As Hector pulled into RangeMan's underground parking garage, he was smiling in satisfaction. The past few days in New York, uninterrupted time spent with Vaughn, had been indescribably perfect…but then again, most days were wonderful since he'd fallen in love. They'd dined together in the teeniest, most obscure restaurants they could find in Little Italy and shopped in small boutiques for Charlene's upcoming birthday; the time Vaughn spent in auditions, Hector dedicated to working out and jogging through Washington Square. He smiled to himself, remembering the way they'd spent every moment between auditions.

Unfortunately, duty called and they'd arrived back in Trenton late last night, a whole twelve hours before they'd planned. They stayed in Vaughn's new apartment, and this morning Hector was up at daybreak and on his way into work.

The message he'd gotten while still in the city had been a bit unusual, but with both Ranger and Lester gone, things at RangeMan had been a bit unorthodox (Giana working there not being the least of them). The fact that it came from Vince had given him pause, but the message itself – "Tank wants to know if you can come in and cover an early shift, tomorrow" – wasn't odd. They were short staffed at the moment and employees were required to pitch in to cover shifts when that was the case. Vince calling was peculiar, but Hector figured that Tank was finally delegating some of his responsibilities.

What had seemed strange was the late night voicemail he'd gotten from Giana; it was a terse message, and though her voice deceptively calm he heard the strain in it. The message itself was unremarkable - "Hec, I need for you to come see me before you go into work, please." – and so Hector let his post-long weekend euphoria convince him it was nothing of importance. He hadn't heard it until this morning anyway, and it was far too early to disturb her; besides, she wasn't expecting him back until midday, so it could wait. In fact…he pulled his phone from his pocket and fired off a text to Vaughn, instructing him to check in with his sister as soon as he was up. Surely he could help her with whatever she needed done.

That chore completed, he continued on toward the elevator. Hitting the button for the fourth floor, he reflected again on just how sweet his life was.

Hector exited the elevator on the fifth floor and set off to find Tank. As he approached the control desk, Hal looked up from the monitor he was watching to greet the approaching Rangeman. Once Hal locked eyes with Hector, however, the perpetually blushing man paled considerably. His eyes widened and his chin dropped, making the overall effect comical. Hal had always shown a propensity for nerves around Hector, but this was getting ridiculous.

Still feeling the remnants of the joviality he'd basked in while with Vaughn, Hector decided to put Hal at ease. "Relax, amigo, I'm not here to kill you."

If anything, the big man paled even more; his Adam's apple began bobbing furiously as he struggled to address Hector.

"S..sir, good morning. We, uh, we weren't expecting you back so soon." Hal stammered. Hector noticed when small beads of sweat started gathering at Hal's hairline and allowed himself a small eyeroll before asking where he could find Tank.

"He's off this morning, sir." Hal seemed to regain a bit of his composure as the conversation veered toward the mundane professionalism he was accustomed to.

Hector frowned, then asked, "Did he leave any instructions for me? He needed me to come in to cover a shift this morning but didn't specify where I'd be."

Just as Hal was doing his best goldfish impression, Vince appeared from the cubicle area. "Good morning, sir. I believe Tank needed help with a commercial install quote but forgot he was scheduled off; if you like, I can grab the file for you."

Hector turned his body so he was facing Vince and eyed him suspiciously; something was up. He wasn't sure yet what it was, but judging from the barely concealed smirk Vince was sporting, he'd find out soon enough.

Giving a silent nod of thanks to Hal, Hector turned and began strolling toward Vince's cubicle. Hector suspected he wouldn't have to wait long to find out what Vince was very obviously dying to tell him, and sure enough, as soon as they passed the first bank of early-morning employee cubes Vince casually threw out his opening shot.

"Sorry about the confusion; with everything that happened, I guess Tank was a little careless with scheduling."

Ah, here it is. Okay, I'll bite. "Oh?" was all the response Hector gave him. He continued walking, knowing Vince wouldn't let it drop. Normally these types of petty displays of dominance were something Hector would shut down immediately, but he was curious to find out what Vince was up to.

