Shameless author's note: thanks, everyone, for the notes of encouragement and the reviews - the reviews! I love the feedback from them, and the time it takes to write one is really appreciated! And thank you, legalliz, for the nice note reminding me to finish this chapter, it definitely lit a fire!

BPOV

I make the last notation on Lester's chart and mumble to him that he can go. A big, jaw-cracking yawn interrupts me, and I give in to it – I've been pulling 12 hour shifts this week, trying to stay ahead of the routine quarterly physicals that Rangeman requires.

"Long week?" Les asks, pulling me back to the present. I shake my head and ask if it's that obvious, and he looks at me speculatively before asking if we need to pull Bones back from rotations.

"Naw, I'm okay," I answer as I set the exam room to rights. It's a bit strange, talking to Les, but only because we've been so at odds – actually, talking to him is kind of nice. It tugs at the ever-simmering nostalgia for the way my life was before I torched it to cinders by leaving.

I continue, "I'm just trying to get everything out of the way before Friday; Steph said I can keep Phoebe overnight, and I don't want anything to distract me. I bought a DVD with some character Steph says she's obsessed with and some new bath toys, we're going to have a night in, you know?"

Les nods, careful to keep his face angled away from mine before he says, casually, "Maybe I'll stop by, yeah?"

I take a second to soak it in and try to identify the feeling…acceptance. That's what I'm feeling. It's been so long that it's almost foreign to me now; it's nice.

"Yeah, that'd be great," I answer, careful to turn my back to him. We're just two dudes, being casual. No big deal.

Les mumbles some excuse about having a meeting to get to and scoots out the door, and I busy myself with tidying the medical suite with a smile on my face.

The next day goes off without a hitch and by 1600 hours, Stephanie has transferred Phoebe to my care. She (Steph, not the baby) looks absolutely exhausted – Phee's one year molars are coming in, Stephanie tells me, and explains that she hasn't gotten much sleep lately because my poor baby has been up and down all night. She leaves detailed instructions on how to care for her if they should bother her, and I humor her by listening patiently as she lectures me on ibuprofen dosing. I lean in to kiss Stephanie's cheek goodbye while she's got her hands full and she stares at me, goggle-eyed, for a moment before shaking her head and making her way quickly toward her car. I can't help but sigh; I keep hoping she'll warm up to me eventually, but so far she's been careful to keep her distance.

I can't get hung up on that now, though, because Phoebe is squirming and eager to get down; she recognizes the building and is impatient to make her rounds.

The guys all stop their work as we 'walk' around to greet them; Phoebe offers smiles to all and sundry and slobbery baby kisses to a select few. For some reason, she adores Ranger and will go right to him every time she sees him. The irony of Stephanie's baby loving Ranger isn't lost on him and more than once I've seen real sadness in his eyes when Phoebe plays in his arms, and maybe the barest hint of regret. The possibilities that stem from those feelings keep me up some nights.

I reclaim my daughter from Ranger and we head up to my apartment. Ella helped me babyproof it a couple of months ago, when Steph started letting me keep Phoebe for a few hours here and there without Ella's supervision.

We've made Playdough pizzas and are working our way through a box of Goldfish when there's a knock on the door. I expected Lester, and I'm pleasantly surprised to see Tank with him – as far as I'm concerned, the more men watching out over Phoebe, the better.

Tank scoops Phoebe up and starts a game of 'airplane' while Les and I angle onto the couch.

"Steph looked beat earlier," he begins while helping himself to a handful of Phoebe's crackers.

"She did," I agree, frowning when Tank dips my baby girl a little too fast for my liking. Phoebe disagrees and squeals in delight before I continue. "Phoebe's getting molars in, Steph said it's been rough on her."

"Did you get the medication lecture from Momma Bear?" he asks with a smirk and I can only smile back and answer, ruefully, "I'm just glad she's talking to me at all."

Les raises a surprised eyebrow. "Really? She seemed totally fine at Phoebe's birthday party, it seemed like everything was good with you two."

I take a moment to choose my words carefully before I respond. "It's pretty good for the most part. I think she gets a little…anxious? uncomfortable, maybe?...when we're alone together. Like she's waiting for me to pounce on her or something."

"Are you planning to?" he asks without missing a beat.

And there is my dilemma. I want to pounce on Stephanie, badly, but I know it wouldn't be welcome at this point. She's gone from despising me to being less than welcoming but more than merely tolerating me, all in a relatively short amount of time. In the almost six months that I've been back in Trenton, the progress we've made feels both enormous and miniscule because while I've got Phoebe in my life, I don't have Stephanie and while I understand, logically, that it's a consequence I must live with, actually living with it every day is a hard pill to swallow.

