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 12

Stephanie's POV

Bobby stands and pulls a hospital gown out of a cabinet and sets it on the bed on the opposite side of the room. "Next I am going to take a round of vitals, draw some blood, do a basic physical examination, and you mentioned your knee. It's not a gynecological exam, and for any of those needs, I completely understand if you want to go to a different provider. If we have time, I'll also re-examine any old injuries to see how well you've healed, and I'll document any tattoos or scars greater than one inch for identification purposes. You can leave your undergarments on, but I ask that you otherwise undress. I'll step out while you do," Bobby says, walking out and closing the door behind him.

"Do you want me to stay or go, Babe?" Ranger asks, my hand still clutching his.

I turn in my chair and wrap my arms around his chest, needing to lean on him for a moment. Having reached out the first time and been accepted, it's easier the second, and even more so, I want to. Being vulnerable is exhausting. "Stay," I say into his chest.

Ranger's arms crisscross over my back, and I begin to feel more at peace. I pull away and start to cough as I bend over to untie my boots. It's a simple task on my good leg, but I struggle to reach without incurring more pain on the right. Ranger helps me without asking. I walk over to the bed and face the wall before sliding off my jacket and pulling my shirt over my head. I pull the robe over my front and reach behind my neck to tie it closed.

"This is beautiful, Babe," Ranger says, his fingertips brushing the skin between my shoulder blades before taking the tie from my fingers.

"I'm trying to think so," I say, before shimmying my pants down my waist and sitting down to finish pulling them off. Ranger assists and sets them with the jacket before sitting down beside me.

After the incident with Sanchez three months ago, I began work on a modestly sized but heavily detailed and shaded set of feathered wings between my shoulder blades, with the two wings separated by a blank space. "I want to believe you and Hector. I want to be his angel, and the woman you say spreads light wherever she goes. But I've felt nothing but darkness and failure since Farro. I often feel as though I broke the scale of good and evil, and everything since has sent me further down to hell. I always said I wanted to fly, but frankly, right now I don't know which way I'm going," I say honestly, leaning my head into his shoulder.

"I know, Babe, and I'm sorry," Ranger says, placing an arm around my shoulders. "Some of this is my fault. When I agreed to be your mentor, I should have treated you like every other Rangeman employee. We have these screenings and protocols in place to prevent and minimize the impact of trauma. I knew you hated hospitals, valued your independence, and liked to do things your own way. When I didn't explain why Rangeman does things the way we do, I didn't give you the information you needed to make good decisions about your health. That's how I failed you as your boss, but I feel I failed you more so as a friend. I acted like your Batman, as you used to say, but I often didn't follow-up with you when bad things did happen, and worse, at times actively pushed you away or held you at arm's length. I hope you can forgive me."

I look up at Ranger as tears unexpectedly flood the corners of my eyes. "Of course I forgive you. It's me who doesn't deserve forgiveness. I don't know how you can look at me let alone want to still help me given everything I've done," I confess, sighing heavily as I look down and lace my fingers tightly together in my lap.

"Babe, I will tell you as many times as it takes for you to believe me. You are the best person I know. Sure, you have some things you aren't proud of doing. So do I, and so does Lester, Hector, and Bobby. You are hurting, and you were surviving. That causes us to do things we may regret later. I will never, ever judge you for that, and I have nothing but the highest respect for you. I see you determinedly face the things that are troubling you, and I know how difficult that can be. Change is hard," Ranger says, rubbing my bicep.

"I love you, Babe," he says. "As your friend, and, if and when you are ever ready, as something more. I will always be there for you."

My stomach does a little flip flop at his words, and I tentatively tilt my head up and search his dark chocolate eyes before pulling away again. "Thank you for believing in me," I whisper before resting my head in the soft spot of his shoulder again and closing my eyes. He loves me, and I'm starting to believe it, but I'm not ready to say it back. I don't even know if I love myself, and that makes me wonder if I can love anyone else.

Ranger wraps both arms around me, and I appreciate the warmth. This robe is much cooler than my heavy jacket, and I was feeling chilled in that. "Is there anything else you want to talk about before I call Bobby back in?" he asks.

"You must have questions," I say, finding my quiet courage. "While it's fresh, and I'm already raw, ask me."

Ranger pulls me slightly closer. "You don't have to, but will you tell me more about your response to the sexual assault question? It might help me understand and respond to you better," he says.

