Lester Santos surfaced from his alcohol induced slumber in stages. First was hearing cognizance – he scanned the room, eyes closed, listening for foreign sounds that didn't belong in his apartment in the early morning hours. Satisfied he was alone, he peeled his eyes open with the help of his forefinger and thumb – his room was devoid of light, save the soft glow of a lamp left on in the living room that seeped into his darkened bedroom. A quick glance at the clock revealed it to be just after 11pm, and Les pushed his confusion at the hour away while he examined how he felt, physically. He was pleasantly surprised that he didn't feel nearly as terrible as he deserved to; he didn't remember much about last night – or rather, this afternoon – but he did know he'd drank copious amounts of booze. The reason for his bender eluded him at the moment, but nature was screaming his name so with a groan, he pushed off his bed and staggered toward the bathroom.
After answering nature's call, he made his way slowly toward his living room. It looked neater than he remembered it being when he'd started drinking; maybe he'd had a drunken tidy fit? He'd certainly done worse when he was on a bender. And aside from a cottony dry mouth and headache that always accompanied him after a night of drinking, his only symptom was a slightly roiling stomach. Well, he mused, that was easily taken care of, and made his way toward his compact kitchen to grab a Sprite and some saltines.
The smell of bacon, hanging on the periphery of his awareness, was brought to the forefront as he walked toward the refrigerator. Lester crinkled his brow; had he been cooking bacon while he was drunk? That seemed unlike him; on his best days, he was liable to burn…
…"See! I knew you were good! But Gee-ah-nah…your bacon is starting to burn."
The image of Giana, standing in his kitchen and frying bacon for him, deluged his thoughts and for a panicky moment, he wondered if he'd hit on her while he was drinking; she didn't deserve to be mauled while he was drunk. But then why wasn't she here? Had he offended her?
Try as he might, he couldn't remember anything other than a brief flash of her smiling at him, standing in front of his stove while she cooked. After a few minutes of straining to recall anything else, his stomach demanded attention and he grabbed his cold soda and crackers and sat at the breakfast bar. As he nibbled and sipped, he tried again to remember what had precipitated the need to get day drunk in his apartment, alone. Geez, he hadn't been blackout drunk since his Army days; then it was like a rite of passage. But Lester was staring 30 in the face, and his young soldier's body was no longer able to bounce back like it had a decade ago – hell, even 6 years ago, he'd have slammed a beer and gotten on with his day. But now, he was struggling.
As he listed to one side on the stool, leaning on his forearms and slumping forward, he brought another saltine to his mouth, and another memory from last night bled into his conscious.
Gia, gently stroking his back and encouraging him to eat while sitting next to him. He was sitting in the same spot he currently occupied, shoveling an omelet into his mouth and telling her, "I guess I should be grateful the baby wasn't mine, after all."
Lester groaned and squeezed his eyes shut, the old ache of betrayal masked by the fresher, sharper sting of embarrassment. Shit. He wondered exactly how much he'd told her about Michelle and the baby last night.
Another flash of memory choked out his current train of thought, and he remembered having gotten a text message with pictures of himself with Giana. Hopping off the stool, he quickly located his cell phone and opened it to his text screen.
Ah, yes, he thought, grinding his teeth together. Hector's text. That's what set me off. With a huff, he tossed his phone back onto the couch and finished his snack.
Feeling slightly better, Lester decided a quick shower might relax him enough to allow him to fall back to sleep, so he made his way down the hallway. Still puzzled and more than a little worried that he'd embarrassed himself or Gia earlier, he let the water warm for a moment before stepping under the spray.
Ten minutes later, with a towel swathed around his hips, Les exited his bathroom and headed for the living room, intent on plugging his cell in to charge and trying to get some more sleep. He rounded the corner and barked out a curse in surprise; sitting on his couch was his future ex-best friend, Bobby Brown, a shit eating grin stretching across his face at having gotten the jump on his Lester.