Predictably, Vince spoke up again when it was clear Hector wasn't going to. "Yeah, it was…quite the predicament. I mean, it was against policy for Lester to bring them back here, so I'm sure Tank's dealing with disciplinary actions on top of everything else. How is Giana, by the way? No one's heard from her."

Hector stopped abruptly and turned to face a notably smug-looking Vince…but not for long. It took less than two seconds for Hector to press Vince against the wall; his toes barely scraping the floor as Hector's icy stare pinned him, Vince gasped in a ragged breath before Hector released his shirt, only to press his forearm into Vince's windpipe. Vince's eyes widened in surprise, then panic when he realized his airflow was cut off.

"Ghhhh…eeeehhh!" The panicked garble coming from Vince's mouth was strangely satisfying, and as Hec reflected on the fact that it had been entirely too long since he'd gotten to use this particular method of persuasion, Vince started to turn purple and claw at Hec's arm.

Hector continued to press until Vince was a lovely shade of puce before releasing him. Falling to the ground in a heap, Vince lay there and sucked in great lungs full of air while Hec regarded him coldly. Giving Vince a ten-count, Hector stood idly before squatting slowly in front of the formerly cock-sure man and leveling his patented icy stare at Vince.

"I think," Hector said slowly, "you've had enough fun pulling my dick today, no? So why don't you tell me what the fuck you're prattling on about that has anything to do with my sister before you piss me off."

Vince's eyes widened at the implication of the endearment Hector used as he continued to cower. He rasped out the story of dirty deeds done in the cover of night and the contradistinction it played out within. By the time he got to the end, Hector wasn't even listening; his mind was playing out dark scenes of castigation.

"…and so Gia's been AWOL since it happened and we were all just concerned about her- " Hector cut him off with a deceptive smile that chilled Vince's blood.

"Concerned? Come, Vince, let's not play games. You've dragged me here, off shift, after you used Tank as a cover. You got me here so you could tell me, personally, that Giana...that she…" Here he faltered as a wave of distress washed over him, worry for Gia a caustic sadness he felt to his marrow. "And for what?" he continued, shoring up his animosity and letting it burn hot through his veins. Hatred, malice and fury had long given Hector the fuel he needed to see the shittiest of situations through; it would serve him nicely today.

"Because," he went on, "you think that somehow, some way, I'm going to clear the road for you to make a play for her. You thought you could manipulate me – me – into doing your dirty work for you, and that with Lester out of your way that I would allow another man to take advantage of mì hermana. You thought," he snarled, a look of utter rage marring his face, "that opportunity was knocking and you were going to send me to answer the motherfucking door. Let me clue you in on something, tragona…you picked the wrong fucking day and the wrong fucking man to pull that shit on."

Hector raised the knife he'd silently unsheathed while Vince was blathering away and, in one swift move, hit Vince with the butt of the handle squarely on the head, knocking him unconscious. He rose, not bothering to hide the offending man's body from plain view and went in search of Lester Santos.

Lester lay unaware one story below the storm that was brewing on four…but, truth be told, it probably wouldn't have made much of a difference to him even if he'd known what was happening.

He lay where he'd fallen yesterday when he'd finally stumbled in after his visit to Giana's house. He'd railed and cried a fair part of the night – the railing he'd been aware of, the tears, oblivious to – before pulling his phone out of his pocket and scrolling through his photos until he found his favorite one of her. Then he'd propped it against the still-full bottle of tequila he'd never bothered to put away and gazed at it for the better part of the night, feeding his self-loathing and whetting the feeling of animosity he felt toward his actions.

He remembered the day he'd taken the picture with perfect clarity; they had, at Giana's insistence, gone to 'learn something new' together. She'd pored over websites and brochures before settling on, of all things, candle-making. Lester smiled as he remembered the class; they'd been terrible at it, and the sour-faced instructor had been clearly displeased at their lack of decorum in his class…but Lester had been enthralled with her, and she with him, and the day was one they'd looked back on in fondness.

