Author's Note: Hey, everybody. My computer is still on its last legs but I've put a new laptop on layaway. I should have it home by the end of spring. Until then, I'm gonna keep the party going. My main fandom's off hiatus but I'll not forget about this story and I have not forgotten about Lock. I have to re-read it and then figure out how to wrap things up. I know what I want to do. I just have to write it out. I'm still disgusted with canon Stephanie but now, I'm of the attitude that if JE won't do right by her, then it's up to the fic writers.

Disclaimer: "Honestly, it's not mine!"

One Month Later…

"Thanks for coming to get me…the docs said that I shouldn't drive…they gave me…I dunno what they gave me but it's some heavy duty shit…what're you doing?"

"I'm staying."

"Ranger…"

"You've already got a broken wrist. You don't need to give yourself a concussion, too."

"I can take care of myself, Ranger."

"I know you can."

"Well…just as long as you remember that, my home is your home…"

How did I end up with a broken wrist, you're wondering? Well, it's all thanks to Matthew Miles Moriarty, a mid level Skip who was facing armed robbery charges. He had stuck up the local Stop n Go for Stark Street money and got caught up in an undercover buy sting. His idiot girlfriend, a Mary Magnolia Meadows (so many alliterations, so little time…) had bailed him out and had been hiding him at her apartment. He was cheating on her, he had a drinking problem, and yet, she had been so determined to protect his lousy ass, she had slammed the door on my right wrist.

Needless to say, I hadn't taken it very well.

She should've slammed it on my left wrist because as soon as I shouldered the door open, I decked her, drawing Matthew's ire. Apparently, he was the only one who got to treat Mary like trash. I maced him blind, kicked him hard in the balls, and although it took me gritting my teeth to the cracking point, I managed to get my body receipt and my SUV to St. Francis' before lunchtime.

Well, Ranger's SUV, technically. RangeMan has a fleet of black vehicles and he loaned me one to use. At the time, he had said given me but I was treating it as a loan, a temporary lease. I could afford to buy a new car myself. I could afford to buy 4 new cars but what kept me from doing it was a lack of time. I've got work coming out the ass, right now. It's getting towards summer time and the crime rate has been on the rise, along with Skips. Nobody wanted to go to court but it was more apparent when beach weather, vacation season, and heatwaves came into play.

For every Skip I brought in, 2 more popped up like weeds and I've been on the move. By the time I clock out, I'm barely awake enough to get home, much less go to a car dealership. And Ranger's SUV was nice, spacious, and connected to back up whenever I needed it. I hadn't used the option but to have it was nice. I can and will take care of myself. I am not a damsel in distress. I am the damsel causing the distress.

I am the danger!

I am also still quite stoned from whatever they put in those painkillers and I'm starving. I had a hardboiled egg sliced over cheesy toast, a few berries, and one of those Carnation drinks before going to get Moriarty but nothing else. The hospital had given me some juice and graham crackers after setting my wrist but that was not food. I needed food and I had some chicken tikka masala with pork kimchi dumplings in the fridge.

After successfully getting to the bottom of the white spiral staircase that led to my loft bedroom, I sighed. After deciding to stay in the Trenton area, I had snapped up an old firehouse that had been converted into a beautiful home. Other than the master loft suite, there were two other bedrooms, one I used as an office and the other a guest, 2 and a half bathrooms, and a large kitchen that I barely used other than the microwave, fridge, and George Foreman grill. I furnished my place with things from New Mexico, along with finds from the internet and local antique shops. There were bold colors, funky accessories, classic pieces, and clean quiet, clean quiet that I had grown to appreciate during my time away. Trenton was loud and smoggy. The Burg was loud and judgmental. My family's full of mayhem. From Helen's harping about respectability to Grandma's vocal love of all things fun to my father's TV blasting, there was no peace, no privacy, no space.

I have my own space, now and while I could appreciate a bit of loudness, a bit of mayhem, I love that I have a retreat, an oasis, an actual happy place to go with the one I made inside my head.

In the kitchen, I pulled out my favorite bowl (a mile deep black ceramic one with little white dragonflies on it) along with a tall glass, placing them on the counter. I needed to finish off the gallon of chocolate milk I had bought and it would go well with my leftovers. It was sweet and smooth and actually pretty healthy, healthier than soda that I was trying to cut down on.

Turning away from the fridge, I nearly went into orbit. I had forgotten that Ranger was still in my place and apparently, he had one hell of a stealth mode because I didn't even hear him tread on the squeaky floorboard. I really should get it fixed, now that I think about it, although it makes a nice early warning system. If someone comes to try and give me problems while I'm sleeping, I can hear the floorboard and get to a weapon faster or at least find a good hiding place, y'know?

"Do you need any help?"

My mouth was bone dry but not because of the meds still in my system. Ranger had taken off his boots and his shirt. His cargo pants were unsnapped and I could see everything.

If I thought that he was gorgeous in the diner, that was nothing compared to what I was looking at now. He's acres and acres of muscle, soft looking earth toned skin, just the right amount of body hair and just…damn. How does he even walk with that thing? It's not even hard but the print of it alone…wow. Did he ask me a question? I think he asked me a question…

"Huh?"

"Do you need any help?"

