Disclaimer: Anything recognizable belongs to Janet Evanovich, and the rest is mine. I'm grateful she lets us play.
Warning: Dark fic. Adult language, adult content, violence, smut. This is written for mature audiences only.
Chapter 11
Stephanie's POV
"Angelita, may I show Ranger how to disarm and rearm your sensors?" Hector asks. I nod yes after a brief hesitation and sit down on the futon to elevate my knee and close my eyes in a cat nap while Hector conducts his tutorial. For getting the best night of sleep I've had in months, I'm worn out today. I jump when I feel a hand placed on my shoulder.
Ranger looks at me with concern, and I accept his hand while making my way to my car. I sit in the passenger seat, Hector takes the wheel, and Ranger sits behind me after proving that he was able to manage my security system. I'm incredibly nervous about going to Rangeman, and I begin to feel myself closing off again.
I feel Ranger reach a hand through the space between the seat and the door and he rests it near my elbow. I tense in response, but I don't pull away. "How does going to Hector's office sound? I could have Lester and Bobby come down to meet you when you arrive or later," he says, and I know he is trying to give me at least the illusion of control.
"Fine. Just Lester to start," I state emotionlessly, and Ranger squeezes my elbow.
The rest of the drive is silent, and I find myself holding my breath as we enter the garage, half expecting Tank to smite me. Ranger holds my door open and holds a hand out for balance as I swivel my body around so that my left leg takes the lead. I pause as I stand and grip his hand a little tighter and force myself to look in his eyes. He places a hand on my arm again, rubbing it gently.
He understands my vulnerability and unspoken need to have my inner resolve bolstered. "I've got you, Babe. You can do this," he says in a low tone. I nod once, release his hand and walk slowly to the elevator. Hector has it open and cued. We take it to three, and I follow Hector into his office. Lester is pacing the floor and immediately redirects his course to me.
"Beautiful," he starts, looking me up and down. "I'm sorry. For this year, for what you heard me say after Farro, for not being there for you more. I'm sorry." The way Lester speaks is desperately sincere, and he looks exhausted.
His words connect with something deep inside me, and before I can talk myself out of it, I move a couple of steps towards him and wrap my arms around his chest. Lester holds his own out like an overstuffed doll in surprise before gently returning the embrace. "Me, too. I'm sorry, too. I've learned a lot the past couple of days, and I know I haven't made things easy. I also know you've done more to help me than I understood, and I need to thank you. Things are going to change; I'm going to change," I say quietly, and Lester tightens his embrace.
"I'm so glad to hear that. I'm here for you, Beautiful, anything you need," Lester replies thickly, releasing his grip when the compression on my lungs forces another cough.
I take a step back. "Okay," I say. I haven't been much of a conversationalist or even been around people much the past year, and I feel awkward and uncomfortable with all the attention and the relative newness of my surroundings.
I make my way to an office chair at a vacant desk and sit stiffly - Ranger's right. I need to get this looked at, but I need a minute to assimilate into my surroundings before visiting Bobby. Hector hands me a tablet and overturns a wastebasket for me to prop my leg up on before sitting down at his desk and beginning his workday. The normalcy is comforting. Lester wheels a chair over and sits beside me.
"I need to head up to five, Babe. I'm a call or text away," Ranger says before departing.
Ranger's POV
I pick up the duffle bag with Stephanie's cash and secure it in my personal safe on seven. My Babe never disappoints. She's the only person I've ever met that would have millions of dollars hidden in the walls of her low-rent apartment. The sacrifices she's made on my behalf far exceed anything I've ever spent on her. I've said there is no price between us, but if there was, I know I am the one indebted.
Steam begins to fill the bathroom air while I shave before taking a one-minute shower and dressing in my typical Rangeman uniform. Walking to my office, I greet the men as I stop to pour a large cup of coffee from the breakroom. I ensconce myself inside the quiet space to gather myself before confronting Tank.
