Disclaimer – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. This is not for profit, just for kicks.
Ranger's Red Glare – Chapter 11
By PinPin
(eleven months and one week earlier)
Stephanie was pulling open the passenger door of Tank's truck before it had even come to a complete stop on the shoulder.
"Oh my god," he gasped the second he saw her. There was blood and dirt on her face and her clothing was ragged and stained. A large, screaming patch of raw skin stole down the side of her jaw from her ear to her neck. The palm of her left hand was torn, the jagged, bloody wound full of gravel and debris.
"It looks worse than it is," she said quickly but calmly.
"What happened?" he asked. When she'd called to ask for help with an emergency, he hadn't thought it included immediate medical attention.
"My skip attacked me and pushed me out of the car while I was driving."
Tank reached out to push her hair aside and inspect the damage, but Stephanie pulled back with a hiss. "Why didn't you call an ambulance?" he demanded, more confused than angry.
"I don't need one."
"For fuck's sake, Stephanie – "
Stephanie interrupted him impatiently, "trust me to know the difference between scratches and a broken bone and please focus right now!"
He hesitated. He wanted to argue. But he trusted her, as well as the look of pure determination on her face. "What do you need?" he asked as he pulled back into traffic.
Stephanie nodded and relaxed in relief. Ranger would have argued (and for that matter, probably so would have Tank if Ranger was in town at the time). Ranger would have let the guy go, forced her to go to the hospital, and then tried to give her a new car that no doubt would have more security installed in it than the Pope-mobile.
Stephanie rummaged through the glove compartment, coming up with some first aid items to clean her wounds as they drove. "I know Ranger plants bugs and trackers on me without telling me," she said. Tank glanced over at her and she asserted, "don't deny it; just tell me that you can activate them or whatever and trace my car."
"Yes." He touched-screened his way through the truck's GPS menus and pulled up a map with a set of two, blinking red dots. "Your car and your purse," Tank explained and stepped on the gas. "He's still moving but he's not too far to catch up to him. Tell me everything that happened."
It took them an hour to track Stephanie's A2 to a pair of poorly maintained public housing structures. Once there, it took another hour and a considerable amount of Tank's 'persuasive abilities' to learn in which unit their skip was hiding. As the typical sequence of events unfolded – angry shouting, door crashing, fists flying, cuffs snapping – Tank was more directly involved in the capture than Stephanie would have liked; very hands on with a brutal, implacable intensity. He gave the guy a licking until he nearly stopped ticking, and ultimately Stephanie literally had to pull him away.
"Stop, Tank, you're gonna kill him!" she shouted as she grabbed his arm. He stopped as ordered and retreated as Stephanie took over, but he still moved restlessly on the other side of the room like a boxer waiting for the bell to start the next round.
By the time they had their fugitive trussed up in the car, Stephanie couldn't hide her drowsiness any longer. She sagged, heavily and loosely into her seat and closed her eyes wearily. Tank was watching her closely and shrewdly asked, "where did you hit your head?"
"It's not bad," she brushed away his concern.
But his concern couldn't be diverted. He reached out and firmly ran his fingers through her hair, feeling her scalp and the place where a large knot had already grown.
"Ouch, damnit," she winced and tried to shove him away.
"A head injury is even worse than a broken bone," he barked irritably, annoyed with her for not mentioning it and himself for not insisting they see to her sores earlier. "I'll take you to the emergency room and drop him off while you're getting checked out."
"I'm not going to the hospital," she declared. "I need to keep an eye on him. I don't know if I can I trust you not to finish him off on the way."
Tank stared at her from where he stood, leaning into the passenger side of the truck with one hand still gently cradling her head. "That's such a lame excuse. Did you think that was going to work?"
"All I need are some bandages and ice," she tried again, sheepishly.
"For a head injury? No way, Babe, you're going to the hospital for tests."
They both froze, eyes locked on one another. They were thinking the same thing; it was chilling what that one word could do. Babe. Tank felt unreal, as if it had been someone else who'd said it.
Stephanie thought from Tank's expression that he might be about to apologize again and she didn't want that. It seemed to her like they were apologizing to each other a lot and that what it really all boiled down to was that it was mostly Ranger's fault. He was the reason they were in these awkward situations, ignorant and unsure about how to act around each other, trying to somehow be respectful of Ranger's thoughts and feelings while he was away, all the while never knowing what it was he thought or felt about anything. Why should they be the ones continually making amends to each other because of it?
"You know what? It's good," she said, never breaking from their gaze. "I need to hear that. He doesn't own the word and I can't go the rest of my life expecting other people not to use it."
Tank nodded and his hand slowly fell away from her. "Makes sense." He moved around to the driver's side and climbed in. Before starting the engine he crept through the awkward silence, "it did feel a little weird though, right?"
"Yeah," Stephanie agreed. She laughed gently, "yeah, it did."
The tension dispelled, Tank shot her a small smile and turned the ignition, "I'm not going to do that again."
"Okay, sure," Stephanie smiled back. "I'm good with that too."
They both nodded, coming to the tacit agreement that it wasn't a rule he couldn't call her 'Babe,' but rather that he wouldn't because he didn't really like doing it anyway.
(1,077 words)
A/N: Thank you for reading!
