Author – PinPin
Rating – R : strong language, eventually some violent and sexually suggestive content (no smut)
Disclaimer – I do not own the characters, etc. I am only borrowing them from Janet. (some originals will pop-up later) This is not for profit, just for kicks.
Notes – post EoT, directly following book 11. Citations with an asterisk are non-essential. Babe, but Cupcake respectful.
Stephanie Redux – Chapter 26
Steam rose from the gutters of quiet streets and night hung high above the city threatening snow and ice. The drive to my apartment was quick. I pulled into my lot and felt that familiar inkling of relief that starts to spread upwards from my toes to the top of my spine whenever I know I'm only a minute from finally returning home after a long day. A detour at the mailbox and a short elevator ride were all that stood between me and the silent, secure sanctuary of my kitchen.
"Hi. How's it going?" I greeted Rex as I reset my alarm behind me. He peeked out from his soup can at the sound of my voice. "Anything exciting happen while I was gone?" He blinked up at me twice, which was hamster for 'no.' I think. I dropped a grape in his dish. He finally emerged and sniffed it twice before stuffing it into his cheek and retreating.
"Hey, come back; I need to talk to you." I didn't expect a reply, which happened to be fortunate since I didn't get one. "I know it's late and it's been a while. I'm sorry. I've been busy. Are you really that mad at me? I have a good excuse." I bent down to Rex's eye level on the counter and plunked my chin on my folded hands.
"You like Ranger don't you?" I sighed. The only response from Rex was another twitch of his rear end at the mouth of the soup can. "Does he ever talk to you?" I asked, but if they did ever chat, Rex was keeping it to himself.
"He bought you treats when he went shopping, you know?" I dropped one of the little yogurt bites into his dish and he darted out of his can to inhale it. Instead of retreating, he gazed up at me for a second, waiting for another morsel. "I bet you think I should forgive him, but he was kind of a jerk earlier." Rex didn't seem all that sympathetic, though. He scurried back to his can and ignored me.
"He came to dinner tonight. He talked to dad and even kissed me at my parents' house. Then all of a sudden he wants to know if I'm going to marry Joe."
I thought back to all of the times Ranger had questioned me about Joe in the past and realized that he never had. Not only had he never outright asked me about Joe before, but the subject had very rarely come up at all. Joe was the opposite. Joe always had a lot of concerns about Ranger. The subject seemed to come up all the time.
"I don't understand him, I told Rex. "This morning was so different. He wanted me to stay at his place tonight." I gave him another yogurt bite. This time he didn't immediately scurry back to his can, but sat staring out at me. His whiskers twitched and he fluffed up the bedding around him. "That is a good point," I said. "Forgiving him would mean I'd get to stay the night over there. I really should be there; he came right out and invited me and I told him I would."
I remembered how I'd admitted to Mary Lou that I avoided conflict, but assured her that I wouldn't hide from it. And I'd defensively told Lula that I didn't run away from people. I'd been quick to deny that accusation, because I knew how true it was. I'd even shouted it at Ranger, told him that when it really mattered, I never hid from him. Do I really go through life wearing blinders?
"Plus, I guess I should give him a chance to finish the argument," I conceded to Rex. "I did sort of run away again." Honestly, I wasn't entirely sure what I'd fled from this time. What exactly had we even been arguing about? "Sometimes I think I'll never understand him."
Giving up on the prospect of more treats, Rex turned tail, did a scurrying circuit around his can and then returned once again to his tin sanctuary. "Okay. You're right, you're right, you're right," I told him. "I'll never find out if it's possible if I don't even try."
~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~
Enough time had passed for my eyes to fully adjust to the darkness of my bedroom, but there was nothing there to see. I didn't know what had made me think I'd be able to sleep anyway.
I'd stayed in the garage long enough to watch Stephanie climb into the truck and slam the door shut behind her; the glow of taillights that flashed a red brilliance in her wake, faded quickly in her absence. If it wouldn't have been wildly inappropriate, I'd have held her back or gone after her. But it wasn't an option. It would undermine her position amongst the other men and only prove to her that I needed to control everything, including her. I didn't need ESP to know that with the state she was in when she left, it would take her a long time to forgive me for that.
I tossed and turned in bed, thoughts of Stephanie making it feel larger than usual.