The only good thing about sleeping in Stephanie's apartment is being with my Babe. I think Hector may have been more comfortable sleeping on the ground than that musty, lumpy, unsupported futon. I stretch out my back before taking a seat at my desk. One reason I would sneak into Steph's old apartment and watch her sleep is how expressive she is. Stephanie often mumbles, tosses and turns, and her facial expressions change in relationship to her dreams. One night I heard a breathless Ranger, and it's fueled many fantasies.
I woke up last night when Stephanie began thrashing in the bed, and I made out enough to know she was dreaming about Farro. I heard the fear when she mumbled Get the fuck off of me, and I immediately imagined Farro bruising her body and striking her. I was easily able to visualize what Steph was going through in her nightmare due to the reenactment my team put together, and I had to clamp down a flash of blinding rage the moment I knew Steph was about to be executed only to continue to fight for her life, killing the motherfucker instead.
Tank is right about one thing; five minutes is a long time to watch someone die. I laid beside Steph as I felt her process the aftermath in her subconscious, and I was standing by for her to either wake-up or drift further into sleep. What I wasn't ready for was her surprise at my presence, and I didn't know I could feel more compassion for Steph's situation than I did.
Stephanie doesn't expect anyone, even Hector, to stay with her. She truly feels alone in this world, and it explains many of her walls. All of those walls fell, if only for that conversation, and she clung to me fiercely.
I initially thought she was crying due to the emotional shock of her nightmare. When she sobbed, It's not my fault, I almost began to cry in relief with her, and I put everything I could into affirming her revelation. When she continued, I could hear the plea for validation in her voice, and I hope I was able to meet that need. I want to know what Farro said to her that she's carried a belief that he died because she didn't consent to sex, and I suspect there's something else in play that caused this once spirited, vivacious woman to believe him.
Stephanie sobbed, and I could feel the foundation of healing forming. A minute later she whispered, My life is worth valuing. I have the right to want to live, and I am worth loving. I am good, and I silently cried with her, sharing in the pain and relief. I know this newfound wisdom is tenuous, and her foundation will need much reinforcement, but it's a start.
My Babe is alive, and she wants to live.
I feel my beast begin to flex as I walk to Tank's office. I called Lester while inside Steph's bathroom this morning, and it took every ounce of self-control I possess to step out of that room and be the calm, steady person my Babe needs me to be right now. I'm nearly murderous that Tank authorized Stephanie's risk-taking by ordering Vinnie to let Steph take whatever files she wants. Consequently, Tank deliberately placed Stephanie in harm's way time and again, and I'm even more grateful for Hector's and Lester's interventions. Stephanie is alive because of them, and she could have died because of Tank.
Steph obtained the Sanchez file yesterday without Connie's knowledge, and I'm inclined to believe it was a set-up. But why would Tank choose yesterday to endanger Stephanie? When I met Tank Monday morning, I had no sense of animosity from him. By all accounts, he struck me as being the same long-time friend and colleague I thought I knew. Then I mentally replay the conversation.
Tank never mentioned Stephanie voluntarily. He knows how important she is to me, but he withheld how badly she was doing in favor of company reports. While debriefing Stephanie Monday morning, Tank seemed contrite, but perhaps that was a twinge of guilt or, more likely, he was acting to cover his tracks, thinking I wouldn't find out about his manipulations concerning Stephanie.
What does Tank have against Stephanie? Why is he enabling her mental and physical self-destruction? Why is he working to put Steph in the path of dangerous skips?
I pace beyond Tank's door and look out the window at the Burg, and the puzzle snaps together. Tank wants to keep control of Rangeman. It's why he's avoiding turnover and me. He doesn't see Stephanie as an employee, and I would be willing to bet he's removed her from the books while Lester and Bobby worked quietly behind the scenes to maintain her insurance coverages. Tank sees Stephanie the way the Burg does but not for the same reasons.
Steph is the opposite of most military types. She's independent, free-spirited, unconventional, exuberant, creative, and freely offers herself to others. She, at least was, blinding light in contrast to our colorless ways. Bobby was unable to recognize Steph's mental health crisis because his definition of a warrior was limited to the classic image of a soldier at war. Tank failed to recognize Stephanie as a warrior for the same reasons.