I place my outboard arm around Ranger's middle and nestle into him further. He is my favorite smell, and breathing in his nearness makes me feel safe. He gives me a slight squeeze in response, and a calmness I need to answer his question settles over me.

"Morelli at six in his father's garage. He called it choo-choo. His finger was the train, and my vagina was the tunnel. Him again at sixteen. He came into the Tasty Pastry at closing and asked for a cannoli. While I was filling it, he locked the door and forced himself on me on the bakery floor. I said no, he said that's what virgins say when they mean yes," I begin, retelling my history with a hint of sarcasm. I stop to cough and begin with a more regretful tone. "I was date raped in college. I'm pretty sure my drink was spiked. There was an incident with one of my sexual partners four months ago," I say, trailing off. Now is where Ranger will know, without a doubt, that I'm not the same person he left behind a year ago. "I've had quite a few one-night stands the past several months, and while they were all very physical, one man started to cross the line. I told him to stop, but he anally raped me without a condom. That's what led to the checkup at the women's clinic you saw in my medical record and treatment for the STD. I think the worst part is feeling responsible, because I put myself in the risky situations," I recall, my words spilling out rapidly. I don't realize I'm trembling until I feel Ranger begin to rub small circles on my back.

"Oh, Babe," he says, before falling silent again. "Do you still blame yourself?"

"Yes," I whisper. "I know the right answer is that I don't. I know I'm supposed to say that sexual assault is about power and control, and I know that I'm supposed to say that I always have the right to give my consent and take it away again. I've read the literature. But, I can't silence the voice inside me that says otherwise. I do believe that had I listened to my mom and stayed out of that garage at six; stood my ground better at sixteen, Morelli never would have been able to hurt me. Had I been wiser about protecting my drink and having a wing-woman in college; or not engaged in such risky behavior the past half year, I could have finally learned how to save myself a whole lot of pain and heartache." Tears cascade silently down my cheeks as allow myself to share some of my greatest areas of shame.

"Thank you for being honest, Babe," Ranger says, his accent strong, before kissing my hair. "I appreciate that the head and the heart don't always align, but I'll say it anyway. None of that was your fault, your no and boundaries, even if they change, should always be respected. You can expect that from me, always. I love you."

"I know," I reply, taking a deep breath and wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. "Anything else?"

"No, Babe, I'm not going to push you. Are you ready to let Bobby finish his exam?" Ranger says. I sit up, coughing as I adjust my posture, and steel my emotions before nodding yes. Ranger stands and opens the door to the adjacent room before sitting in a chair kitty-corner from the bed.

"Okay, Steph. I'll begin the physical exam. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, please speak up, and I'll stop. I will also explain what I'm doing before I do it. To start, let me take a look at your knee," Bobby begins professionally. I'm shivering in the gown, and Ranger picks up a blanket folded at the end and wraps it around my shoulders as I twist so that the heel of my foot rests on the bed with my knee slightly bent. Bobby removes the bandage and frowns. "How did this happen, Steph?" he asks, sitting on a swivel stool while gently poking around the wound.

I glance at Ranger, and I can tell by his expression that Bobby doesn't know about anything that happened yesterday. "I attempted to capture Oscar Sanchez last night. He's an FTA I also attempted to bring in about three months ago, but Lester intercepted him before I was able. As a part of my plan to lure Sanchez out of the bar three months ago, I had a consensual sexual encounter with his number two, a man I know as Caesar. I used the liaison to appear interested in trading sex for drugs as a way to lure Sanchez out of the bar. I believe it would have worked, and I attempted the same play last night," I state in a matter of fact tone, owning up to my decisions, as Bobby stands and regards me seriously.

I set my mouth before continuing, crossing my arms over my middle. "Since Ranger came home, I've had cause to reconsider how I've been living my life and the personal risks I'm taking. After speaking with Caesar and Sanchez yesterday, I decided I wasn't willing to continue the capture with my plan. When they realized I wasn't going to have sex with them, Caesar cornered me. Since I wasn't as focused as I normally am when out in the field, he took me by surprise and was able to secure my arm around my back like this," I demonstrate, "and force me through a door and up a flight of stairs. I was wearing four-inch stilettoed boots, and I was off balance. He pushed me, and I fell, cutting my knee on the edge of the stairs. I used that moment to push the panic button," I continue, pausing when Ranger places a hand on my foot from his perch at the foot of my bed.

