A/N: Standard disclaimer applies to this story. Highlands Girl, thank you for being the most amazing beta. I'm really lucky to have you working with me on this story.


Chapter 9. What I've felt, what I've known, never shined through in what I've shown

After squaring things away with TPD at the scene and debriefing the takedown team at Haywood, Ranger left Woody in charge of the control room. Making it downstairs in record time, he got into the Turbo, gunned the engine, and tore out of the garage, burning rubber. In minutes, he was outside of Trenton city limits, and then on the interstate, speeding toward Rumson.

On the outside, he must have appeared the epitome of control, deep in what Steph called his 'driving zone', but inside, without her to anchor him, he felt restless. At the predawn hour, the few cars heading east alongside him cleared out of his way, and he passed them without slowing down, his mind going as fast as his car.

The things I've seen… done. The remains of dark memories, long forgotten. The faces of fallen brothers-in-arms and annihilated foes, erased by the time that's passed. Years, decades, and centuries slipped between my fingers, as grains of sand fall through the pinhole of an hourglass. And yet, nothing's changed except for the sound of a battle – the rapid staccato of machine gun fire replaced the clang of metal swords – the end is still the same… for mortals and immortals alike.

I should be used to this... this numbness that never fails to rear its ugly head after the adrenalin crash. I thought I was… But then this emptiness is new. Just as the stupor. And yet, I should be used to it…

Ranger rubbed his right temple in a failed attempt to clear his head, before returning his hand to grip the steering wheel.

The difference between life and death. All it takes – a split second – for the light to fade into the darkness. A fleeting moment. And if you're lucky, when life as you know it comes to an abrupt halt, you dust yourself off and move on, leaving everything behind. But if you aren't, it's the end of the line.

He swore a blue streak, his fist striking the wheel in frustration, grazing the audio controls. As the violent chords of the Second Movement of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony filled the tight confines of the car, drowning out the last words of his raw diatribe, he slammed down the accelerator and, even though he didn't mean to turn on the music, allowed it to block the disjointed thoughts that plagued his mind since he had left the Haywood building.

Forty minutes later, he eased off the gas to pass through the tolls off the Garden State Parkway, lowered the volume on the speaker system, and drove the familiar route to the house at a tamer speed. At last, his mind was blissfully blank, and he was relieved to feel just the bone-deep exhaustion. By the time he pulled into the garage, he had been awake for more than twenty-six hours and was ready to crash.

Tank was drinking orange juice at the breakfast bar after his morning workout, when Ranger strode into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. After talking to Stephanie last night, the big man was disappointed in his friend for glossing over a few details about the changes her body had gone through, not to mention the dangers of being sensed by other immortals.

Despite often deferring to Ranger's judgment, he had no problem facing off with him when the issue warranted it. This was one of those times – Stephanie had to learn the truth – her life depended on it. But taking in Ranger's heavy gait, Tank decided that no matter how much his fists itched to let his displeasure to be known, handing Ranger his ass when his reserves were nearly depleted, no matter how well deserved, wouldn't be the right thing to do.

Even if he hadn't heard from Bobby earlier that morning, the deep lines etched into Ranger's tired face would have told Tank that the takedown had gone FUBAR. And from the fallout, many issues had to be dealt with, yet none were so important that they couldn't wait a few hours, while Ranger got some sleep. Though, knowing the boss as well as he did, Tank didn't expect him to give in to the demands of his body until he had all the information he needed to feel in control of the situation.

Watching him twist the cap off the water bottle and drain it, Tank waited until he had Ranger's undivided attention. Preempting the demand to report, he said, "Santos is en route back to Trenton. Brown checked in from Toronto. Will be off the grid for a few weeks, and then he'll start looking for Gwyneth."

Leaning his hip against the bar, Ranger crumpled the bottle and tossed it into the trash. "Have Rodriguez run her assets."

"Already done," Tank said, looking as though he wanted to roll his eyes, but instead, set the empty glass he'd been holding on the bar in one slow, measured motion and folded his arms across his massive chest.

Ranger cocked an eyebrow at Tank, waiting for him to continue. Spending time with Stephanie had obviously rubbed off on his friend. But when he didn't say anything else, Ranger jerked his chin, irritated by having to ask for more information. "And?"