Instead of understanding what an asset to Rangeman and the men who work here Stephanie's unique traits are, Tank only saw the missteps, the accidents, and the times she rolled in the trash. He probably looks at the money this company has spent on helping her without considering what we've gotten in return in solved cases, productivity improvements due to personnel morale, and her exemplary local knowledge and research skills. He's no better than Morelli, Steph's mom, or anyone else who constantly put her down despite her ultimate success.
I walk into Tank's office, opening and closing the door without knocking, and lean against the wall with my arms folded across my chest. I regard Tank with my blank face in place as he puts on an elaborate show of looking put out by the intrusion.
"We went over this yesterday, Ranger," he starts in a dismissive but slightly annoyed tone. "You'll need to get on my schedule for turnover, and I know you haven't had time to read all of the pertinent documentation yet."
"Sanchez," I order.
"Yes, I do have time for that," Tank retorts angrily, pushing away from his desk slightly. "I was going to let it slide this time between friends, but since you've decided to storm in here, I think a few reminders are in order. I'm in charge of Rangeman, not you. You do not have the authority to pull men off of patrol to rescue a civilian. You put my men and this company's assets at risk at the drop of a dime, but it ends up costing us a lot more than dimes. Clear?"
I no longer know the man who stands before me. "Crystal," I reply icily, taking a step forward. "It's crystal clear to me that you forgot the most fundamental lesson we learned in Officer Candidate School as fresh Second Lieutenants, well before we became Rangers and business leaders. You put the mission first, and you forgot about the people who make the mission happen. As a result, you have failed in your mission," I stare at Tank with the full gaze of condemnation, and he shrinks before me.
"What are the Core Values of the Army? What are those traits we memorized that first week of training? What are those words our Drill Sergeant woke us up at all God-awful hours of the night to recite?" I thunder. Tank remains silent.
"Given what I've seen around here the past three days, I'm not surprised you forgot. You struggled to remember it back then, too," I state, making no effort to hide my disappointment and anger.
"Loyalty," I state, now standing directly in front of Tank. "Duty. Respect. Selfless service." I push each word at Tank forcefully. "Integrity." I let that word sink in a second longer. "Personal courage," I pause and lean forward slightly over Tank's desk. "Honor."
Tank matches my stare evenly, but I begin to see the cracks in the façade.
"I know you remember what our unit commander told us after every debrief. Tell me," I demand in a low voice.
"Loyalty is a two-way street, loyalty up and loyalty down. Respect for one's superior's; care for one's crew," Tanks replies reluctantly. *
"The only person you are loyal to is you. Turnover will happen at 1730 today. Be ready," I state before turning and leaving.
Tank's POV
I watch Ranger depart and slam my fist down on my desk in anger and exasperation. A new day, same nonsense. Ranger comes in here pissed off that his precious Stephanie was hurt last night. Well, I'm pissed off that Rangeman assets were diverted, my men's lives were put at risk due to another poorly planned rescue attempt, and this company spent more money saving Stephanie Plum. I had to find out about it from the fucking watch turnover reports. Ranger has never given me the respect I'm due.
Who the fuck does Ranger think he is? He returns from playing GI Joe for the last year and comes back with a superiority complex. How dare he storm in here like General Eisenhower on D-Day! Now he wants to take the company out from under my lead. I made vast improvements in Rangeman in his absence, and I don't need him here. Why can't he go to Miami as we planned? Trenton was always supposed to be mine. And then Stephanie Plum came along.
If I'm honest, I thought she was amusing at first, but I also thought she'd never last. Ranger, Lester, Bobby, and I have always maintained a "bros before hos" policy. Those three are my brothers, our bond forged in the frontlines. Then, Stephanie would always somehow manage to rise above her ridiculous incompetence and do something right, practically in spite of herself. I knew after the Scrog incident that Ranger had fallen for her, but I still never expected him to betray me by never leaving Rangeman Trenton. I was happy Ranger got year-long mission orders. I could finally have the number one slot, and I was going to do everything thing I could to keep it, and that included getting Stephanie to quit once and for all.