In the same night, within a matter of hours, I'd been told that regardless of what or how I tried, there was nothing I could do to protect Stephanie and that one of the most dangerous threats she would ever face had come to Trenton. I could spend every second with her, day and night, and still be unable to deter every menace. I could buy her a million vests and force her to arm herself tooth and nail, but what good would it do if Casper made headshots? One bullet, one fraction of a second, would be all it would take.
I gave up on rest and fetched a glass of water, my eyes avoiding her spare boots near the door, the empty counter space, the half eaten jar of olives alongside her mother's leftovers in the refrigerator.
Vagaries and impassivity aside, Frank Plum didn't mince words. He came to the point. I appreciated that. I knew men like him and I had a base level respect for them all – barrel-chested men who had charged the front lines in dirty, frantic battles. Technology had changed military service in the intervening years. I'd seen some grim, twisted shit with the Rangers, but most of it had been a different sort of combat. Plum was old school. He was a man who had trudged through the mud and blood with a paper map and book of matches. There was something about him, however, that inspired more respect than most, and it had nothing to do with his service record. It was the way he'd held my eye, unflinchingly claiming his role and wearing his pride in having raised a woman of Stephanie's strength.
He'd called me a fool and he was probably right. What had possessed me to ask Stephanie about Morelli? I saw her with the vest in her hand, heading out on the job. She was perfect, but somehow it was also wrong. Something came over me and I pushed. Hard. Harder than I'd thought I could push her. And when her anger surged to fight off her confusion and panic, she'd turned to flee and I pushed harder still. It made me physically ill, but if she was going to get away from Casper, she would need to get away from us. Lately she'd only been getting closer and closer. Too close. Tank was seriously considering telling her his real name and I found myself daydreaming about whether or not it'd be possible to add more closet space to my apartment. My mind would wander against my will and imagine what she'd look like standing in the middle of the 'Batcave' and how it'd measure up against her expectations. I guessed at how she'd react if I told her the whole story about Celia and introduced them to each other. What would she say if she learned everything about my ex-wife? My daughter? My uncle? I wondered whether her children would turn out like Mary Alice.
I switched on the light in my office and carried my files out to the living room. The minutes from my last briefing with our weapons suppliers needed to be reviewed prior to our semiannual meeting which was scheduled for later in the week. I needed to be rested, focused, and prepared for the renegotiations. But that was easier said than done. My thoughts disobediently circled Stephanie and left very little room for anything else to get through.
As consumed as I was with securing Stephanie's safety through added distance, it was impossible to ignore the fact that my behavior was truly governed by a selfish desperation to have her near me, if only to feel her presence. If I wanted to be honest with myself, I had to admit that I'd asked about Morelli because I wanted to know where she stood with him. I wanted it spelled out for me. I wanted an end to the second guessing and confusion. I needed to witness her reaction. I needed to know how she felt. But my own fears always held back the torrent of questions at the last second and silenced me before I could bring myself to ask them. What if I didn't like the answers? There was more than one way to lose her. [*024]
Glancing at the clock, I estimated that her shift should be wrapping up sometime soon. It was a routine assignment for which every Rangeman had been frequently responsible. Even Stephanie would have a hard time creating complications. But I was still uneasy. It was a familiar feeling by now. The twist in my gut, the heat creeping through my chest, the twitch in my hands; it was this feeling that had finally forced me to admit to myself that Stephanie was already more to me than I'd planned, that I was in danger of falling for her. By now she was too unsettling to deny. I was in love with her. I wasn't just attracted to her anymore. I needed her.
In the years since I'd enlisted I'd known only professional success, from boot to chief in record time, and then to private sector bigwig. I shared fidelity with my men and found satisfaction in my work. I knew who I was and where my life was headed. I'd found balance. What was so damn troubling about Stephanie was that she made me sorry for it. Slowly, unnoticed at first and then more dramatically, she'd chipped away at my carefully laid foundation and gave me small glimpses, tiny tastes, of all that I'd forgone. Stephanie made me want.
I abandoned my bottle of water for a glass of something old, gold, and a lot stronger. I was battling the urge to check on her, to call and ask if she was planning to come back. Hell, I'd beg her to come back if I had to. The dread that we'd fall into some kind of on/off pattern of our own roiled in my veins and the uncertainty was killing me.
