Just a quick little songfic to bring some holiday cheer your way! The characters and settings belong wot Janet Evanovich, but the mistakes and the plot are all mine.

The Twelve Days of Rangemas

The guys were laughing and joking as usual when I entered the conference room for the last team meeting before Christmas. Their ease of slipping into a jovial mood in between the intense and serious nature of their day to day duties had always amazed me. If I had to deal with the kinds of things they'd seen, I'd be an emotional mess. As a bounty hunter I'd endured some harrowing and frightening experiences, but I knew it was nothing compared to the dark histories these men shuttered away inside them. They were an inspiration to the resilience of mankind, and they'd help me overcome a great deal in the time I'd known them. I'd tried to reflect my appreciation for them in my end of year report, but it was hard to slip those details in around the statistics I'd been tasked with compiling, so I guess I'd just make a statement at the end thanking them.

I moved to my usual seat at the table between Lester and Ranger, setting down my mug of hot-chocolate and gingerbread cookie I'd swiped from Ella's holiday themed offerings in the break room before pulling out my chair to sit.

"Babe," Ranger said, dragging me into his side with an arm around my waist and preventing me from sitting. "You're first up."

I stared at him for a beat. This wasn't my first team meeting, but it was the first time I was required to read a report, so I'd been hoping to slip in somewhere around the middle of the proceedings so that I'd be less memorable. Not that I thought I could go unnoticed in this all male company, but it was a psychological trick I was attempting to pull on myself to make me less nervous. "Do I have to?"

Ranger just raised an eyebrow.

"The rest of us kind of lead into each other," Lester explained, leaning over. "It makes sense to put you at the beginning or the end so that the flow isn't interrupted."

Looking from Lester to Ranger I could see they agreed on this point, but it still didn't explain why I had to be first cab off the rank. "Then can I go last?"

Lester chuckled. "Trust me, Beautiful, it's much better for you to go first so you can spend the rest of the meeting relaxing instead of stressing about your own report."

He made a good argument, so, with a fortifying kiss from Ranger still lingering on my lips, I made my way to the front of the room and waited for the men to fall silent. It only took a couple of seconds once Lester stuck his fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly to gain their attention. I read through my report quickly, being sure not to stumble over the pertinent information about capture rates, search program result efficiency and informant intelligence. It only took a couple of minutes, and the questions the men posed at the end were easy enough to field, but when I was done and everyone was satisfied, Ranger hurried me along before I could let them know how much working with them all this year had meant to me.

It didn't matter, I told myself as I returned to my seat, slightly flustered at being cut off. There were plenty of other opportunities to show the men my love. It didn't have to be done in a formal setting. In fact, maybe it was better if it wasn't, that way they'd be able to see exactly how I felt about being included in their exclusive bro-club.

By the time I'd dropped down into my seat and bitten the head off my gingerbread man, Hector was at the front of the room, tapping away at his iPad and bringing a slide presentation up on the screen behind him. I sucked in air through my teeth, suddenly glad that I'd gotten my report out of the way already. No way would I feel confident delivering my hastily written jumble of facts if this was the effort the others were going to.

"More accurate figures are available in the full written report," Hector said in heavily accented English as he looked up from his device and I wondered if he was planning on giving his full report in English. In the past year since I'd come to work at Rangeman full time, I'd almost never heard him speak in anything other than Spanish. Our paths didn't cross much, but when they did, there was always someone else present to translate for him, so he didn't have to bother. No one ever translated my English to Spanish for him, though, which made me wonder just how well he knew the language.

Hector tapped the screen and the soft strains of orchestra music emitted from hidden speakers as the screen transitioned to a title slide. "The Twelve Days of Rangemas" it read, pulling the corners of my lips into a smile. If I'd known I was allowed to be more creative with my report, I would have had no problem slipping in my gratitude.

"On the first day of Rangemas, Bombshell gave to me," he said, reading from his notes and only flicking his eyes up as the slide changed again to reveal a photo of yours truly – a decent one, thank god. "The honour to have her on the team."

I narrowed my eyes. This wasn't sounding like an annual report. Glancing to Ranger, my lips had just parted to question what was going on when my attention was stolen back to the head of the table. Hector handed the iPad to Junior and returned to his seat without another word. Junior tapped on the iPad and my face disappeared from the screen.

"On the second day of Rangemas, Bombshell gave to me," he said, smirking in my direction a pair of photos flashed up on the screen behind him showing two of my more infamous car wrecks from the past twelve months. "Two totalled cars, and the honour to have her on the team." A different photo of me, this one mid laugh, popped up and Junior handed the device over to Cal as they crossed paths at the corner of the table.

A groan escaped me. They were only two days in, and I could already see where this was heading. It was a Bombshell gag reel for sure. Ranger grabbed my hand and dragged it over to rest on his thigh. The bastard was probably in on it.

Cal hit a button and three images of me holding up a gun apologetically appeared. "On the third day of Rangemas Bombshell gave to me three unloaded guns, two totalled cars, and the honour to have her on the team." As he counted backwards through the previous 'reports' new images flashed up to accompany them, including the time my fleet vehicle had been painted to resemble a clown car, complete with dead clown in the driver's seat. I shuddered at the memory.

After Cal had returned the screen to my smiling face, he handed over to Binkie who wasted no time in bringing up some stills of people running away from the camera. I recognised them as my skips from various points in the year. "On the fourth day of Rangeman Bombshell gave to me four fleeing skips." And he, too, worked his way back down to one, revealing yet more photos of me in compromising situations until finally a candid photo of me sitting at my desk appeared behind him.