Little Girl was almost out of the picture, almost. Sanchez would have done her in last night. I made sure she got that file. I told Vinnie that every injury Stephanie would get from taking our skips would result in a bonus for him. He was quick to sell out his cousin. I don't care what Stephanie does with her life as long as she keeps Rangeman out of it. She cost us too much money in recent years. She's a God-damned liability and Ranger is too pussy-whipped to realize that she is wasting his money.
Now, Ranger saunters back into the office, demanding I meet with him to go over the transition all the while distracted once again by Stephanie. That's a man with loyalties divided, not me. Well, fuck you, Manoso. I'm not giving up my control. Go take care of your damsel in distress. If he continues to put her above the company, I will make sure there is no company. I've squirreled away enough money that I don't need to worry about earning a living if Rangeman folds. Our food bill and "decorating" bill is half of what it was before, now that the men are on a strict diet. The return to the basics is what the men needed. They were too careless and capricious. Now we once again run with military precision, and the men are loyal to me because I took care of them instead of Ranger's fuck buddy.
I shake my head as I stand and look out over the shithole known as the Burg. Stephanie Plum. I never understood what Ranger saw in her. She's rather plain, unimpressive in the looks department, and a damned disaster. But yet, Little Girl thinks she is better than everyone else. She's not. She's nothing more than a gold-digging whore. Lula told me that Stephanie was only after Ranger for his money. If Ranger is too blind to see that she's a gold-digger, then he deserves to lose half his estate to her.
Now, how do I get rid of Ranger and Stephanie once and for all?
Stephanie's POV
"What happened to your leg?" Lester asks. He's sitting near me, but he's still respecting my personal space. It's allowing me to relax, and I decide to embrace change by responding to his question immediately.
"Caesar. I fell on the stairs when he was encouraging me into a holding room," I say, keeping my eyes on the gossip site I'm opening on the tablet.
"Maybe I should have dislocated both of his kneecaps," Lester muses, and I shoot him a sideways glance. "No worries. There's always time for an accident to happen while he's in lock-up. I have some guys who owe me a favor," he continues, a smirk on his face.
I roll my eyes, and it becomes a full smile. "So, what are the Kardashians up to today?" he asks, and Hector rolls his eyes.
An hour later, I'm doubled over in laughter combined with more of this stupid cough as Lester tells me why a particular Las Vegas hotel banned him. Somehow, he managed to get the toilet seat stuck around his head, and the fire department had to come to pry it off. "That asshole," Lester said, "Stood by and watched it happen."
I look up to see Ranger leaning against the wall, his arms crossed, and a wisp of a smile crossing his face. "You deserved to be humbled," he says. "I've got it on video, should you ever want to see it yourself, Babe." Lester groans, Hector looks interested, and I laugh again.
"Bobby?" I question, and Ranger nods once and walks over, offering me his hand once again.
"Do you want me to stay?" Ranger asks when we're halfway down the hallway.
"Do you have the time?" I reply, feeling guilty about cutting into his workday. Ranger stops and stands in front of me so that we are looking directly at each other.
"Always, Babe. There's no price between us, remember that. I am here for you, no judgment, no hesitation, no cost. I unequivocally meant what I said last night; I love you. Period," he says urgently, and I nod my head in response, taking a deep breath to steel myself.
"Thank you," I manage, fighting the tears that spring to my eyes. "Yes, please, stay with me," I say nervously, my vision locked on Ranger.
For a second I think Ranger is about to kiss me, but he presses his lips together, and we continue down the hall. Ranger knocks on Bobby's office door.
"It's open," I hear Bobby call, and he stands as we enter.