"Um, no…no, I'm good. Just hungry. Are you hungry? I think I've got enough left to share…"

"I'm good, Babe."

Does he have to call me Babe? I mean, it's not that I don't like it because I do but really, he should not be calling me Babe when it's 2AM and he's all sexy. Actually, sexiness is 24/7/365 plus a day for Leap Years for Ranger but really, it's unfair. And of course, he's looking like he just stepped out of a GI themed centerfold when I'm looking like a half dead college student in my faded pink cheeky panties with little Tanooki Marios all over them and a threadbare white tank top. No bra, black plaster cast, chipped red pedicure, and my hair had escaped from the ponytail I put it in so it was 80s hair band on a bender chic.

I'm a hot mess.

Oh, God…why do I even care? It's 2AM and I'm in my own house, for chrissakes! What am I supposed to look like, a Vicky S angel? Jeez! I mean, I am a Jersey girl with Jersey girl pride but it's not like Ranger sees me as more than a colleague, a mentee, a friend. Ranger and I are friends, starting to become good friends, even. He's nice to me without wanting something, he respects my judgment, and he fetched me from the hospital. Not only did he come and get me, he was genuinely concerned about my welfare, asking the doctors all sorts of questions. And then, he had given me his jacket, a buttery soft black leather bomber that smelled of expensive polish, gun oil, and Bvlgari Green.

I recognized the Bvlgari scent immediately because I use the entire White Tea collection. It's a bit of a splurge but just because I do a job that has me packing heat, dodging trash, and busting bones doesn't mean that I can't be girly. I love to wear heels, do my makeup, smell really good and I particularly like it when my skin is touchably soft. Sure, nobody but me is touching it but that's okay. Self care is important to self esteem and god knows I could use all the help I can get in that department.

The microwave dinged and I took out my bowl of steamy fusion goodness, hoping that a full belly would be a sufficient enough distraction from the steamy Cuban goodness that was still in my house at 2AM with no shirt.

Did I mention there's a distinct lack of undergarments involved with said shirtlessness?

"Are you sure I can't get you anything to eat? A beer, maybe?"

"I'm good, Babe."

After Midnight snacking means that table manners go out the window so I just dug in with my free fingers, moaning softly as flavor exploded on my tastebuds. I may not be able to cook more than basic survival dishes (and those are hit or miss!) but I certainly love to eat. If it tastes good, I'll let you know. Mary Lou once called my good food noises orgasmic noises but I'll take her word for it. All the sex I've ever had me moaning in relief that it was over, not out of genuine pleasure.

I was with men who only cared about their own needs. They were literal and figurative selfish dicks, selfish wandering dicks. My first orgasm, my first real, back arching, toe curling orgasm had come from my own hands and Rabbit. Morelli and Richard hadn't even tried to pleasure me past a few strokes and gropes that didn't even feel good. I was nothing but a warm hole, a conquest, a living redecorating project to them. They wanted my body but not my soul. When I didn't behave like they wanted me to, they left but not before fucking me over.

Now, do you get why I'm so jaded when it comes to men?

I've only been with two and not only were they garbage, they treated me like garbage. They both hurt me and I don't want that sort of hurt again. It's better to be alone. Well, not better but it's safer. I'd rather spend the rest of my life alone than to give it up to some jerk again. Good men don't like me…

"That's not true, Stephanie."

"Did I say that out loud?"

"You did and it's not true."

"Oh, really? Morelli and my ex husband prove otherwise. The only men who like me are assholes and…"

"I like you. Does that mean I'm an asshole?"

"I didn't mean friendship like, Ranger."

"…neither did I."

Oh.

Oh!

"Ranger…"

"You didn't see it?"

"I…I just thought that you were being a good friend, a good mentor. I never…what the hell would you want to be with me for?"

"Why wouldn't I? You're kind, you're brilliant, you're beautiful, and you're not afraid of me. You don't see me as a walking gun or a meal ticket…"

"Because you're not. I mean, yeah, you're loaded and can kill someone with a melon baller but those are only small parts of you. You're a good man. A strange man, sometimes but really good. That's why I…yeah…"

"So, you like me, then?"

"I didn't mean to like you. It was an accident."

His chuckle was deep but not malicious, making me want to smile instead of cry. A big part of me, the one fueled by my Hungarian Hormones and soft heart wants to jump him now but the other is screaming 'DANGER, WILL ROBINSON!' at the top of its lungs. I know how to deal with assholes and how to protect myself from them. I'm used to them.

Ranger is a whole other type of man than what I'm used to. He's not an asshole or if he is, he keeps it firmly in check. He's proven to be trustworthy and he's just so damned fine…he really likes me? Like seriously likes me? Huh. Talk about your Cinderella story… okay no, not Cinderella. Prince Charming was kind of a douche and pretty stupid for not remembering her face. How are you supposed to appreciate your true love if you don't even know what they look like when they're not all dressed up? And the glass slipper thing was pretty creepy, honestly…what was I thinking about again?

"You need to take another dose of your painkillers."

"I don't know if I should…they make me really loopy…"

"Being loopy is better than being in pain and I'll stay with you."

"…okay. You go get whatever you need from the guest room and I'll…I'll meet you upstairs."