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 20

Stephanie's POV

I listen to the sounds of the room, relieved to hear silence, before slowly opening my eyes. Hector is sitting in a chair beside me, his laptop perched on one of Bobby's side tables on wheels, and his face is set in intense concentration as he rapidly reads whatever is on the screen. I don't see Bobby or Alex, but I presume one of them is near.

It's the most alone I've been in two days, and I close my eyes again and remain still to take advantage of the moment. As I lay there, I try to think through everything that's happened since I pushed my panic button, or really, since Ranger came home. Ultimately, I feel as though my world has been turned upside down. I give that idea pause, but it doesn't seem to fit. Perhaps it's that my world is turning right side up again, and somehow in all the tossing and turning, some things came loose that will never be put back the way they were before.

Like Tank. Like my family.

Like me.

I feel sad at the last thought for a brief moment, but that is quickly eclipsed by acceptance. The only thing constant about life is change. I've changed. It isn't entirely for the better, but nor is it solely for the worse. It just is. I will never be the same, but I'm okay with that. Not everyone will be, but that's their problem, not mine.

While I may be increasingly okay with who I am, flaws and all, I'm less and less thrilled about being me stuck in this medical bed attached to tubes and wires. Tank threatened my people, and I'm doing nothing to help them. Hell, he could walk in here any second, and I couldn't even help protect myself. I swore I would never be completely powerless again, yet here I lay, beholden to the protection of others. That's the old Stephanie, and she can stay in the past.

I open my eyes again and stare at Hector. Humans have a seventh sense about being watched, and it doesn't take long for Hector's line to sight to shift to match mine.

"Tank?" I say, not realizing how dry and scratchy my throat is until I rasp out the name.

Hector doesn't ignore my question to redirect me with something else, like how do I feel? It's one of the reasons we have the friendship we do. "Under surveillance, visual and electronic. At home, sleeping off what must be a hangover based on the number of bottles strewn around his property. Your family is safe, Angelita," he reports evenly.

I give a grim nod of understanding. "What are you working on?" I follow up, but I'm interrupted by Bobby who does ask how I am feeling. I heave a slight sigh before answering, "Like I don't want to be in this bed anymore, but I understand why I must," I state with the slightest undercurrent of frustration.

Bobby gives me a small smile. "You're doing great, Steph, and honestly, your restlessness is a great sign to me that you're on the mend. The first twenty-four hours are down, and you only have two days left. I know it's hard, but resting will allow your body to heal so much faster. I bet one week from now you'll feel better than you have in the past three months," Bobby says in what is meant to be an encouragement, but all I hear is two more days. I repress a groan. I need to be able to do something to contribute to the fight to protect people from Tank.

"Time for a round of vitals. Open up, Bomber," Bobby smirks, presenting a thermometer wand and pressing it under my tongue. He double checks my blood pressure and writes down a few notes before removing it again. "Holding steady at 100.2F. Tell me, Steph, how are you feeling? The better I know, the better we treat you, the faster you get out of here. Remember, seventy-two hours is the minimum," Bobby presses, a hint of concern in his voice.

"Better, the same, and worse," I answer, and Bobby gives a bark of laughter while Hector quirks an eyebrow. "My knee feels better like the swelling is going down. My chest feels a little lighter. This headache is persistent, my joints feel the same, stiff and achy, and my skin is ultra-sensitive. I think that's all from the fever. My throat is pretty scratchy, and I'm hungry," I report.

"Thank you, Steph," Bobby replies with a thoughtful look. "We've been giving you ibuprofen up to this point. I can begin alternating that dose with acetaminophen to be more aggressive with the fever. I'll also have Ella bring a late lunch over. Some hot chicken broth will feel great on your throat," Bobby says, not waiting for my reply before picking up his phone and sending a text.

I turn my attention back to Hector. "I'm reviewing background checks on Tank, Vinnie, Morelli, and Farro," Hector says, watching me for any reaction closely.

"Set me up with a computer so I can see the reports as well," I state resolutely.

Hector hesitates, and I can see he's trying to decide if I'll lose my lunch again if I read whatever he's looking at. And then I know what I have to do. I can't be who I was the past year anymore. I can't quietly demand what I want from everyone with short statements and hard stares. Hector cares about me. I also can't be old Stephanie who sneaks around everyone to get whatever I want; the consequences be damned for my good intentions. I have to be willing to be vulnerable with those I trust, and I need to share my truths.