"Bomber!" Bobby states, looking between Ranger and me. "I'm so glad you're here. I have something I need to tell you," Bobby continues before awkwardly looking away. It's almost comforting to see someone as uneasy as I am with reconciliations. "I haven't been a friend to you this year. When you left the building after Farro and cut us off, I never took the time to figure out why. I thought I was honoring what you wanted, but since Ranger's returned, I realized a few things. I tend to be a very analytical and somewhat introverted person, and I can lose myself in the scientific or medical challenge of something. I also tend to be follower outside of my comfort zone. I took my cues from the wrong person this year, and I let you, Rangeman in general, and myself down in the process. I knew you were hurting, and I didn't reach out. I'm sorry, Steph," Bobby says, looking genuinely contrite.
I sigh and set my jaw. Just as you were willing to cut everyone off and become a tougher person, be that brave and let people help you, Steph.
"The blame doesn't rest only with you," I reply quietly. "I could have given you a chance or asked you to explain what I overheard after Farro. I should have given our history the benefit of the doubt. I'm sorry, too. Friends?" I say, reaching out my hand.
Bobby smiles warmly and grips my hand with both of his. "Friends," he agrees, and I believe him.
"I think I need your help," I say quietly to Bobby, clasping my fingers together. "I hurt my knee yesterday, and someone needs to look at it, but I think I might need some other help moving past this last year. I don't know what that is, and I don't know how to move forward."
Ranger places a comforting hand on my back, and I let out a slow stream of air, coughing slightly at the end.
"Steph, I know it's hard right now, but it will get better. I promise," Bobby says gently, and when I look up, I see compassionate confidence. "Come have a seat here," Bobby says, pointing to a chair. "I need to discuss a couple of things with you first."
I sit, and Ranger pulls up a chair beside me. "I haven't done a good job as your primary medical care provider, Bomber. When you became a Rangeman employee, I should have treated you like everyone else, but since you aren't like everyone else, I didn't. As a result, when things happened to you, I was less prepared to respond to your psychological needs as well as physical, and we never enforced Rangeman protocol," he starts, and my eyes widen in surprise.
"If what had happened to you during Farro, or frankly any of the other dozen or so major events I know of, happened to any other employee, he would have been pulled from the field, assigned mandatory counseling, a mentor, likely been honored for his actions, and undergone strict testing before being cleared again. Farro wasn't the first time you've fired your weapon in the line of duty, and I've lost track of the number of times you've been assaulted or nearly died, and I don't even have a complete physical work-up on you in my records. I need to correct that, beginning today," Bobby states, and I begin to feel a flutter of panic in my chest. Bobby seems to sense that and leans forward, placing his eye level more evenly with my own.
"Anything you tell me is confidential, and to build your trust, I'm going to tell you that I've received records for any medical care you've sought from secondary providers. Ranger has reviewed a summary sheet of that care but not specific details. No one else has or will see it without your written approval. I am only interested in your care and well-being, Steph," Bobby finishes, and I grind my teeth as I look away in contemplation.
Change is hard, and I changed once to isolate myself. Now it's time to trust. I can do this.
"Okay, but Ranger stays," I say, my body rigid as I fight my initial instinct to shut myself away. Ranger places a hand behind my neck and lightly massages away some of the tension, and I cough as my body relaxes slightly
"Good, first things first, let's complete a few questionnaires," Bobby says, opening my electronic medical record on his computer and pulling up a new document. He begins asking typical questions about my medical history and that of my family's. There's a history of hypertension, hyperthyroidism, and heart disease in my family, but otherwise, we are a pretty healthy bunch. My only medication is an IUD and occasional pain relievers. I was damn sure I didn't want to become pregnant anytime the past few years.
Under respiratory issues, I admitted to developing pneumonia and bronchitis about a month ago. I had chest x-rays taken to confirm the diagnosis, and treated it with antibiotics, but that I still occasionally feel winded. When Bobby asked about hearing loss, I nodded yes. "Since Farro, I've developed a ringing in both ears that comes and goes, usually at least once a day. It seems to be worse if I am under stress. It happened last night," I say, glancing at Ranger. He nods and gives me a tight smile, his hand on my neck continuing its light massage.
"Okay, Bomber. I'll set up an appointment with an ear, nose, and throat specialist," Bobby says, making a note.