"Feeling better, princess?" he asked. Lester narrowed his eyes and flipped Bobby off, which only made the grin widen. Bobby put on his best affronted face and lamented, "And here I came to check on you and make sure you weren't lying in your own piss. I should just leave you here alone, but I made a promise that I'd look in on you." Bobby was being intentionally vague, relishing Lester's hungover state and tormenting him, as only men seem to do to enjoy doing to one another.
This piqued Lester's interest; who else had known he'd been drinking in the afternoon? He'd assumed that by staying in his apartment, he'd go undetected. He also hadn't meant to put away that much, so there was no telling whose attention he'd gotten, or by what means.
"To whom?" he simply asked, flopping down on the couch next to Bobby.
The shit eating grin returned, and Bobby said, "Ooooh, I got a text around 5, maybe a little after, asking me to check in on you tonight."
"Just give me your phone, asshole." Lester grouched. Chuckling, Bobby turned it over and Les quickly navigated to the text screen.
Les had a little too much to drink and he's sleeping it off in his apartment; could you check on him and make sure he's alright? I don't want to leave him all on his own. ~Giana
Huh. Les sat back, thinking hard. It didn't sound like she was mad in her text, right? So probably he hadn't ruined any chance at ever hosing Giana into thinking he was a decent guy, a guy who she should maybe consider dating. Christ, Lester thought as he scrubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. I'm batting a thousand today.
Bobby settled back and waited him out. Whatever was eating at Lester needed to be aired out. This was a dance they'd done before, having gone through various Hells together in their military days. The two men had found that confiding in one another, while initially something they'd balked at, greatly relieved the pressure and stress of all the secrets they were obligated to keep. And so Bobby sat, patiently waiting, knowing Les was working up to whatever it was.
He was gratified to hear Les take a deep breath after only a minute. "I think I told Giana about Michelle and the baby last night."
Bobby let out a low whistle, and contemplated what he wanted to say. "How much did you tell her?"
"Fuck, man, I don't know! I don't even remember her getting here, or putting me to bed – unless you did that?" Les asked hopefully. He sure as hell hadn't put himself to bed last night.
"Nope. I got the text and came to check on you, and you were already in bed. There were clean dishes in the sink, so I put those away, killed a little time reading, made sure you weren't going to puke before you could wake yourself up. What do you remember?"
Les considered the question carefully, hoping to elicit another memory. When that failed, he shrugged and said, "She made me an omelet, and I told her the baby wasn't mine. I don't remember anything else about the night. Shit, Bob, what if I told her I'm into her?" Bobby burst out laughing at this, and Les punched his arm.
"It's not funny, dickhead! I don't want her to feel weird around me! Goddammit! Goddamn sneaky bitch tequila!"
Bobby, still laughing, clapped his hands together and smirked. Unable to hide his amusement, he asked, "Would that be so bad? Geez, Les, you act like you're asking a girl to a middle school dance! I've seen you ask out a hundred girls! You've been crushing on her for like, months – just ask her out!"
Lester laughed, too, but there wasn't a trace of happiness in it. He passed Bobby his cell phone, open to the text he'd gotten earlier. As Bobby read it, his smile disappeared. He was silent for a moment before looking meaningfully at Lester.
"You know this is bullshit, right?" he asked softly. "All the shit he told you before – which I didn't realize he was hanging onto still – you're better than that."
Les nodded his head fractionally, thoughtfully, taking his time before he answered. "I'm starting to. Being around Gia, talking with Steph…it's made me look differently at some things. Ranger found his 'happily ever after', Hector's happy and dating…I'm beginning to see how it could be a possibility. I just…have concerns. That shit with Michelle messed with my head."
Bobby Brown was a patient man; you can't exactly train to be a sniper if you aren't. After having been a 'late-in-life' baby and raised as an only child, Bobby's aloof, demanding parents spurned a need for acceptance in him. Bobby sought approval and love through all the wrong avenues in his younger years, and it wasn't until he joined the Army and met Lester and Ric that he really understood the meaning of the word 'family'. He felt Lester's confusion and hesitance as deeply as if it were his own burden, and it pained him to know that Lester still carried this around.