"Well?" Lester's voice brings me back to the present and I realize I zoned out while contemplating my predicament.

"I'm not planning anything," I say cautiously; for all the progress we've made, I know Lester is still very protective of Steph and Phoebe. I don't want to give him any indications that my intentions are less than honorable.

"I care about her, a lot," I continue, "and I hope that eventually, she'll feel more secure with me. I guess I just want her to want to give me the chance to prove that I'm in this for good, you know?" A thought occurs to me and I hurriedly ask, "Why, has she said anything about me? Does she want me to make a move; is she waiting for it?"

Les shrugs and says, "Not to me. Tank?"

Tank pops his head around the corner and replies, "Huh?"

Les asks again, "Has Steph asked anything about Bobby lately?"

Tank's forehead crinkles in confusion, so Les tries again.

"Has Stephanie said anything to you about, like, wanting Bobby to ask her out or anything? Or has she been asking any, ya know, personal questions about him?"

Tank glares at him grumbles in his deep baritone voice to himself before answering. "Man, do I look like the kind of guy who sits around gossiping with women about their love lives? Do I strike you as the kind of man who would have that conversation? Why are people always trying to ask me about relationship shit?!"

I can't help but laugh; the sight of Big as Life Tank grouching about being made to gossip isn't something one gets to witness every day.

I must be slow on the uptake today because Les butts in before I catch it. "Wait, who else is asking you for relationship advice?"

Tank only glares and huffs and carefully sets Phoebe down in front of a pile of toys before he folds his massive arms across his barrel-like chest. He stands like that for several looong quiet moments before rolling his eyes and scrubbing his face with one skillet-sized hand.

"Shee-it, man," he complains, rolling his eyes, "you know I don't wanna be all up in this mess."

Les leans toward me and whispers, "Don't let him fool you, man, he lives for gossip. He knew all there was to know about the Bomber/Ranger/Morelli triangle they had going years ago."

Tank throws up his arms and says, "Yeah! I did know it all; I didn't ask for none of the details but everyone thinks I'm their girlfriend and I want to listen while they spill their guts to me. I'm an Army Ranger! I've been deployed 3 times and I still go on the occasional op! I'm a badass - grown men piss themselves when I show up at their place!"

"And you know something so quit all your whining and spill," Les snarks back. It earns him two middle finger salutes from Tank. They square off, neither budging, eyeing each other before, predictably, Tank caves.

"I don't know nothing," he begins, "'cept Lula was askin' a lot of questions about you." Here he nods at me before he continues, ticking off on his fingers. "How you spend your downtime, do you talk about Steph or the baby, are you seeing anyone. That is IT, that is ALL I know and I'd really like it if I could NOT talk about this shit anymore." And with that he stalks over to my fridge and pulls a beer out, draining half of it in a single long pull before belching and sighing in satisfaction.

I take a moment to consider what he said; Lula was fishing for information about me, about my habits and who I keep company with when I'm not with Stephanie or Phoebe. Was it her own curiosity? Or was she on a fishing expedition for Steph?

I'm pulled out of my reverie when Tank starts making noises about leaving. He and Les jostle Phoebe around for a few minutes, kissing her and parroting 'bye-bye' to Phoebe in the hopes of getting her to repeat it to them before leaving her to play with her toys and me to stew in my thoughts.

SPOV

Clichéd phrases are the worst; they're overused to the point that instead of solidifying a thought, they detract from it. The oversaturation of these terms has drained them of any real meaning, and they've always been a bit of a pet peeve of mine. However, this morning, I have to agree with my mother – a good night's sleep really has set me to rights. I was in bed, curtains drawn, before 8:00 last night and I slept through until almost 9 this morning. I feel fresher and more invigorated than I can remember feeling in a long time! I don't know why I haven't let Phoebe spend the night with Bobby before now!

Sure you do, it's because he's a rat bastard and you still sort of hate his guts. I roll my eyes at my Inner Bitch and thunk the side of my head with my palm; that'll teach her. I remind myself that forward is the path I chose to move down, so forward I must go. I stamp down my residual resentment and enjoy a nice, long shower instead of my usual quick, in-and-out routine because there is no baby to occupy while I bathe. I take the time to exfoliate and shave everywhere. I deep condition my hair while I give myself a manicure and pedicure, and after I rinse my hair a second time I paint my nails to show off my morning's efforts. I also use Mr. Alexander's miracle hair goop and let my curls air-dry while I take my time applying makeup and dressing in a blouse that hides my flaws and accentuates my boobs, along with a cute skirt and peep-toe pumps. When I'm all finished, I survey the finished product in the mirror and am pleasantly surprised with the image that smiles back at me; I forgot, actually forgot how nice it feels to feel put together. Being a mom hasn't allowed me much time lately to pamper myself, and I wonder why I stopped.