She'd looked beautiful that day – but then, when didn't she? The very picture of summertime sweet in a halter dress that ended just above her knee, a lovely green frock that perfectly matched his eyes.

She loved that, he thought mournfully, dressing in the shade of green she favored for the sole reason that it matched her lover's eyes. There were a thousand sweet, unconscious gestures she made to show her love for him, every day – how had he forgotten them? In a single moment, in one solitary misfortunate glimpse, Lester had ignored all he knew and had chosen to believe what had, before Giana, been ingrained in his head…that he wasn't enough.

Now, after hours of self-deprecation and fitful bouts of catnaps, Lester was surprisingly numb. Whether he'd grown accustomed to the catalogue of venom running through his mind, or that he'd grown stupefied from weariness he wasn't sure; he was, however, selfishly glad for the reprieve.

His moment didn't last long; the silence of his apartment was broken with a resounding BANG! as his door flew inward. Great splinters of wood littered the entryway and crunched under Hector's boots as he made his way into Lester's apartment.

Lester lay unmoving on the couch. He'd lost track of time, of days, even, so he figured that his comeuppance had been coming due anytime now. He watched unflinchingly as Hector stalked, cat-like, toward him. Knowing that this Angel of Vengeance was here to deliver his punishment was, in a way, welcome; if there was a way, even indirectly, to make amends to her, Lester would gladly oblige. He closed in eyes in weary submission and waited.

Hector, for his part, chose to ignore the desperate look of catatonia on Lester's face. He also disregarded that the man was still lying on the couch and hadn't made a move to defend himself or ask any questions – the most obvious being, "Why the fuck did you just kick my door in?!" Hector moved forward with single-minded intent – to take his pound of flesh from the man who hurt Giana.

Hector moved slowly, purposefully toward Lester, his hand resting unconsciously on the handle of the blade he wore at his hip as he finally spoke.

"You know why I'm here." A statement, not a question. Lester winced and swallowed forcefully, never opening his eyes. He drew in a shuddering breath before answering.

"Yes."

A voice from behind Hector interrupted their standoff. Hector gritted his teeth and willed himself to stay calm; anger would only serve to inflame the situation. "I'd like to know why you're in here. And I'd also like to know why you felt it necessary to destroy my door."

He turned to face an impassive Ranger, barely remembering to school his face; if Ranger saw the malice he felt, if the rage translated on his face, he wouldn't have the chance to make Lester pay.

The two men regarded each other, their faces carefully neutral. One might believe they were actually calm, until they noticed the set of Ranger's shoulders or the fact that Hector's hand still rested on his dagger.

It was Lester who broke the standoff. "S'all good, Ric." His voice was gritty and tired. Ranger shifted his gaze to his cousin and had to check his blanch; Les looked like absolute Hell, struggling to push himself upright. What the fuck had happened here?

"Explain!" he barked. Ranger was not a man to be trifled with at even the best of times, and right now the man oozed displeasure and impatience. Hector met his stare unflinchingly; this was his personal business, and he didn't welcome intrusion.

Again, it was Lester who answered Ranger. "Ric, it's fine. Really." He added when Ranger only raised one eyebrow in response. Les sighed and scrubbed his face with his palm, cursing under his breath. "I…I know it looks…odd, but I was expecting Hector. Really, it's fine."

"Fine? Fine." Ranger drew out the word, testing it and giving every appearance of considering what Lester was saying. "It's not fucking fine, and let me tell you why it's not fucking fine – I've got Hal calling my cell while I'm offline telling me there is an emergency, not with a client, but with my employees in my building. I had to leave my wife upstairs to come deal with your shit, so you two are going to tell me what the FUCK is going on." What Ranger's rant lacked in volume, it made up for in command. There would be no putting him off now.

Lester stared at his cousin, wracked with guilt and trying to swallow his shame back enough to explain just how colossally he'd fucked things up. Oddly enough, it was Hector who rescued him.

"We are solving a dispute," was his deadpan response to Ranger's demand.