A joke. That was how she'd described her engagement to Morelli. A bad joke? He'd never proposed and she'd never planned to marry him. So she was just kidding when she told me they were engaged? Was it a joke when she went dress shopping with her mother and the punch line was kissing me and telling me that she wanted to sleep together but couldn't because of a moral dilemma? Well, I wasn't laughing. And neither had Morelli. I could easily believe that he'd stay with her even if it was clear to him that the engagement wasn't serious. Time and again, through all the fights and break ups, he hadn't given up on her and I couldn't fault the man for that. That's essentially what I've been doing for years, taking what I can, when I can, and accepting the reality that there was no 'happily ever after' in store for us.
I'd never expected to grow old and content, surrounded by loved ones. The family I'd once known was lost to me years ago. A solitary existence was the accepted consequence of the choices, and mistakes, I'd made. And a violent life, such as the one I'd chosen, more often than not, ends in violence. I wasn't naïve enough to suppose I would be an exception to that fate. I'd known very few people who were. Vina had fallen to it, as had countless others. I didn't need to know the details of her death to know that she, and everyone working with her, had risked it all for the mission. And she'd lost, the circumstances keeping her isolated from her loved ones, even in death – her name blacked out in reports, her service swathed in official denials, her sacrifice redacted. I hadn't thought about her in ages, not until Tank mentioned her name. I hadn't worried or even been curious enough to inquire after her, and all the while Tank and Lester had been walking around, harbingers of the silenced truth. What that must have been doing to Lester these past years was unthinkable. I finally understood what had made him withdraw his participation from international contract work. It was no wonder he couldn't stomach it anymore. Who was I to ask anyone to put up with that type of uncertainty for me?
The clock in the wall continued to tick off the passing minutes. And I sat silent and solitary. Without Stephanie. I'd finally stopped glancing at the door. It was late and I should have been in bed.
~POV~pov~POV~pov~POV~
Returning to the tiny apartment, she made certain that the other units on her floor were still vacant. Neighbors were always idiots without a clue about what was happening as little as one room away, but they could be nosy idiots and for some reason juries always thought they made credible witnesses. And she couldn't abide witnesses. [*025]
She locked the door behind her and pulled out her gun. Her eyes tracked their usual pattern across the simple room, sweeping over every detail, cataloging any changes. There were none tonight.
She set the gun down within reach and faced the mirror behind the door to survey the image, so unlike her natural reflection. She liked this one though, more than many of the others she'd tried out in the past. It was a shame she had no choice but to change it now. Someday, in another town, she'd recreate it again.
She snapped open a garbage bag and stuffed her jacket inside. Her top and skirt were next, followed by bra, panties, shoes, and gloves. Pulling the long fall from her own hair, she inspected it and frowned when she found dried red traces of the night's events tangled in one of the curls. Everything was added to the bag, which was then tagged for incineration and stowed in the corner. Next, a Delaware state I.D. for Wanda Klein went into an ashtray and bubbled under flame until it was a burned and melted unrecognizable wad of plastic and ashes.
In the bathroom, she unzipped her kit and unpacked a collection of soaps and cleansers. She plucked golden lens from her eyes revealing a soft celadon that didn't match the bloodshot whites, which aged her sleep deprived stare. Her false eyelashes were next, then the false nails, polish, and glue as she stepped under the hot spray of the shower, washing away the visible remnants of her filthy work.
But the thrill of it remained on her skin, curled the corners of her lips, and pumped through her veins in a familiar rush of excitement. The buzz she got from those moments of absolute power over another person would linger with her all night – the power to end a man's existence in the space between breaths or turn away and grant him a reprieve he'd never even known he needed.
The temporary hair dye bled into the splashing water. She watched the ochre suds swirling around her feet and slipping away, down the drain, until the color began to pale and her reflection looked familiar. Stepping out of the water, the faint, pale shine of tight scars flashed across her back as she wrapped towels around herself and tied back her hair.
As she air-dried at the tiny table against the wall opposite the window, her work was spread out before her. She checked bus routes and schedules, was lucky enough to find an old Photo Hut that was listed in the phonebook but nowhere on the internet, and scouted out local maps for alleyways near the rail line that had through traffic access. Last of all, before she'd allow sleep, she worked a thin, diamond roughened file into the barrel of the gun she'd used earlier that night, and then proceeded to clean and inventory each of her weapons, piece by piece.
A/N: Thank you for reading! Despite this story's longevity, it's still a WIP. (I work on it when I can.) Please R&R.
[*024 : Kerli – Bulletproof ] [*025 : A Perfect Circle – Counties Bodies Like Sheep to the Rhythm of War Drums]