Bobby looked at his best friend and took a deep breath. "I'm going to be straight, Les – the shit that went down with Michelle was bad. Matter of fact, it was the worst. It's every soldier's fear – your woman left you while you were deployed. In your case, it was so much worse because you thought you were coming home to your pregnant fiancé, and you get home to an empty apartment and a note telling you the baby you loved and wanted and looked forward to isn't yours. We've dealt with some evil people while we were on trips to the sandbox, we know what evil looks like, and what she did was fucking heinous. Don't forget, I was there afterwards and I saw how much it tore you up. It's still tearing you up now, but not because you love her and miss her; it's tearing you up because you're letting it color the way you look at every woman you meet and the constant suspicion is eating a hole through you."
Bobby chose to ignore the surprised look on Les's face and leaned forward earnestly before continuing. "You've got to put that behind you if you want to be happy. You can't drag Michelle around with you and bring her into every potential relationship you ever try to have, because three's a crowd, my friend. You can't involve Michelle in every conversation and every touch and every memory you make with this woman, or you're going to end it before you begin. You're going to have to learn to leave that bitch by the fucking roadside where the trash belongs and embrace whatever love comes your way." And with a final nod of his head, Bobby leaned back and folded his arms across his chest.
Lester sat, overwhelmed by Bobby's speech. There was truth in everything Bobby'd just said, and Lester had always trusted Bobby's opinion…he just found it hard to believe he'd been so transparent these past few years. That Bobby had been able to identify the baggage Les was dragging along with him meant two things; one, he wasn't as adept at hiding it as he'd believed himself to be. Sure, he was naturally easy-going and had a sunny disposition, but sometimes being the clown grated on him. Still, he kept it up, hoping to distract anyone from getting too 'heavy' with him. He felt heavy enough all by himself, thank you very much. And two, it meant it was past time to move beyond his time with Michelle and the damage she'd left in her wake.
Standing together, the two men clasped hands and pulled each other into a quick one-armed hug. With awkward alpha-male grunts, they parted and hurried away from each other, Bobby toward the door and Les toward his bedroom. They'd acted like a couple of chicks long enough to last them a year, in Les's opinion.
As he lay in bed, searching for sleep, Lester let his mind wander along the avenue it usually did on such occasions – he thought of Giana, how her smile made him feel like there was nothing he couldn't do and he wondered, for the thousandth time, if there might be a future for the two of them. His phone pinged with an incoming text, and he rolled over to pick up his phone.
On the display was a text message from Bobby that read, For what it's worth, I think she's great and I like you two for each other.
After that, Lester had no trouble falling asleep. He even managed to do so with a smile on his face.
The next morning dawned bright, and Lester was eager to get a jump on the day. He'd decided, sometime in the night, to take a leap of faith and talk to Giana, and today was the day. He was up early, showered and dressed in workout clothes. Gia had been favoring a running circuit that took her out to the rec center and back within a few blocks of Haywood lately, and Les intended to meet up with her on her run.
He only stood waiting a few minutes before she rounded the corner on Linwood Avenue. She flashed a smile when she saw him and, not breaking stride, motioned him to follow. They wound their way around the streets until they reached Wetzel ball field and Giana slowed down to a walk. Silently, they did a series of cool down stretches and took turns drinking from the water fountain before settling on the bleachers. Gia remained quiet, rightly assuming Les hadn't gone out of his way to find her this early for no good reason.
"I'm sorry for the way you found me yesterday," he began. "I had a bad morning and I honestly didn't mean to get that drunk." He paused and started, haltingly, his apology. "I'm really sorry – I wanted to apologize – I can't remember everything I said, and if I was out of line-" Giana smiled and opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the loud wail of a police siren. They turned in unison to see Joe Morelli unfolding himself from a TPD patrol car, angling toward them. Lester had heard he'd been threatened with patrol duty if he didn't act more professionally about the KDC investigation, but he hadn't heard that Juniak had actually followed through on the threat.