I reach my hand out toward Hector, and he places his in mine while continuing to assess me. I press my chapped lips into a thin line before quietly confessing, "I feel helpless, laying here. I know Ranger said that the best thing I can do is rest and get better, and he's right. But I can rest, get better, and do something to contribute to the fight. My family and friends are at risk because of me. There is a part of me that feels like I walked back into Rangeman and once again, my sense of power and control is stripped away. I'm monitored, information is withheld from me, and I'm at the mercy of others bigger and stronger than me. I know deep down it isn't true, and the rational part of me knows I am being loved and protected, but I don't even have a weapon. I hate feeling this useless and weak. Please, Hector, let me do something to help besides lay here. Please."

"Mi Angelita," Hector says quietly before slowly and gently pulling me into a hug. "You are not weak," he whispers fiercely. "You are a survivor, and you are loved."

Hector sits back slightly but continues to sit on the edge of the bed. "You are safe here, Estefania, and it's okay to stand down. Nothing Tank does is your fault. Nothing. If, and we are all working very hard to prevent this, if anything happens to someone you care about because of Tank, that is his fault and never yours. Understand?" he queries with intense compassion.

"I know, Hector. I do," I start, breaking eye contact as I gather my thoughts. "It's just that sometimes I feel like there are two opposing sides to my brain vying for dominance. Does that make sense?" I say in frustration.

Hector gives my hand a squeeze. "Yes. I know exactly what you are saying, and it's good you are telling me. It makes it easier to sort out what's true and what's not, right?" he responds, and I nod yes with my eyebrows furrowed together. "You aren't in this alone, and therapy, it helped me a lot to sort out my thoughts, and so did my friends," he continues, giving me a meaningful look.

"I'm working very hard to trust you guys, and I want to. Please, give me something to do. It will make it much easier for me to lay here," I respond, more assured.

"I will ask Ranger. He gave me this assignment, and one thing he told us is that we are to treat you like any other Rangeman employee. I would never give the reports to even Lester or Bobby without his clearance. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think it was a good idea, but I'm also not going to undermine the Boss," Hector states. There's a part of me that wants to balk. Ask permission from Ranger? Those reports affect my life! But instead of shooting off my Jersey mouth, I let the other half of my brain catch up. I'm being treated like an equal. There is privilege and respect in that. It's presumptuous for me to assume I can take whatever I want whenever I want. If I wish to rebuild my rapport with the men in black, I need to be willing to toe the line sometimes.

"Thank you," I eventually say, and I give a small smile at the look of surprise that flashes across Hector's face. He had clearly braced himself for a fight.

Hector resumes his station in the bedside chair as Bobby holds the door open for Ella.

"Hello, Dear," she chirps, placing a tray on the table Hector vacates. "I made my chicken noodle soup, a mug of ginger-lemon tea, and some fresh bread. What else can I do for you?"

I glance at Bobby. "Any chance you'll let me use the restroom alone?" I ask, and he shakes his head no. "Will Ella suffice as my babysitter?" I follow up, and he gives a small smile before beginning to adjust the lines. I know Alex said not to worry about bothering her, but she's in for a long night if she doesn't get rest, and I'm intensely uncomfortable with peeing around one of the guys.

"Hector, can I lean on you?" I ask, as I slowly swing my legs around. He has an arm under my shoulders the next second. I take my time standing, but I'm relieved that it's easier than yesterday. We take slow steps together, but it's walking. Progress is progress. Hector closes the door behind him, and Ella already has the water on. I'm instantly grateful for everyone's thoughtfulness in these small moments.

It's twenty minutes by the time I settle back in bed again, but I can't help but feel proud. It's time to follow this success up with eating and keeping something in. I want out of this bed, and I need nourishment to do that. Ella lingers, and Hector offers her his chair.

"Stephanie, do you mind if I discuss a few things with you while you eat?" she asks.

"Sure," I state simply before taking another spoonful of this incredible soup. God, this is so good.

"Have you given any thought as to where you would like to stay as you continue to recover? I hope it's here, Dear. I'd love to make up an apartment on four or a space on seven just for you, and I'd love to give you what you want and need instead of guessing. I do hope I'm not too forward, but I also didn't want the next day and a half to go by with you wondering if you even have a place here. Stephanie, even if you weren't a Rangeman employee, I want you to know you always have a home here. Always. I love you as a daughter, and it broke my heart to see your pain from afar this past year and not be able to help. I want to help you now," Ella says, her eyes shining from unshed tears.

I'm left speechless, and I rest my spoon in the bowl as I take a moment to absorb what Ella told me. I had already determined I wouldn't be able to recover from this illness and injury alone, but I hadn't figured out the answer yet. The logical side of me immediately understands that this is the opportunity I need and that I should quickly say yes. But this isn't only about logic, and I can't place into words the heaviness that rests on my heart.

