Disclaimer Stephanie, shmexi Ranger, Tank, and all them good guys are not mine. I just steal them, use them for my own personal delightment, then return them when no one's looking.

Note Ranger's gonna DIE! AHAHAHAHA! Or not. Do you believe me? Read on.

Real short chapter, but here it's nearly one in the morning. I can't think. A longer one next time.

Promise!

ShOuToUt-ness!

To all my wonderful reviewers. You're the only reason I continue to write this story!

wanttowrite - Yeah...if we had it from Ranger's POV throughout we'd have one boring fic. He'd be unconcious through it all!

Swapneshwari - ebil grin It's fun being mean!

house-of-insanity - I love you! huggles

And everyone else in which I don't have the time, energy, or creativity to praise you individually. But keep the reviews coming, and don't burn me at the stake for the shorter-than-normal chapter.

Steph's POV

Tank and I waited in the waiting room for a few more hours. He said that Bobby and Lester were covering it all over with the police, and then they were going to bed. They hadn't wanted to, but Tank put his foot down, saying Ranger needed peace, and the guys could come early morning. Screw visiting hours.

Three hours after I arrived, a nurse came out and asked to speak with Tank. Alone. Dammit. As if I wasn't family enough. They took a few minutes, and from where they were standing, I could see Tank's face. I searched desperately for a hint of relief, but if anything, his face got more sour.

When the nurse was apparently finished, Tank ambled over and sat heavily on the chair next to me, reassuming his first stance, head in hands, elbows on knees.

And as much as I'm not one to disturb moments, I needed to know what was going on.

"Tank?" I said lightly. "How's Ranger?"

He looked up, eyes clouded. If he were a normal person, I'm sure tears would be spilling. But, as it had been shown, Tank was not a norm. My heart sank.

"They say he might not come out of whatever he slipped in to. It's not a coma, but he's not waking up. And he's all tense all the time; they even gave him a muscle relaxer, and he's all shaky. They can't do anything else for him. We can just hope he wakes up soon."

At least he didn't die. God, please don't let him die.

And then I started making promises to the good lord above that if he made it, I would stop being such a pain. I would learn to use and shoot the damn gun, and I would not be afraid of it. I would stop calling on Ranger for everything. I would let him sleep. I would go to church for once, for goodness sakes! And I would. At least once.

Another hour passed in silence and we didn't get another word. I spent most of my time staring out the wall-length window that showed the city of Trenton at night. It was late. Really late. But I didn't have a watch and I had left my cell phone on the counter back at Morelli's. So I decided to go on a quest for a clock. Why don't they have those things in every waiting room? It should be mandatory. It would be helpful.

But I forgot. The hospital staff try not to be helpful to the waiting people. At least all the one's I've came into contact with.

I slipped away when no one was looking and walked down the white sterile corridor. Down the way was a doubledoors and a white luminous sign flashing ICU in block letters. My heart did a flipflop. Ranger must be in there. Slowly dying, and not allowed visitors.

Well, damn. The only way these people were going to get better is with people they know and love in contact with them. Even if they're not concious.

I looked over my shoulders, but saw no one. This time of night no one was really active and out or about. So I would just slip in...see if I could see Ranger's room...peek in.

I pushed open the doors carefully and held my breath, then stepped over the threshold. No one came after me, so I took a few steps into the ICU unit and ducked past the little receptionist desk. The lady that was sitting there was deep into her computer work, turned away from me. I made no sounds as I went past her and turned to the left, to the rooms.

Peeking into every one on the sides of the hallway, I finally saw a familiar face in room 8. I held my breath and bit my lip hard seeing him hooked up to an IV, a blood machine, and several other beeping, lit machines. His torso was bandaged heavily, and even through the hospital clothes it was evident. He didn't show any blood, but with bandages like that, you could tell he had lost alot, which was why he was hooked up to the blood IV.

He looked so critical, I had a hard time stiffling my sobs. I reached my hand up and placed it on the glass on the door that I was looking through. This stupid piece of wood and glass was the only thing seperating me and him.

Genius, Stephanie.

I looked over my shoulders to an empty hall, and turned the silver lever, pushed the door open without a sound, and stepped in, closing the door silently behind me.

I crept over to his side and rested my hand on the metal side of the bed they use so you don't fall out. He shuffled a little. I guessed he was sleeping, even though he was probably unconcious as well. He was tense, very tense. The nurse was right. Damn.

I stood there looking at him in silent dispair for a few minutes, until I stiffened. The door had made a sound.

Before I could turn and see who was at the door, I heard a voice say

"I thought you'd be here."