"Good morning, Mrs. Gutierrez!" Joe sang out, a mean grin marring his normally handsome face. "How are you this morning?" He took in her close proximity to Lester and sucked on his tooth. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. Does your husband know you're meeting other men in the park? You know, if you keep acting like this, people are going to assume there's trouble in paradise."
"Can we help you, officer?" she asked pleasantly, the very picture of calm.
"Oh, no, Mrs. Gutierrez," Joe simpered at her, rocking back on his heels. "I was just out, in the neighborhood doing a patrol and got a call about a suspicious looking man following a woman around. I guess that'd be your goon buddy, here." Joe laughed as though the three were sharing a joke and winked at Giana. "But I do have to wonder what a newlywed is doing out at this hour without your new husband in tow? One would assume you'd have better ways to burn off calories, you being newly married and all."
Lester straightened himself to his full height, a good two inches taller than Morelli, and said, "Your comments are bordering on harassment, Detective…or is it just 'officer' now? I hadn't heard the good news, Joe. Congrats, you're working the same job as the guys who just graduated from the academy." When he finished, he folded his massive arms across his chest and stared at Morelli, a baleful look on his face. Giana nervously inched closer to Les, made skittish by the mounting tension.
Predictably, Morelli turned red and widened his stance. Sneering at Lester, he said, "You think you're hot shit because you and those fucking I.Q. deficient apes you work with beat the system, and the crazy one married this bitch to cement his bullshit story." Lester opened his mouth to interrupt and only just kept his wits about him when he heard Giana whisper, "No, don't." beside him.
Joe continued, turning his attention to Giana. "So now you're got, what? Rangeman's pass-around pussy? Guess all the guys were due a new piece since I doubt Ranger shares Steph anymore –", and that was as far as he got before Lester lunged toward him. Giana shrieked and yanked down on Lester's arm while kicking at his calf, using the disarming move he'd taught her only the day before to try and stop him from attacking Joe.
She managed to slow him down enough that he didn't barrel into Joe, but the damage was done. Joe leapt onto Lester's now exposed back and wrenched his hands behind his waist, all the while yelling, "You have the right to remain fucking silent for once, you arrogant prick. You'd better fucking believe I'm going to use anything you say against your smug ass in a court of law. You've got the right to that fancy pants attorney Ranger uses. If you cannot afford an attorney, your rich fucking boss will swoop in and throw money at a problem like he's trying to put out a fire. Do you understand these rights as I've read them to you, fuckhead?"
Gia stood, horrified and near tears, and Lester was dragged into the back of Joe's squad car and shut in. She watched, panicked as Les was driven away in police custody before pulling out her cell. With shaking hands, she dialed Stephanie's number and burst into tears when she answered.
"Well?" Ranger asked, his face thunderous and pinched. Unscheduled early morning meetings with his attorney were never indicative of good news, and this morning was no exception.
"Simple assault." Tom sighed, removing his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lester lunged at an on-duty officer with the intent to assault him. If he'd have hit him, they'd tack Battery onto it."
"We've got Giana to thank for that." Tank rumbled in the background. "She told Steph on the phone that Morelli was harassing them and pushed Santos too far, but she used one of his own moves to slow him down before he tagged the cop. Stupid fucker should've known better than to take the bait; word is Morelli's been gunning for Rangeman since he got bussed down to patrol."
"Yeah, well, thanks to Santos not being able to control his temper, Morelli got his shot." Ranger said through gritted teeth. He leaned back in the cheap office chair and closed his eyes, stretching his already cramping muscles. The Trenton Police Department's budget didn't allow for luxuries like cushy office chairs, at least not in the rooms they allowed attorneys to use to meet with their imprisoned clients.