"He forced me into a room, and I landed on all fours before he struck me, which is the bruising on my lower back. I think that was when I strained or sprained the knee. Ranger and Hector rescued me shortly afterward, and Lester, I imagine with Rangeman's support, apprehended Sanchez and Caesar," I say, looking at Ranger for confirmation. He nods his head, yes, but I can tell he's fighting to keep his emotions in check. "The room and stairs at the bar were filthy, but we cleaned my knee using my first aid kit at my apartment," I finish with a shrug, pulling the blanket around me more tightly.

"I'm glad you're safe, Steph, and I'll help get you patched up," Bobby says seriously. "This wound is infected, and I will need to treat it. Before I do so, I'm going to take your vitals and draw some blood. Woody will bring it to the lab, and the results will help me determine the best approach," he continues, walking across the room to place supplies on a tray that he wheels over to me.

"Do you know your weight?" Bobby asks.

"118 pounds or so," I reply before Bobby puts a thermometer under my tongue.

"Blood pressure is a little low, 99/78. Pulse is 106 beats per minute," Bobby says, recording as he goes. "Temperature is 101.2F. Have you taken any anti-inflammatory drugs such as Advil or Tylenol today?"

"Two Advil this morning," I reply. "Around five hours ago."

Bobby has me hold a fist while he searches for a vein, and I lock eyes with Ranger as he injects the needle. He gives me a small, encouraging smile, and squeezes my foot.

"All done," Bobby announces, removing the tourniquet from my upper arm. "I need to place the lab order and package this up for Woody. Rest, and I'll be back in less than fifteen minutes," Bobby reports, walking to the adjacent office and closing the door behind him. Ranger moves to sit at the head of the bed, and I lean back so that my head is resting on his lap, coughing as I do and shivering despite the blanket.

Ranger makes a second blanket appear from nearby and drapes it over my lower half as my eyes begin to close. "I'm tired," I mumble. "Wake me when Bobby's back."

A second later, Ranger is gently shaking me awake, but my eyes fly open with a start. "It's okay, Babe," Ranger says in a low tone, and I begin to feel calmer.

"Bomber, I'm going to put you on a saline drip before we continue. Do you want to use the restroom first?" Bobby informs me. I nod yes, and Ranger helps me stand, and I limp to the adjoining room. I finish my business but pause outside the door, remembering the conversation I overheard that fateful morning.

Perhaps it's the emotional toll of the day, or maybe it's how physically worn out I feel, but I can't stop the tears that begin to fall down my face. "Babe?" Ranger says with obvious concern, coming up beside me and placing a hand on my shoulder.

I turn and look at Bobby, who's standing in the doorway between the exam room and his office. "Are you sure you don't mind helping me? I don't want to be a burden, and I know what everyone said that morning. I know I let you guys down again and again with my stupidity and stubbornness, and I've tried so hard to be better at my job, but here I am again, all fucked up. I let down my guard, and I got hurt. I'm sorry," I say brokenly, everything becoming too much.

"Steph, I let you down that morning. I wasn't there for you, and I wasn't the advocate you needed me to be. I did nothing, but I still did something. That something ultimately hurt you," Bobby says, stepping towards me. "I'm completely committed to being your friend and medical provider, regardless of any other circumstances. What we are doing today is difficult, and I'm very impressed with how candid you are being. This injury is not your fault. I think it was brave of you to recognize that you were in a bad situation and try to get out of it. I know you haven't asked for help, at least from Rangeman, since Farro, and I'm glad you did. I care about you, and I'm going to do better, too."

I stand there as sobs quietly wrack my body, hands at my side and head down, too tired from months of shutting my feelings off to stop the flood. "O-o-o-okay," I stutter out, and Bobby places a hand on my opposite shoulder.

"We've got you, Steph. Cry as much as you need. You aren't alone anymore," Bobby says, and I know I couldn't stop if I tried. Every tear I've held back since Farro is demanding to be shed. Each drop represents the betrayal, loss, anger, pain, both caused by others and self-inflicted, frustration, shame, failure, anxiety, and grief I've denied myself feeling. I'm not hysterical, or even exceptionally vocal. I'm wholly stricken, and all I can do is ride it out.

"I'm going to pick you up, Babe," Ranger says, leaning towards my ear, and I nod yes, covering my face with my hands. Ranger lifts me and sets me down on the bed. My right leg is slightly bent in front of me, but I wrap my arms around my left leg and rest my head on the inside of my knee.