I answer yes to a history of concussions or head trauma, and even after Bobby pulls up what he has on record for me, it takes nearly ten minutes to reconcile the data. "Steph, I'm going to send you to a specialist to evaluate you for TBI or traumatic brain injury. With the number of head injuries in your history, it's standard to get a baseline," Bobby states.
There are another series of yes answers to a history of joint injuries, breaks, sprains, and it takes another fifteen minutes for Bobby to collate what he has on record and fill in the gaps with my memory. My body has taken a beating. "When we get to the physical portion of the evaluation, I'm going to check your mobility and flexibility to ensure everything has healed correctly," Bobby says before moving on.
The rest is a series of no answers, and we move to the 'Females Only' portion of the form. I list my last menstrual cycle at two weeks prior, last pap smear six months ago and the clinic I visited. Bobby finds the records and collates it with the questionnaire before continuing with, "Any pregnancies?"
"One, miscarriage at six weeks," I reply, and I feel Ranger's hand still a second. I sigh and look down. "It was Dickie's," I say quietly. "I came home early to tell him the good news, only to find him fucking Joyce over my dining room table. I burned the table in the front yard, but I lost the baby due to the stress."
"Do you need to take a break, Steph?" Bobby asks gently, and while I appreciate his empathy, I want to finish this. I shake my head no, and he asks me if I have a history of STDs.
I sigh again and cross my arms over my chest. "Chlamydia. Treated. I'm clean," I say, grinding my teeth together. I have no desire to go over my sexual history.
"It's alright, Babe," Ranger says quietly. "No one here is judging you." I give him a side-eye look, and he seems to be sincere. I let my posture droop slightly as I cough, and I choose to continue to trust him against every instinct in me that wants to walk out of this room.
"Next, I am going to do a couple of mental health screens. These are standardized forms, and even if the questions seem odd, there is a numerical score at the end that will help me best direct your care, if any is needed," Bobby explains. "I'll ask a couple of more generic questions first. What is your alcohol intake per week?"
"Two to five drinks a day," I respond.
"Any illegal drugs?"
"No."
"Anxiety or panic attacks?"
I shrug. "Maybe, I'm not sure."
"Depression or excessive worry?"
I shrug again. "I'd like to say no, but I'm objective enough to realize some of my actions this past year don't align with that."
"Frequent trouble sleeping?"
"Yes."
"Have you been previously evaluated for a mental condition?"
"No."
Bobby pauses and looks at me compassionately. "Have you attempted suicide, Steph?"
"No, but I haven't cared very much if I lived or died, either, and my actions reflect that. I know that, and I want to live my life differently," I say, tears springing to my eyes.
Ranger pulls me towards him, and I'm surprised at how much I appreciate the comforting act. "It's going to get better, Babe. This examination is the first step. You're doing great," he says.
"Steph, trauma, if not addressed, can sometimes lead to other mental health concerns. Next, I'm going to ask a series of situational questions," Bobby continues. "I know we know the answer to some of these, but I don't want to make any assumptions. Have you experienced a serious accident or fire?"
"Yes, four house fires, no idea how many car accidents," I say, increasingly fighting my urge to become detached and leave.
"A physical or sexual assault or abuse?"
I lean forward with one arm wrapped around my waist and the other supporting my chin. "Yes, I have scars all over my body proving physical assault, but it's part of the job. I've been sexually assaulted with penetration four times, not sure how many times a skip tried to pull something," I respond glumly, working to keep my emotions at bay.
Ranger rubs small circles on my back. I hate feeling small and weak, and that's precisely what this topic does to me. I tilt my head towards him, biting my lip, and I see the acceptance I need. I sit back and reach my hand over to his, and he envelops it immediately with his own. It's the first time I've asked for physical comfort from him, and while the action was scary, I feel instantly stronger with his acceptance. It's going to be okay.
"An earthquake or flood?" Bobby continues after a pause.
"No."
"A war?"
"No."
"Seeing someone killed or seriously injured?"
"Yes, that list is pretty long."
"Having a loved one die through homicide or suicide?"
"No, I wasn't close to any of the people who have died," I say, staring at a spot on the wall.
