Author's Note: I'm glad you guys like my twist on JE's early universe and I'm looking forward to continuing this story, as well as Butterfly. I haven't forgotten about it but the Muses are hot for this one. Anyway, now that our heroes are together (in more ways than one), it's time for Padawan Plum's training to begin. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

"How'd he get in?"

"Picked the lock."

"How'd you get in?"

"Picked the lock…look, get yourself a couple of deadbolts…and lock that shit up."

-Ranger and Stephanie in One for the Money (2012)

They've got to be in here, someplace. FMPs…FMPs…bunny slippers, canvas sneakers…my black and silver clubbing boots…a pair of lace up Doc Martens (I'll probably be needing those soon)…more FMPs…another pair of slippers…goddamn it, I know they're still…

"Aha!" I crowed triumphantly, holding a pair of barely used champion running shoes up by the laces. They were the same shade of purple as my last name with bright green detail. The laces were an obnoxious shade of neon pink and I sat down on the edge of my freshly made bed next to him. I had on my ratty old black college t-shirt on and dark grey sweats to match my ankle socks. His lips quirked at my art deco shoes and I maturely stuck my tongue out at him as I tied them tightly. If god forbid, something happens to me out there, I know that no one else has shoes like these babies. They're as good as dog tags or a state ID…

Grabbing my gun out of the cookie jar, I put it in my pocketbook and took another spoonful of oatmeal. Ranger had actually found a way to make it healthy and delicious. He had half of a grapefruit again and I had put a little honey on it like my Grandpa Mazur used to before kissing his brow. It had been a sweetly domestic scene. In fact, ever since I first took off his Kevlar, things have been sweet…

After making love twice more, we had fallen asleep in each other's arms and I had woken up to him trailing kisses down my back. He ought to thank every God that he's so fine because any other person waking me up at 5:00 in the damn morning would've gotten their balls in a cheese grater…if I had a cheese grater. After soothing me into a semi-awake state, he had guided me to the shower (with its brand new checker print curtain) and said he would cook for us. Like it was all an every day thing. Would it be an every day thing?

I'm kinda hoping that it will.

"Okay, so how is this gonna work?"

"Today, I'm gonna take you through some basic fitness drills at the high school. See where you're at."

"Carlos, I'm in lousy shape. I can tell you that right now."

"I need to know just how lousy so I don't under or overwhelm you. I don't want to hurt you, Stephanie."

"All right, then. If I pass out or throw up on you, I'm sorry."

He exited my place first and I carefully locked up behind us. Although things have calmed down skip-wise, I'm pretty sure that Morelli won't be heeding my words from yesterday for long. Once his ego stops smarting, he'll be back and I'm definitely willing to get arrested to keep him out of my place. Hell, there may be a patent pending for my little Lock Shock gadget. Who knows?

As we descended the stairs, his hand slipped into mine and without thinking, I twined my fingers with his again. I love his hands. They're strong but soft where they need to be and always so warm. Looking at his profile, I was amazed to see a slight tinge of pink to his cheeks. I can't believe it. He's seen and touched all of me with no hesitation but he's shy about holding my hand?

"I haven't held a woman's hand like this since I was in 9th grade, okay? Get in the truck." he grumbled with a small smile playing at his lips.

"One sec. Hand me that forked stick over there, will ya?"

He did so and I stuck my square mirror into the gap. Moving like I saw on Nat Geo documentaries on border patrol, I held the mirror to the underside of his truck, checking for anything weird. Last thing I want is for either of us to end up like Morty Bryers. The guy had been a smug little prick but he definitely hadn't deserved to be blasted to the 8th Dimension in a fiery ball of car doom.

"I don't see anything weird, do you?"

He was looking at me with the same look from my Lock Shock explanation and I asked shyly, "What?"

'Training you is going to be a lot easier than I thought. You're already applying Lesson 1: Always be aware of your surroundings and no, I don't see anything weird."

/

Oh god, I'm gonna die. I'm proud of myself for not throwing up until the end of my "basic fitness evaluation" but yeah…definitely gonna die. Just stick a fork in me, ladies and germs. Little Stephanie "Walking Disaster" Plum's going up to the spirit in the sky…

I retched one last time and met Ranger's concerned gaze sheepishly.

"At least I made it to the trash can."

He passed me a dark blue Gatorade and I drank in slow sips, trying not to aggravate my roiling stomach further. I made it one and a half laps around the track, did 20 pushups (with him showing me how to do the real ones…not the girly ones), 20 sit-ups, and he had helped me do 10 pull ups near the long jump pit. My legs were rubbery, I was wheezing like a racehorse, and I definitely smell like a trucker. A hungover trucker since the sweat smell's now blended with the aroma of puke. Oh yeah, I am a sexy lady…

"You actually do look sexy when you're all sweaty but we can revisit that later. Do you feel dizzy?"

"No, just lame. You got your work cut out for you, Solder Boy."

"You did a lot better than I expected."

"I did a lot better than I expected. What's next?"

"Gun range."

"Now, that I actually know how to do now. Ugh…just let me brush my teeth first? My breath smells remarkably similar to the moldy bread project I did for the 4th grade science fair."

"Babe, that's sick."

"I got an A."

"Still."

"Ranger?"

"Yeah?"

"Please shut up."