I hear Bobby say something to Ranger, who stands before the back of the bed is raised into a 45-degree incline, and he pushes the wheeled bed away from the wall. I feel a pillow placed behind me, but I don't move. Ranger pulls up a chair beside me, and I turn my head to look at him, though my sight is blurry from the tears. "I can't stop," I manage to say.

"It's okay to be sad, Babe. It just means you have a lot to let out," he says gently, wiping my tears away. "I'm going to help you settle back so that Bobby can start the IV. I'll be right here."

I nod yes, and he helps guide my body. My left hand finds his as I lean my head against the pillow, coughing before I fully relax into the bed, and close my eyes, still trembling from tears and fever chills. I feel the blankets be tucked around me before Bobby adjusts my right arm to insert the IV. The cool liquid of the saline travels up my arm a minute later, and while my sobs have calmed, the tears still trail down my face.

"Steph, I need to listen to your lungs," Bobby says from beside me. "Ranger and I are going to help you sit up," he directs before they gently move me upright and Bobby places a stethoscope on my back. "Breathe in deeply as best as you can and let it out slowly," he says, and I focus on following directions, coughing when directed and repeating the breath several times on my back and then my front as they lean me back again.

Inside, a voice is telling me to stop and pull myself together, but I'm just too exhausted to listen to it. I don't feel out of control, just sad, and in many ways, I feel like these tears are cleansing, and that maybe I'm beginning to heal after all.

"Steph," Bobby says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I turn towards him, sniffling. He sets the tissue box beside me. "Can you tell me more about your bronchitis and pneumonia diagnosis and treatment?"

"Three weeks ago. Walk-in clinic in White Horse. Chest x-ray. Amoxicillin for a week. Residual cough since," I manage to get out in spurts, between the tears and coughing, turning my face back to Ranger as he wipes my hair back.

"Okay, Steph. I'm going to manipulate your leg. Tell me when something hurts," he directs, and I raise my hand when something is too much. "Good job, Stephanie. I need to check on your lab work and make a phone call. Try to rest, and we'll discuss your treatment plan shortly."

Ranger gives me a small smile. "I'm here for you, Babe. I love you," he says. The hand not holding mine rests on my forearm.

I give a deep, ragged breath and cough as I exhale. "You must think I'm a basket case, but I haven't cried, at all, since Farro. Last night was the first. I've been mad, I've beat walls, I've hurt myself, I've lashed out at others, I've drowned my feelings in alcohol, but I haven't been able to cry. Now that I started, I can't hold it back anymore, and I think it's because I trust you. Maybe this is what letting it go and beginning to heal looks like; I'm not sure. I know that I'm grateful that you're here for me," I say in a raspy voice, taking my time between sentences to catch my breath. I tilt my chin slightly so that I can look directly at Ranger, digging into my emotional bravery reserves. "Can I have a hug?" I say quietly, breaking my eye contact again.

Ranger immediately sits on the edge of the bed and pulls me against him. I close my eyes and let my body sag against his. I focus on his breathing rather than my sadness, and I find my mind clearing and my emotions calming. "I don't think you're a basket case, Babe. I think you are courageous. I've seen grown men fall under the emotional weight of what you've been carrying in better circumstances than yours. Your fight against your demons, while imperfect, is nonetheless inspiring. You've never given up, but nor do you have to carry the weight alone anymore. I'm grateful you're allowing me to be here for you, and a hug is the very least I can do," Ranger says, rubbing my back gently. "I want to respect your physical boundaries, Babe. For very good reasons, I know you are more reserved now than before I left, and I don't want to make any mistakes that overstep your boundaries. I'll get a better idea of how to read you the more we are around each other, but please continue to communicate with me what you need."

I cough and pull away from Ranger, who adjusts the pillow behind me before sitting down in an adjacent chair. I reach for his hand, and when he takes it, I say with furrowed eyebrows and quivering chin, "I need you not to betray me. I need your friendship and your love to be my lighthouse as I figure things out. I don't completely believe you, but it doesn't mean I don't want to. Please be patient with me. I," I sigh and look down to take a calming breath. "I need to learn to trust, to have faith, and to love again. I think that by letting you, Hector, Lester, and Bobby into my life more fully, and by following your guys' recommendations regarding my mental and physical health, I can."