"Nada. Either she changed her name, or she's damn good at this game." Tank paused to ensure Ranger would pick up on the significance of what he was about to say. "I talked to Hector. His 'idea' might take a few days."

Ranger nodded, reminded once again that Tank was his second in command for a reason – a major takedown didn't take his focus away from the big picture – RangeMan continued running like clockwork without personal involvement from either of them. And Ranger wouldn't have handled the assignments any differently: when Rodriguez came up empty in his search, he too would have gone to Hector next. If there was anything to be found about Gwyneth Yates without leaving the Trenton office, Hector was the man for the job. But even then Ranger had his doubts that the electronics genius would have better luck in aiding Bobby in finding Gwyneth, for the woman had mastered the art of hiding in plain sight long before either he or Tank gave it a second thought.

Considering the conversation finished, Ranger was going to head upstairs for a few hours of shuteye, when a dark look that crossed Tank's face stopped him. His friend still had something to say, yet was waiting for him to broach the subject. On a hunch, he asked, "How's Stephanie?"

Gotcha, Tank thought, a barely there smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "Lil' girl couldn't keep her eyes open past nine last night, and is still out cold."

Unbidden, a thought flashed in Ranger's mind, making his lips twitch with a hint of a smile, my babe loves her sleep. But just as quickly it was replaced with a niggling feeling that this conversation was about to take a turn that he wouldn't like.

"Bored her with the tales of the good ol' days, big guy?"

Undeterred by his friend's attempt at goading him, Tank said, "Yeah, that." He skipped a beat and added, "Glass of wine at dinner. For some reason, she still thinks she's a lightweight…"

"I know," Ranger said with an edge to his voice.

The unspoken demand to drop the subject hung heavy in the air between them, but it took more than a few terse words to stop Tank from speaking his mind. Splaying his large hands on the granite top of the bar, he gave Ranger a stern look.

"And? You planin' to explain things to her?"

Seeing that Tank wouldn't budge, Ranger rolled his shoulders, thinking of an answer that would get his friend off his back. When Tank felt strongly enough about something, he was relentless, pushing the issue until he was satisfied with the outcome. And at that moment, Ranger wanted nothing more than to shelf it until he could think straight, or, better yet, move it to the mats. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and gritted through his teeth, "I haven't decided yet."

"Well, don't take too long. I, for one, have no intention of keeping her in the dark. So, if you don't fill her in, I will." Tank pushed off the bar and turned to leave the kitchen, tossing a parting jab over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought. "You look like shit, man. Get some sleep."

Making it upstairs, Ranger was tempted to walk into Stephanie's room, toss his utility belt on the floor, and climb into bed beside her. But what kind of message would he send if she awoke to find him sleeping there? He'd already complicated their relationship so much that it was a wonder Stephanie was still speaking to him. Their last night of passion was no exception, joining a long list of regrets that started tallying up, after he'd released her from the cuffs hooked onto the shower rod in her apartment.

As dwelling on the past ran contrary to his character, as a rule, he learned from his mistakes and moved on. When he saw that his confession that he couldn't offer her the life she deserved had caused her pain, he swore to put distance between them so that she could find happiness elsewhere. But the following twenty four hours made him question the wisdom behind that choice, because going through losing her wasn't something he was eager to relive. And as much as it went against his long standing conviction that he had no need for emotional attachments, he didn't want to see the day when she would reach the end of her rope and cut him out of her life for good. He hoped that he wasn't too late.

Reflecting on the snippets of his conversation with Tank, Ranger realized that his best friend had been right: he owed it to Stephanie to try opening up. It was a damn shame that he didn't know how and with Tank's ultimatum, didn't have much time to learn. If he failed to step up to the plate, Tank wouldn't hesitate to make good on his promise. But since he usually told Stephanie more than he'd intended even when he was at the top of his game, he couldn't risk talking to her when he was this tired. Their talk would have to wait until he had time to regroup. Unwilling to sacrifice his chance to repair their friendship for the selfish desire to hold her in his arms, he passed her room without a sound.


Groaning loudly, Stephanie lifted her head off the pillow and grabbed the phone off the night stand just as Jon Bon Jovi finished the first verse of Keep the Faith. Almost before she got a word in, the shrill voice of her mother filled the room.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, this is your mother! Why didn't you return any of my calls? I left message after message yesterday! You're coming to dinner tonight?"