I deflate, only a tiny bit, when I remember why – I have no one to make the effort for. It's just Phoebe and I; there has been no man to impress.

No! I won't let my thinking go down that path, not today – I silently recite all the good things in my life to myself. I've got a home, I've got friends, I've got a beautiful, healthy little girl, I've got a job I'm good at, I've got Bobby –

I stop cold at that thought. The reflection staring back at me looks surprised, maybe a bit apprehensive, and I mull over that. Do I have Bobby? And when did that thought reflexively fall into the 'good things in my life' category? I've spent quite a lot of time lately actively not thinking about Bobby…maybe I should take a little time to think about him.

But first, it's time to pick Phoebe up. The thought chases any doldrums clinging to me away, and I smile a real, genuine smile. Though I've enjoyed my night off, I really can't wait to see her. I spritz a little Dolce Vita on my wrists and sail out the front door.

After I arrive at Rangemen, I get a few good-natured catcalls and wolf whistles from the guys on duty. I smile and roll my eyes, and flip a few of them off for fun as I make my way toward Bobby's apartment. I knock and wait, and catch myself adjusting my hair. Jeez. I really need to get out more.

Bobby opens the door to greet me, and I will not lie – I am pleased immensely when his mouth drops open as he drinks me in. I straighten my back and smile, just a little; it's been a while since I've had real male admiration slung at me and it feels good.

Bobby's eyes sweep down to my shoes and back up, and the haughty feeling I'd been basking in chokes and dies when his eyes lock with mine. There's hunger there, real desire, and my traitorous heart flutters down to my stomach. I want to look away, I do, but I'm locked in, unable to break his gaze, even when he shifts his body so he's closer to mine. With a mind of its own, my tongue darts out to wet my upper lip and when I hear him groan, I can't help but gasp in a tiny breath of air – I remember, all too well, what that groan means and my body is screaming for some sort of release that isn't a solo mission.

The moment is broken when Phoebe spots me, shrieks in delight, and races over to us on all fours. She uses Bobby's pant leg to pull herself up to standing, and finally, he clears his throat and swings the door wide open. I accept the invitation and step inside his apartment, squatting down to scoop my baby up and smother her with kisses, silently thanking her for intervening. That was a really close call.

"How'd she do?" I ask to break up the noticeable silence coming from him. He clears his throat before replying, and I can't hide the smirk from knowing I still have an effect on him. So sue me, it feels nice to feel pretty!

"Great," he says with real excitement, "she went down so well and only woke up once, she wasn't any trouble at all, we had great time." I risk a glance at him. He's looking at Phoebe, babbling happily on my lap, with real love and affection, and I can't stop the wave of contentment that washes over me. In fact, I don't want to stop it; Bobby loving my daughter makes me happy, for all of us. It's the first time I've let myself admit it, and I'm happily surprised that I feel none of the shame or anger I'd expected to feel. And so I catch his eyes and give him a huge, happy smile. His answering smile is soft, and happy, and for a split second I just let myself take in the moment and forget about all the garbage between us, and I let it be enough.

Stephanie Plum: Super Adult.

I stand to gather her overnight bag and transfer her back to Bobby so he can kiss her goodbye, when he nonchalantly asks what we've got planned for the day.

I shrug and say, "I was thinking we'd grab something to eat, maybe hit the park? It's going to be nice out and I don't have to work today, but I don't really have a plan."

"Would it be okay if I took you girls to lunch?" he asks, and it throws me – I wasn't expecting it, and it almost feels like too much. The moment at the door when I felt the familiar pull of desire coupled with the moment in his living room where we shared our joy in our daughter has left me feeling a bit raw, and I'm not sure being around him when I'm in this state is good for me in the long run.

In the end, his hopeful look and Phoebe's apparent happiness at being with both of us at the same time wins me over, and so the three of us set off to have an early lunch. Bobby acts deceptively cool and collected on the way to the restaurant, and because I knew him so well once upon a time, I know it's forced. The fact that he feels nervous about our first outing as a family restores a bit of my courage, and I feel a bit better about the whole thing.

After slicing up grilled chicken into miniscule, baby-sized pieces and piling rice and diced tomato on Phoebe's tray, I'm left to spend our lunch hour chatting with Bobby.