Ranger's grip tightens around my fingers, and he nods his head in solemn affirmation. I think Ranger is about to say something when Bobby walks back into the room and pulls a chair up next to Ranger. "I've reviewed your lab work and the chest x-ray from three weeks ago as well as their treatment plan," Bobby starts. "You were accurately diagnosed with a respiratory infection three weeks ago, but amoxicillin is not the best antibiotic to treat that, and you've developed bilateral pneumonia and a small pleural effusion as a result. Your white blood cell count is high, and you're anemic. You're also underweight, and your blood pressure and oxygen levels are lower than they should be, but not critically so. Those factors combined make you an excellent candidate for infection, which is the case with your knee. The good news here is that I believe the additional swelling and bruising is a simple strain from the impact, and with rest, ice, compression, and elevation, it should feel significantly better in a week. However, given that you've also developed a fever, your heart rate is elevated, and I'm concerned about your respiratory rate, it's possible you are developing sepsis. If I'm correct, we caught it early, and that's excellent for your prognosis." My eyes widen, and I look between Bobby and Ranger. Ranger squeezes my hand.

"I need to flush the wound out with an antibiotic solution before dressing it. Further, I'm going to begin administering appropriate IV antibiotics, including Azithromycin and Ceftriaxone, as well as liquid ibuprofen for inflammation, pain, and fever control. I'm licensed to maintain a small pharmacy here. If you don't respond to the medication within twenty-four hours or your symptoms become worse, you will need to be transported to the hospital for care in the ICU for a chest tube insertion. The reason is two-fold. One is that worsening respiratory symptoms would be an indication the pleural sac is infected and the effusion is worsening. When that happens, the sac compresses the lung and collapses it, requiring a chest tube to re-inflate. The second is that sepsis is a very serious condition that can lead to shock and even death. I'm not completely certain you are becoming septic, but I have my suspicions, and I'll be monitoring you closely. The infection you have needs to be watched closely. I'm also going to administer a nebulizer treatment for your lungs and start you on oxygen therapy.

"Once we get past these critical items, we're going to work on increasing your caloric and iron intake. I can tell you've been working out, Steph, but we need to develop a diet that matches your physical exertion. We'll also work to reduce your alcohol intake, and that can go hand-in-hand with both your diet and your mental health plan. Otherwise, I'm going to put the small remainder of your physical assessment on hold, which is mostly muscular and skeletal, until you're full strength. Any questions, Bomber?" Bobby finishes his assessment clinically, but his eyes are kind. It's also a lot for me to take in.

"How long will I be here?" I ask.

"That depends. Under hourly observation by me, the next seventy-two hours at a minimum, and daily after that for a week," Bobby starts before pausing. He seems to reset, and I suddenly feel like I'm talking to a friend rather than a clinician. "Steph, these past few months have been hell on you both mentally and physically. Your body is screaming for a rest. Please, allow yourself to stop and trust us. I know I haven't earned it yet, but this is a potentially life-threatening situation for you if you don't," he says, the worry etched on his face, and my gut clenches.

"Okay," I whisper as the tears I barely got under control begin to fall again. "Someone needs to get Rex, please," I say, looking at Ranger, and he nods his head.

"Steph," Bobby continues with a concerned tone while glancing at Ranger before further addressing me. "Based on the screeners we completed today, Rangeman policy states that until cleared by your mental health provider, you aren't authorized to carry any weapons. I know you brought several into the building, and I will need to secure them in our armory. Do you understand?"

I choke against the lump that forms in my throat as panic begins to rise in my chest. I start to shake my head no rapidly. My weapons are what makes me feel safe and protected, and I don't know how to feel that way without them anymore. The ringing in my ears begins to return, and I pull my hand away from Ranger's to rub them.

"Babe," Ranger says slightly sterner than usual, and my eyes lock on his. "Babe," he says again more gently. "Breathe, with me. In-2-3, out-4-5-6-7. Good, again," he directs, and I begin to calm. "You're safe. No one here is going to hurt you, and this building is nearly impenetrable. I'll assign a guard outside the room if it helps, but it's time we did what we should have done all along and follow protocol."

I close my eyes against the pillow and keep my hands over my ears. I bite my lower lip as I reluctantly look at Ranger. "What about Tank? I, I know he's your best friend, but I can't trust him, and he's only a few hundred feet from me. I can't tell you why, but," I trail off. "I can't be unarmed. I'm already unequally matched. What if," I continue, my words gaining speed and volume as I feel my panic returning.