After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Tank's low voice rumbled, "I don't suppose we could ask Morelli to drop charges, huh Boss?" Ranger snorted and threw an exasperated look at his second, who grinned back. "Just hear the man out before you beat him to death, is all I'm askin'." Tank was one of the few people on this planet who could make repartee in this situation seem relevant.
Before Ranger's mood could improve, however, the door to the room swung open and Lester ambled in, still cuffed. He looked a bit worse for wear, a bruise blooming under his chin and a few new scratches marring his face, but was wholly unscathed. He sat down heavily in the only empty chair and waited for the officer who'd escorted him from holding to leave the room.
Ranger leveled his stare at Lester, who studiously avoided it for a few minutes. Finally conceding defeat, he sighed and said, "I lost my cool."
"No shit."
"I'm sorry."
"Not enough. Assault, Santos. That's not something we can make go away. You know what this does to Rangeman's reputation? Our government contracts? And it's not even some barroom brawl over a piece of ass. You tried to hit a cop because, what, he popped off to you in front of the girl you like?" Ranger's voice never rose above a low hum; for anyone else, that would've been seen as a sign that things were going to remain calm and civil. But this was Ranger, and Lester knew his volume and his anger level were not mutually inclusive.
"He popped off about Stephanie, too." Lester grumbled.
Ranger slammed his hand on the table, the bang echoing in the bare room like a gunshot. "I don't care. You're military, Santos, you know better than to rush the enemy. Do you have any idea how many ways we could've fucked with Morelli to even the score? We stay covert for a reason. And now we've got to try and keep your ass out of jail. I'm cashing in favors left and right to keep you out of prison and to keep this off your record; you owe me. And you're paying up now." Ranger straightened his posture and continued.
"You are on a flight to the Miami office immediately after you're released; their armory needs to be inventoried and each piece needs to be cleaned. You'll do the entire thing, alone, before you head for the Atlanta office to do the same thing there. There are uniforms and workout clothes already waiting for you at both branches so you won't need to pack. You're welcome to come back when it's finished."
Normally, Lester would have groaned and tried to sweet talk his way into at least getting some help; instead, he leaned forward and said, in earnest, "Ric, that'll take me two weeks; there's something kind of pressing I need to do around here. I'm asking you to reconsider this."
Ranger was already standing, shoving his chair under the table. "Forget it, Santos. You fuck up, you get the shit jobs, that's how we've always run this company. And if you even think of jumping bail, I'll hunt you down and drag your ass back myself." And with that, Ranger turned and glided out of the room.
After a round of swearing and kicking over Ranger's chair, Lester signed his release paperwork and agreed to return to court to face charges; Rangeman, Inc. had posted his bail. When Tank offered to help him with whatever 'pressing business' he had, Lester shrugged it off and simply said, "It's personal."
Tank grinned; he could guess the nature of the 'personal' business. Stephanie had made it her personal mission to 'bond' with Tank, seeing that her husband was his partner. She penciled off one lunch a week for the two of them, and they usually spent it in Tank's office, eating and gossiping…well, Stephanie gossiped. Tank usually just listened. Steph had been lamenting for weeks about Hector being 'unreasonable' and Lester needing to 'make a move already', so he was fairly up to speed on the entire thing.
Being a man who said very little, Tank's scope of compassion was often underestimated. The few people who'd learned that he had cats, for example, were always surprised – he projected a certain vibe that served him well and kept people from feeling too comfortable around him. But Tank was a sucker for a happy ending, Lester was one of his few real friends, and he liked Giana; she reminded him of Stephanie in some ways.
So it was a combination of all these things that prompted him to ask, "Want me to pass along a message?"
Les contemplated it for a moment; it seemed like he was offering up a lot of apologies to her for his behavior lately. With a frustrated groan, he said, "Just tell her…tell her I'm sorry, and I'll see her when I get back."
Nodding, Tank opened the door and led Lester out into the bright sunlight and the black SUV that was bound for Newark airport.