doing here?' I asked.

'My sister's giving birth.' He said, 'you ok?'

I was saved from an answer when my nurse arrived, 'Hey Stephanie,' She said, 'you all ready for your treatment?'

'Yeah.' I smiled.

'Good. How are you feeling today?'

I thought about it. She'd made me swear to answer this one question truthfully, but Ranger could still hear. Still, a promise was a promise. And I always kept my promises.

'Crap.' I sighed.

Her smile faded a little, 'never mind, there are bound to be bad days. Now let's get you started.'

I followed her into one of the treatment rooms and tried not to feel Ranger's gaze burning a hole in my back. Even without all the verbal clues we had surely dropped, I was pretty sure he would work it out when I walked into a room that had 'Radiotherapy' in big letters over the doorframe.

I tried to push him out of my mind, but an hour later the nausea I was feeling was still trying to compete for my notice with Ranger-thoughts.

I thanked my nurse and made my way back out. Unfortunately, I had to go through the waiting area to get back. I hoped Ranger wasn't there, but he wasn't going to make me waste time by waiting for him to leave.

I took a deep breath, struggling with rising nausea. Then I made my way to the waiting room. Naturally, he was still there.

I met his eyes across the room and blew out a sigh, I might be angry with him, but I still had to talk to him, if only to tell him to keep his mouth shut. I walked slowly over to him, feeling weary, not wanting to have this conversation in front of his family.

Ranger's POV

I watched Steph disappear into the radiotherapy room and felt my stomach lurch. I stared at the sign above the door in incomprehension. It couldn't be…she couldn't be…I would have noticed – except I'd been avoiding her. I grasped at the possibility it was a relative who was ill, but even my irrational side couldn't deny the conversation she'd had with the nurse. Stephanie was ill. My Babe has cancer.

I swore aloud.

My head was scrambling as it struggled to understand what that could mean, not just for now, but for the past few weeks.

I felt sick to my core as I remembered the way her voice had trembled fractionally as she'd called me that day. I had known Morelli was out of her bed, maybe even out of her life, but I hadn't been ready yet. I'd needed time to get my life in order before I could be with her. So I'd told her we needed to keep our distance for a while; I hadn't meant for her to start avoiding me like I had the plague, I'd just meant maybe we shouldn't be kissing in alleyways.

I could have gone to see her at her apartment, but she'd made it clear she didn't want to see me. So I went to Miami, and if I worked out harder than normal, or sparred a bit more, I tried to dismiss it as a new fitness drive. But I knew now what it was; I was avoiding the issue. Avoiding thoughts of the blue-eyed brunette that haunted my dreams.

Then I finally returned to Trenton, and she looked so tired, she'd lost so much weight, and worse, it nearly killed me that she thought I didn't have her back.

With one thoughtless sentence I had destroyed her faith in me. She was ill, probably with cancer, and when she'd needed me most, I'd walked away. It was just another unhealthy pattern in her life; that the men in her life were shits who always left her when she needed them most - I'd tried so hard to relegate the pattern, but in the end I was no better. No more worthy of her. In the end, maybe I was worse.

I dragged myself out of my private pity party. Now was not the time. Stephanie had cancer. She could be dying.

'Oh God.' I said aloud at the thought. I shook my head fractionally. Stephanie was a fighter, a survivor. She was going to be fine. She had to be.

I lifted my head out of my hands and unerringly met her eyes as she leaned wearily against the doorframe. I held her gaze as she slowly made her way over to me. I wanted to run to her, to help her, but I didn't have that right – not anymore.

Her eyes were wary and her face was blank. 'Ranger.' She said coolly, ramming a verbal knife into my heart.

'Babe.' I said, shocked at how close to pleading it sounded.

A flicker of something moved over her face, too fast for me to identify.

'I haven't informed my family yet, please keep this information to yourself.' She said.

My heart clenched painfully, 'You've been going through this alone?' My voice was level, but the words themselves conveyed my disbelief.

'Shit happens.' She repeated her previous words to me. 'This information is need to know only. They don't need to know yet. Clear?'

I would never have imagined her taking that tone with me, with anyone.

I nodded. What else could I do? I would respect her wishes in this; it was such a small thing to do for her.

She nodded in satisfaction and turned to walk away. Once again I caught her wrist. It wasn't my place - but I needed to know more.

'Please.' I said, and this time there was no mistaking the pleading in my voice.

She knew what I was asking. She kept her back to me as she answered. 'Non-Hodgkins Lymphomas.' She said steadily. '50 chance.' She didn't specify which chance she had 50 of, but it didn't matter, I knew either way.

My heart was beating double time. 'You'll be ok.' I told her, and myself.

She finally turned to face me, and she laughed humourlessly, 'not sure our life expectancy's all that great in our line of work anyway.'

I closed my eyes. I knew what I was supposed to say; it's the quality of life that's important.

But now, faced with the possibility of her mortality, the length of her life suddenly mattered more then it ever should have.

'You'll be ok.' I repeated stubbornly. 'You're a survivor.'

Her eyes softened fractionally, but I couldn't work out what she was thinking.

She started to pull away, but I held onto her tighter, 'you need anything?' I asked desperately.

She turned back, 'I did.' She replied quietly. 'Now if you let me go I can give you your distance.'

I dropped her hand in shock, in agony. 'Stephanie.' I said, my voice hoarse with emotion.

She walked away.

And I dropped my head back into my hands.

Celia turned to me, 'You're an idiot Carlos.'

I didn't reply.

It was true.

Steph's POV

I sat in my car, trying to stop the shaking. Despite myself, despite everything, I couldn't deny that hearing Ranger tell me I'd be ok helped. And that made me mad as hell.

Dammit, I didn't need him.

I put the car in gear and tried to concentrate on driving. I tried to ignore the way he had sounded as he had said my name, the look in his eyes. Dammit, this was his choice.

I made it back to the safety of my apartment before I started to cry again.