"Five more questions, Steph, and we'll finish with this portion," Bobby says. "Do you have nightmares about any of the events you said yes to or thought about the events when you did not want to?"
"Every day," I respond quietly.
"Do you try hard not to think about the event or events or went out of your way to avoid situations that reminded you of the events or events?"
"Yes."
"Have you been constantly on guard, watchful, or easily startled?"
"Yes."
"Do you or have you felt numb or detached from people, activities, or your surroundings?"
I didn't expect this question, and I glance at Bobby in surprise. It's how I feel every day, including this exam. "Yes," I affirm.
"Do you feel or have you felt guilty or unable to stop blaming yourself or others for the event or events or any problems the event or events may have caused?"
"Yes," I reply, wondering what it means that I responded affirmatively to every question as I cover my mouth while I cough. I hope Bobby meant it when he said this was the last of the questions. Much more, and I will ask for a break. I feel exhausted, physically and emotionally.
Bobby finishes making a note on the computer and turns towards me. "Steph, that was a standardized PTSD screen developed by the VA. Based on your responses, it is highly likely that you have developed PTSD as a result of the various traumatic events you've experienced, especially since you've never received care after any of those events. I recommend seeing a mental health professional who specializes in PTSD and trauma. I can have someone come here, or you could meet him or her out in town. What would you be comfortable with?" Bobby explains, but his voice is even and non-judgmental.
I consider his explanation quietly. I think there is a part of me that is relieved by Bobby's diagnosis. It makes me feel like there is a reason why I've reacted and felt the way I have, but it also gives me a way forward. If I meet with someone out in town, there is always a chance that I will be seen coming and going from the office, and I'll be the center of gossip all over again. If I meet with someone here, it means I'll be here. However, with Tank leaving and Ranger taking over, maybe I can feel safe here again. "Female therapist, here. But if I feel like I'm the center of gossip, I will want to meet outside of Trenton," I state, and Bobby agrees.
"Proud of you, Babe," Ranger says into my ear, and I nod, feeling both anxious and comforted.
A/N: *Quote from Rear Admiral Grace Hopper, inventor of the compiler and a Presidential Medal of Freedom recipient. She is an incredible American hero, and I recommend looking up her biography if you are unfamiliar with her story.
Special thanks this chapter to my beta, misty23y, for co-writing Tank's POV this chapter with me. Misty was essential to giving Tank a more unique voice as we explore his motivations. You're the best, Babe!
I had a wonderful weekend of travel and relaxation, and it's left me feeling revived and refreshed. I also didn't have computer access. It's important to me that everyone knows how much I value the time and input you guys provide, and I've done a poor job of replying to those comments since Chapter 8.
I hear from some of you guys every chapter, namely:
Shellbell78, aruvqan, baileygirl12, redbird23, GarbanzoBeans, Buddy'sBabe, glynnall, jkgk, trhodes9, shoegirl01, melyons, avidreader72, JudoMom, VulcanRider, joycon98, and dizzlydee. THANK YOU!
Many more have popped up on a chapter that moved them, to share an encouraging comment, or to provide feedback on the direction of the story. You are:
sbabe, Daffybduck, kold1, Katherin Bend, IdRatherBeCrafting, Fawn Hickory, RhoJ, ohtootsie, katannc, mysskrys, First Generation Scot, annalynn88, ybanormlmom, frost dance, Tommy14, Brigid, Miss Juniper13, pinkladyj56, daxandpat, janinemayjames, Eleni, Team Ranger, chicki'62, Ann S, Karen Parker, judyshue809, and Guest(s). THANK YOU!
There have been at least 44 individual reviewers in the last three chapters alone, and I'm grateful for each of you. You guys are amazing, and I love writing in the JE fandom. I still intend to reach out to you in a PM, if your account allows, but I didn't want to delay the chapter until I was able to do so or let another chapter go by without expressing my appreciation.
If you are interested, I am willing to provide a Q&A at the end of Chapter 12. Is there anything you would like to know about the who, what, when, where, and why of this story that I could answer at the end of the A/N? Let me know!