"Mom…" she tried to edge a word into her mother's endless tirade but had little success.

"We're having roast chicken. And pineapple upside down cake."

"Mom?" Stephanie repeated a bit more forcefully, but Helen Plum was on a roll.

"You know, you can bring that young man you're friends with to dinner. Ranger, is it? I'll set another place at the table…"

Even if Stephanie couldn't help wondering what had caused such a change in Helen Plum's attitude toward Ranger, she did her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach that took flight when her Mother put special emphasis on the word 'friends', and bellowed, "Mom!"

"Don't you yell at me, young lady! If you have something to say, say it."

Stephanie suppressed a sigh; apparently, Helen Plum's good graces didn't extend to her youngest daughter. "Mom, I'm out of town. I don't know when I'll be back."

"What do you mean you don't know when you'll be back? Margie Antonelli's daughter…"

Stephanie cut her off, "Yes, Mom, I know. Lori Antonelli never leaves town without letting her mother know. But I'm not Lori, I'm me. And I wish you'd stop comparing me to every unmarried female under forty, living in the 'Burg." She didn't know where she got the nerve to say what had been on her mind for years, but voicing it made her feel so exhilarated that she almost missed her mother's next words.

"Stephanie, I only want what's best for you. You don't want to hear it? Fine. I won't say anything again."

"If I should be so lucky," Stephanie muttered under her breath, as Helen sighed loudly, and then carried on as if she didn't just tell her daughter that she was washing her hands of her future.

"I ran into Stella Lombardi at Giorvichinni's this morning and heard the most troublesome news. Her cousin Evelyn Bianchi lives next door to Maureen Romano. Maureen's son works the night shift at the Medical Examiner's office in Ewing. And he told her," her mother lowered her voice, "that a body vanished from the morgue last night. Can you believe that?"

As soon as Stephanie's sleep-addled brain processed what her Mother had said, a hinky feeling formed in the pit of her stomach, and her thoughts jumped to Ranger's takedown from the night before. She had to get off the phone and find him.

"Okay, Mom. Gotta go. Call you later. Bye!"

Disconnecting the call without waiting for a response, Stephanie tossed her phone on the bed and hopped into the shower. Rushing through her morning routine, she pulled her hair into a messy ponytail and, forgoing all makeup but two coats of mascara for courage, got dressed, before darting down the stairs.

It was nearing eleven in the morning, but unlike the day before, the kitchen was deserted. Stephanie searched the entire first floor for either Ranger or Tank to no avail, even though she could tell from the electric charge running along her spine that both men were somewhere in the house. She wasn't sure how she knew that this particular sensation was caused by the presence of them both, but since the feeling was akin to her spidey sense, which had yet to fail her, she didn't question it.

Distracted by deciphering the signals her body was sending, she wandered back into the kitchen, only then noticing a post-it note on the oven door, a basket of blueberry muffins on the counter and a full coffee pot on the bar. Her stomach let out a loud rumble, and she figured that following up on a 'Burg rumor could wait until after she finished the most important meal of the day.

Who's going to argue with Maritza, if she wants to spoil me? Not I, that's for sure! Stephanie thought, pulling out a plateful of cheese blintzes with homemade strawberry syrup from the oven and pouring coffee into a white porcelain mug.

Deciding to eat outside, she loaded up a serving tray with her breakfast and strolled out onto the patio. Settling in the same wicker chair as the previous afternoon, she savored her breakfast and basked in the warm rays of the late summer sun. Gentle wind ruffled her hair, and for the first time in days, she felt completely at ease, certain that even though nothing in her life made sense anymore, eventually it would all work out. Listening to the sound of the ocean surf, she finished her food and, after lingering for a little longer over coffee, took her tray back into the kitchen.

She was crossing the foyer, when her gaze fell on Ranger's suit of armor. It seemed different than it did the day before, and it took her a moment to realize what had caught her attention. The longsword was missing. Acting on her intuition, she let her legs carry her over to the fireplace and pushed the candelabra on the mantel.

Descending the familiar staircase, she felt a bit like Alice, falling down the rabbit hole, uncertain about what awaited downstairs. It was one thing to tag along with Lester, when his presence was expected, and quite another to sneak in uninvited. Although, Ranger probably already knew that she was making her way down there; he wasn't Batman for nothing.