After he left, when I wasn't busy hating him or planning for Phoebe's arrival, in the dark of night when I was alone, I would let myself think of this Bobby, of My Bobby – the funny, fun charmer he is on this gorgeous day, eating and teasing and storytelling. It's warm and sweet and everything it ever was, and while it makes me sad that it was allowed to wither and die, I find myself offering a quiet prayer of thanks that we haven't completely lost this.

It occurs to me, when he excuses himself to find the restroom, how much effort it took to hate him all this time. It was a beast that had to be fed with contempt and hate and ugly words, and the beast was never satisfied. I'm still pondering over this when he returns and he smiles, and because he knew me as well as I knew him, he asks, "Deep thoughts?"

"I was just thinking of how far this has come," I say, gesturing between us. My candor surprises him, as it does me, and he nods slowly.

"We have," he agrees, his voice quiet and solemn. "I've never thanked you, for this – for allowing me to be around Phoebe and for the opportunity to be in her life. I won't lie, I really sort of expected you to have the guys fit me with concrete boots and pitch me into the Delaware," he smiles, but there is no humor in it. "I regretted leaving you from the moment I set foot on the plane, but now, being here with Phoebe…I can't tell you how ashamed I am." His eyes refuse to meet mine; instead he focuses on some invisible spot on the table between us. I have a lump in my throat the size of an apple, and I want to interrupt, to yell and to soothe, to cry and to comfort him, but I'm frozen and all I can do is listen.

He continues, "I'll have to explain this to her, someday," and he gestures toward Phoebe, keeping his eyes down, "and that keeps me up at night. The thought of some man, someday, doing this to her…I really don't know how you can stand to be around me." He finishes in a whisper, shaking his head, and still, I'm frozen.

Phoebe saves us again, lobbing her tomatoes at her father and screeching in absolute delight. We both chuckle and glance at each other, almost shyly, before I screw up my courage and speak.

"You've apologized for leaving, and I told you then that we'd just have to go from there. I see the effort you've made with Phoebe; that's why we're here. It's not because saying you were sorry absolved you of anything, it's because you've made every effort to be a parent…even when I didn't make it easy for you." He opens his mouth to protest, to excuse me, and I wave him off – I know how difficult I was, and I know he accepts it because he believes he deserved it. But it has to stop.

I continue, "We've reached a point where I think we both need to let that go. I can't carry it anymore; it's exhausting, Bobby. And I know it wears on you, too – the bottom line is that you're good for Phoebe, so you have to be able to just love her without the guilt… otherwise you're going to end up trying to make this up to her in ways that aren't healthy. We both love her, so from here on out, we let that motivate us to parent her. Deal?"

I'm determined and a little dazed at this whole conversation, but right now, in this moment, I have tunnel vision – this is the path we need to be on, I'm sure of it. There are no distractions, no unproductive feelings right now, just an end goal to reach and I am on track to hit it. This must be how Ranger feels when he's in his Zone.

Bobby takes a deep breath and nods. He looks unconvinced but resigned, and while I know it's not my job to make him happy, I find myself wanting to. This seems like a good time to excuse myself so I can collect my thoughts in the ladies room.

When I return, all traces of tension are gone. Bobby has paid and cleaned Phoebe up, and we smile and walk together to the car where he buckles her in snuggly. She falls asleep on the way back to Rangeman, which frees us up to make pleasant small talk.

When we reach Rangeman, I stop in front of the building to let him out and we both speak at the same time.

"Thanks for invit-"

"Thanks for lun-"

We laugh, and it's free and fun and everything a shared laugh should be. For the first time in months, I feel light and happy and good and I really, really hope it can stay this way.

"Seriously, Steph, thanks for letting me tag along, it was great to spend time with you two," he says and smiles at me, and I melt the teeniest bit – all of the Merry Men are lookers, but Bobby is something else. I'm drunk on smiles and contentedness, so I tell him we should do it again soon, and he agrees, smiling so much that his dimple puckers adorably, the same way Phoebe's does. What a great day.

He opens the door, hesitates, and looks back at me before shutting it. Shit. I spoke too soon.

"Stephanie, I wanted to, uh, to let you know that I'm not seeing anyone. I heard Lula was asking around and I didn't know if you were, um, concerned about Phoebe being exposed to any women. I just wanted you to know that there's absolutely no one." He says all of this in a rush, staring earnestly at me, and I wasn't expecting it so all I can do is blink, owl-eyed at him for a few seconds before I can reply.

"Oh. Okay." It's a stutter and it's garbled, but it's all I've got.

He holds my gaze, and I know I look confused, but he is very intent when he says, "It's important to me that you know that." Then he smiles again, leans over to kiss my cheek and he's gone before I can come up with a reply.