"I visited your apartment yesterday, Estefania," Hector says, interrupting my thoughts. "Bobby and Alex thought something else could be exacerbating your respiratory issues, and I was instructed to inspect for mold." Hector passes me his phone, and I'm appalled at the pictures he took. I can't believe I was living in such squalor. Was.

I look away and begin picking at my cuticles. This is the second time Ella has called Rangeman my home, and I feel a tightening in my chest at the word. Do I have a home? My parent's house certainly never felt like home. I couldn't wait to grow up and leave that harsh and judgmental environment. I immediately went to college, and even though one hardly thinks of dormitories and shared apartments as a home, but for me, it was my first step to freedom.

I started dating Dickie within a year of graduation. He attended Rutgers Law, and I moved in with him almost immediately. I thought I was making a home then. I'm not even sure what upset me more; Dickie's infidelity or that he did it on the dining room table. When we said, "I do," I had dared to imagine a family around that table. So much of the Burg's traditions revolve around food and meals. I knew I was pregnant, and there was a moment when I saw first birthday parties, my mother pleased with me as I hosted a holiday dinner, and being happy in domesticity. When I burned that table, any dreams I had of a home and family went up with it.

Nobody understood why I clung to my old apartment so fiercely. When I left Dickie, the only thing I took with me was debt. College debt, car debt, and the real kicker, credit card debt I never knew about. He used my social security number to open a card in both of our names, and then charged all of the hotel rooms, dinners, and gifts he bought his mistresses. The judge split it evenly in the settlement, and I was stuck with an extra $8,639.21 in debt. My job as a lingerie buyer paid reasonably well, but I was so debt-laden, I didn't have the luxury of extras. That apartment allowed me to live within my means as I worked my way to financial freedom one penny at a time. Over time I became settled, and I suppose it was the closest thing to a home I've ever known.

Each subsequent break-in, death cooties invasion, firebombing, shooting, and God knows what else that happened in those 812 square feet chipped away at the small sense of home I had built up for myself. It wasn't hard for me to give it up after Farro, because it has already started to feel like a revolving door for the who's who in criminal activity. I never felt at home at Morelli's house, and even when we were at our best, I never kept very much of my stuff there. I always had more tucked away in the bathroom and bedroom closet on seven.

Until this last year, Ranger's world was synonymous with danger and safety. After Farro, safety was replaced with betrayal, but that was when I was in Ranger's world without Ranger. I know now that many things were misunderstood this past year, but other things, such as Tank's behavior, were what my gut expected. I have learned the last two days that I am stronger with my support system than without it. Ranger has been my comfort, and Hector has been my rock. I'm growing in my relationship with Bobby and Lester. I know Alex and Ella care and have my best interests at heart.

After my childhood and failed marriage to Dickie, I learned to value my independence deeply. I shied away from living at Rangeman previously because, among other things, I felt my every moment was too closely scrutinized. However, at least at the moment, I'm grateful for the physical security of my environment. I'm not remotely pleased to have had my weapons taken away. That said, if I were to be fully armed in my apartment, would I be able to fight back? The truth is no. I'd be completely vulnerable.

So, I can't go back to where I was living before, but why can't I be happy at the prospect of living here? Ella sees this as my home, and based on the guardedly hopeful expressions on Hector and Bobby's faces, they want it to be as well. Without asking Ranger, I already know what his answer will be. What will it take for this to feel like my home as well?

Home is where the heart is. The sentiment takes me off guard. Where is my heart? Certainly not in my apartment, at my parent's house, or even in this room.

"Ranger," I breath, and I know it's true. He's my home, and he has been for a long time. I swallow back the tears I feel suddenly forming.

"I'm tired," I say honestly. "Could we finish talking about this later?"

Ella stands and leans over to give me a warm hug and kisses my forehead, and it's the automatic reaction of a mother to a daughter, and an experience I've never shared with my own. "Of course, Dear," Ella says kindly. "Take all the time you need, and I'm here whenever you want to chat."

I lean my head against the pillow and close my eyes. I wasn't lying about being tired. I hear Bobby pad to his office, and I can feel Hector's stare, but I'm not going to justify myself. I may have had several life-changing events and realizations the last several days, but I haven't had a complete personality change. I drift off with my last thought the wisp of hope that I might someday find a home.

A/N: Reading everyone's reactions to Connie's POV was so fun! I'm glad all of you liked my dive into her perspective. It felt great to be a little unexpected. 😊

Tanyaleigh – It was delightful to go through the story with you via reviews. Welcome to Warrior!

To everyone – Thank you for your commitment to this story through your notes, favorites, follows and page hits. I'm going to work on adding Alex's POV as a way to expand our narrative perspective. Great idea – keep them coming!

Misty23y and Meylons – I'm grateful you've shared your time and talents with me.