Before she could talk herself out of moving forward, she found herself at the bottom of the steps. Now that she wasn't on the verge of blacking out, she decided to take her time exploring the basement. Just as she remembered, a smaller version of the control room and a conference room were on her left, both now dark and empty, and to her right were two closed wooden doors.

When she pushed the first door that she half expected to be locked, she was momentarily blinded by the flash from the bright industrial lights. Damn sensors! The state of the art medical suite had to be Bobby's domain: every gleaming piece of equipment was spotless and the cabinets were meticulously labeled. Turning around, she left the large room, telling herself that she was contaminating the sterile environment.

Thinking that the second door couldn't lead anywhere much more interesting than the first, she walked inside just to make sure she wouldn't miss anything. She had to stifle a gasp, when, instead of a room, she found another spiral downward staircase. Gripping the railing and taking deep slow breaths, she kept to the widest side of the steps. Concerned about not tripping over her feet, she didn't pay attention to anything around her until she made it all the way down. Her eyes widened, as she took in the space at the bottom of the stairs.

The dark wood paneled walls held dozens of tall narrow cages, housing swords and daggers. She was no connoisseur of edged weapons, but even she could tell that this was not a collection, but an armory. Having learned her lesson with Ranger's sword upstairs, she was careful not to touch the blades as she ran her fingers over the cold intricate ironwork. And when she stopped in the center of the room, curious why he'd keep so many weapons down there, she heard a clang of metal against metal. Looking for the source of the sound, she noticed a door behind a large glass case of shields.

Cracking the door open, she found herself in another hallway, lit with dim filament lamps. Turning the corner, she walked into a space with vaulted ceilings that had to be at least twelve feet tall, supported with arches of dark wood, topping black steel pillars. Antique round bronze chandeliers were suspended off long chains, their soft glow casting shadows on exposed brick walls. But it was the sight of two men in black, circling each other in the middle of the floor, that made her lean against the column for support.

If not for the swords, their graceful footwork could be easily mistaken for a dance. But the missing longsword was in Ranger's hand, and Tank was armed with a cutlass and a dagger. Since neither appeared to be aware of her presence, she stayed rooted in her spot, enthralled by their swift movements, and tried not to draw attention to herself. When they lunged at each other, she sucked in a breath and gripped the handle of her mug to keep quiet.

The swords crossed with a loud clank. Pushing against Ranger's longsword, Tank took a step back, breaking the contact between them to swing the cutlass, slicing through the air with a swish. Ranger blocked the assault, but left himself open for Tank's dagger. When it landed on his clavicle, precariously close to his throat, Tank taunted, "Step up your game, old geezer, moving slow gets you dead."

With a grunt, Ranger leaned back and thrust his blade up with a crushing blow that Tank blocked with both of his.

"Who're you calling old, cabron?" Ranger sidestepped the larger man and struck again. This time, Tank parried and twisted his body to bring his sword down in a sweeping arch. Ranger leaped up in place, switched hands and thrust the sword through Tank's shoulder, as Tank's dagger sliced across his chest. Before either had a chance to return to their original positions, a loud shriek and a sound of shattering porcelain echoed through the vast space.

Frozen, Stephanie was leaning against the pillar and trying to catch her breath. The remains of white porcelain lay scattered at her feet. Taking in her horror-stricken face, Ranger tossed his sword to Tank and rushed over to her side. Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, he leaned in and asked softly, "You okay there, Babe?"

Coming out of her stupor, she nodded, staring at his chest, and saw a tear in his protective gear that took the brunt of the assault with the sharp blade. And as Tank approached them, carrying the weapons in his leather-gloved hand, she noticed a few fibers sticking out from a rip in the padding over his shoulder. Once the realization dawned that she had just witnessed the guys blowing off steam rather than engaging in a 'real' sword fight, she hesitantly met Ranger's gaze. And as the concern in his dark eyes shifted into a twinkle of amusement, she broke their eye contact, embarrassed for jumping to conclusions and making a fool of herself, yet again.

Studying the pattern of the dark parquet, she said in a small voice, "Sorry. I keep breaking your china."

Wrapping his arm around her shoulders, Ranger pulled her toward the back hallway, she'd emerged from earlier. "C'mon, let's get you a fresh cup of coffee and then we can talk."