"Bomber," Bobby interrupts me, taking my hands from my ears and holding them in his. I automatically squeeze them tightly as I lean towards him, swallowing my next words. "Stephanie," he says again gently, leaning towards me. "I know why you're afraid, and you have every reason to be. But Steph," he continues, looking solemn, "This policy exists to save you from you. There is a history of people standing where you are standing now who chose to use a weapon to take their pain away, and it was a permanent solution to a temporary problem. I'm not saying you're suicidal, but you also aren't your best self. It's okay. You're in the right place to start getting help, and we'll do everything we possibly can to help you. I believe in you, but I cannot in good conscience leave you with a weapon right now." Bobby sets his lips firmly, and I hold his hands tighter.

"What are you going to do to save me from Tank? And what if there is someone else who tries to hurt me? I'm not being paranoid. I mean, look at my life! Someone is constantly trying to hurt me, and before I started carrying all the time, they usually succeeded. People still get to me, but at least I can give as good as I take now. Hell, Bobby, I don't think I even know how to stand down anymore," I say, trembling with the effort of holding back my panic. I see Ranger look away for a brief second in my periphery before placing his hand on my back.

"Let me tell you what we've done already," Bobby says, appealing to my rational side. "The cameras have been scrambled in every public space you've been in at Rangeman, and while I can't guarantee Tank doesn't know you're here, your presence wasn't advertised either. Hector changed the fob codes to his office, my office, and this room. The only people with access are Hector, Ranger, Lester, and me. Under no circumstances will you be left without one of the four of us by your side or in the adjacent room. I have a spare weapon under lock and key in my office. If we were to be threatened within this space, I would be willing to give it to you for the duration of the conflict. I swear we have your absolute best interest in mind."

Bobby looks directly at me as he speaks, and I lose my battle against the tears. "I'm scared," I whisper, my knuckles white as I cling to him.

"I know," Bobby replies with more compassion than I knew he possessed. "It's a real response to your circumstances, but it's also your PTSD. It's called hyper-vigilance. That doesn't mean you don't have cause to be afraid, but it's also why you are having a hard time standing down, as you said. I know it's difficult, and I know it doesn't feel right, but I'm asking you to take the leap of faith and trust us."

Trust, Steph. Trust. You aren't alone. I take a shaky breath and nod my head, yes, several times with a nearly imperceptible movement. Bobby responds with a single nod of his chin and releases my hands as he sits back again.

"We are here for you, Babe," Ranger says, continuing to rub my back. He uses his other hand to brush away my tears. "Thank you for trusting us. I'm proud of you," he praises before standing upright. He pulls out his phone and begins sending a text.

"Steph, I'm going to hook you up for electronic monitoring and begin administering the medication we discussed. Is there anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?" Bobby says as he begins to reposition the bed so that it is perpendicular instead of parallel to the far wall before pulling over and plugging in additional equipment.

"Another blanket and a sip of water?" I reply. "I'm freezing."

Bobby places the thermometer under my tongue first. "102.8F. No extra blanket right now, but I can give you another pillow," he says, setting the thermometer down and walking to the next room, quickly returning with the pillow and a bottle of water. He tucks the pillow under the arm with an IV and attaches the blood pressure cuff to my arm and oxygen sensor to my finger. "Steph, you look exhausted. Could I give a pain reliever that will also make you drowsy? It will make the wound clean out less taxing," he offers, resting a hand on my shoulder.

"Okay," I say, my blinks already longer. Ranger returns to my side, reassuringly holding my hand.

"Remember, you're safe, Babe. You won't be left alone," he says. I feel a burn of medicine injected through the line, and the last thing I remember is two chocolate brown eyes.

A/N: Wow – you guys did it again. I'm so blessed to receive so many wonderful reviews on this story. Thank you for letting me hear from you! It motivates me so much. I promised a Q&A, but I didn't see many questions outside of something to the effect of "Tank the Terrible needs to go down!" I'm with you, Babes. The next chapter is the beginning of what many of you have waited impatiently for. 😊

I have two wonderful people to thank this week! My beta, misty23y, does a wonderful job of helping me through the writing process, and she's become a friend along the way. I also need to thank melyons for being my medical advisor. Melyons graciously read the next few chapters and helped me clean up the technical language and confirm the validity of the storyline. I'm afraid most of my medical knowledge comes from Google and Grey's Anatomy, and I am grateful for the expert eye.