Woody stood from his seat, not bothering to make his way over to the screen as Binkie slid the iPad across the table. "On the fifth day of Rangemas Bombshell gave to me-" he reached under his chair and straightened with a familiar white bakery bag which he set passed over to me with a grin. "Five donuts!" I returned his grin as he flipped through the rest of the images, listing them off. "Four fleeing skips, three unloaded guns, two totalled cars and the honour to have her on the team."

Hal reached across the table to nab the iPad once Woody was done, and shuffled to the front of the room, shaking his head. "On the sixth day of Rangemas Bombshell gave to me," he said with far less enthusiasm than the others. "Six stun gun failings." He hit a button and six images appeared on the screen, but not of me. Hal was featured in various states of alertness. It was clear that these photos were from the times I'd accidentally stunned him. Or not so accidentally in the case of the one where he appeared to be passed out behind the wheel of a fleet vehicle. That time, I'd needed to drop my Rangeman tail so I could meet privately with a cagey skip. He'd left me no choice when he'd refused to just stay put for half an hour while I 'dealt with a personal matter.'

At least it wasn't all Stephanie Roasting, I thought, joining in as the guys all laughed.

Hank was next, flipping the screen to a series of text screenshots that showed wildly inaccurate reports of the events in my life. Stephanie Plum started up an ice cream business from her the trunk of her car, one said. And another: Did you hear Stephanie Plum was playing basketball with the Stark Street drug lords? Hank gave us all a moment to read through the fantastical lies that had been spread about me before he started his report. "On the seventh day of Rangemas Bombshell gave to me seven Burg gossips, six stun gun failings, five donuts, four fleeing skips, three unloaded guns, two totalled cars, and the honour to have her on the team."

Hank sat back down, and no one got up for a second until Lester elbowed Zip in the side. "Right!" Zip exclaimed, jumping to his feet. "That's me! Sorry!" he bustled to the front, grabbed up the iPad Hank had set on the podium no one else but me had used, and hit a button so that eight photos of my most humiliating moments appeared on the screen. "On the eighth day of Rangemas Bombshell gave to me," he sang off key despite the fact that a) no one else had attempted to sing their lines, and b) the backing track they had playing was not in the right place for what he was singing. He returned to speaking as he listed off his section of the report, thank God. "Eight garbage showers, seven Burg gossips, six stun gun failings, five donuts! Four fleeing skips, three unloaded guns, two totalled cars and the honour to have her on the team."

Before he'd even finished, Lester was halfway to the front, snatching the device from the man's hands and bringing up a vastly different set of photos to the ones Zip had presented. If Zips garbage shower photos were the low points of my year, Lester's were practically glamour shots. Nine still images of me looking sexy as hell in various short, tight dresses. He took a moment to appreciate the photos, pointing to his personal favourite and making suggestive growling noises before turning back to face the group. "On the ninth day of Rangemas Beautiful gave to me nine nights out dancing, all these other less important things," he added tapping quickly through the other slides until he landed on a bonus shot of me in a bikini at Point Pleasant. "And the pleasure to have her on the team."

Lester took the long way around the table so as to avoid being punched in the gut by Ranger as he passed in retaliation for the suggestive comments he'd made, and Bobby popped up from directly opposite me. He tapped the iPad as he made his way to the front, wasting no time before he began. "On the tenth day of Rangemas Bombshell gave to me," he paused glancing up at me with one of those looks. The one he got when I presented with a new wound that really should have been checked over at the hospital. "ten injuries healing."

I shrugged in a 'what can you do' kind of way, trying to ignore the pictures of me with a broken nose, bandaged limbs, black eyes and various scrapes and bruises until he continued listing through all the other events that had already been mentioned. And then Tank was looming there.

"On the eleventh day of Rangemas Bombshell gave to me," he stated, flipping the slideshow to a number of images of Morelli with his eyes halfway up back in his skull. "Eleven cops eyerolling, ten injuries healing, nine nights out dancing, eight garbage showers…" He, too, kept rattling on until, tapping through slides of photos until he reached another picture of me smiling for some reason or another.

When he was done, he set the iPad down and returned to his seat just as everyone else had and there was another pause in the proceedings. Obviously, we were waiting for the last person to get up and finish off the song, but as I travelled my gaze around the table, I realised that there was no one left to add their input. The backing track was still playing, though I'd lost count of what repeat we were on, and no one looked to be getting up to lay claim to the twelfth day of Rangemas.

"Um…" I uttered, filling the relative silence, and making eye contact with a couple of the men. "Is that- "

"Give it a second," Lester interrupted, leaning back in his chair nonchalantly. "Gotta wait for the right moment."

"Yeah," Bobby agreed, "These idiots no nothing about musical timing."

"That's why we had the song on repeat," Junior pointed out.

Woody crossed his arms. "We wouldn't have needed to if we'd had more time to practice."

Lester shook his head. "We'd have had to start way back in March to get you slackers up to speed in time."

"Says the man who skipped the majority of his own verse," Tank said with a raised eyebrow.

It looked like Lester was about to retort when the backing track returned to for another number. I couldn't tell which number it was suggesting, but clearly someone could because they started singing along with it. And by someone, I mean Ranger and his rich baritone. "On the twelfth day of Rangemas my Babe gave to me," he sang, pulling me into his lap as Hector reached for the iPad once more and tapped the appropriate buttons on the screen. "Twelve happy Rangemen," a group photo of all twelve men and myself appeared on the projector screen, lingering for only a second as Ranger continued perfectly in time with the music. "Eleven cops eyerolling, ten injuries healing, nine nights out dancing, eight garbage showers, seven Burg gossips, six stun gun failings, five donuts, four fleeing skips, three unloaded guns, two totalled cars- "

The room erupted as every man at the table joined in for the last line. "And the honour to have her on the team!"

Happy Holidays everyone!