Someone who didn't know Ranger might have missed the subtle way his eyes widened, just a fraction, or the way his chin dropped infinitesimally. Hector and Lester knew him very well, however, and clearly read his surprise at Hec's flippant answer. They could also plainly see his recovery and the anger that followed it.

"Take it to the mats." He bit out. "I'll see you at 0500 and you at 0530 tomorrow." He pointed at Lester and Hector in turn before dropping his arm to his side and continuing.
"This is the last time I will ever be called while I'm offline for this bullshit." He stared both men down until he got a muttered, "Sir." by way of acknowledgment. He turned on his heel, threw a terse, "Clean this mess up," over his shoulder and strode out the door and toward the elevators.

Hector and Lester were left, staring at the gaping doorway. Neither moved, and neither broke the silence. The only sound that could be heard was that of the hushed voices emanating from the hallway, spreading the tale fast as wildfire.

"Mats in 30." Hector's smooth monotone hushed the voices outside. He strode out of the apartment, not bothering to spare a glance for Lester.

Twenty-five minutes later, word of the confrontation in Lester's apartment and subsequent session on the mats had spread. The gym had a decent-sized crowd of spectators gathered, waiting on Hector to arrive. Lester was early and for the past ten minutes he'd been standing in the center of the sparring ring, staring with dulled eyes at the doors to the gym. Dulled…that was a good way to describe his current state. Like an unpolished glass sitting in direct sunlight, one could see the cracks peeking through his usually carefully coiffed exterior. The days old stubble, the oily sheen of his usually impeccable hair, the way his rumpled clothes hung from his slouched frame – all spoke of a general air of neglect. The men stole glances at him, mingled pity and reproach in their eyes; though they were, collectively, upset at his handling of Giana…he was still their brother, and he was obviously in a bad way.

And to add insult to grievous injury, the woman scorned just happened to be the love-adopted sister-in-law of the company's most dangerous fighter. As much as the men didn't relish the thought of seeing Lester maimed, Hector calling anyone to the mats was such a rare occasion that they were unable to resist the pull.

As the seconds ticked down, Lester stood patiently inside the sparring ring, waiting. He knew, on some level, that this was coming; the fact that it was a mere two days after…well, after was unanticipated. Truthfully, he'd been so deluged with varying degrees of guilt and pain the past few days that any trepidation he'd normally have felt was lost somewhere in the abyss of misery he'd been suspended in.

With one minute to spare, the doors to the gym opened. Hector strode in, completely ignoring the onlookers that had amassed. The room fell silent as he made his way to the mats, uninterrupted until he reached the ring.

Bobby, standing sentry with his arms folded, blocked Hec's way. Hec shot him a murderous glare before moving to sidestep him.

"You need to take a beat and just hear me out," he began. Behind him, Lester sighed audibly. Ignoring him, Bobby continued.

"You're doing this for the wrong reasons, Hector; Gia told me not to tell you what happened." That got Hector's attention; he paused and shot a dark look Bobby's way. Bobby, bless him, didn't flinch and pressed on, using the minute amount of time he had to press the issue.

"She was upset when I drove her home, but she asked me – begged me – not to tell you, and not to let you near Lester until she had the chance to talk with you." From behind him, Bobby heard a strangled gasp. It was a fact he'd kept from Lester, figuring that Giana's concern for him on the heels of his betrayal would unhinge his already fragile mental state. Now he wished he'd found time to tell Lester in private what had gone down after he'd left with Giana; hearing it in a room full of his peers couldn't be easy.

Hector's resolve seemed strengthened, if anything, to proceed. He moved toward the mats with renewed purpose, his previously stoney features belying his anger – his jaw was clenched, his furious glare fixed on Lester's dismal one.

Desperate to keep his promise, Bobby threw out one last threat, hoping to strike gold with it – "I'll call Giana!" Again, Hector paused, and Bobby was buoyed into continuing his (admittedly) juvenile threat. "I'll tell her what you're about to do, and I'll let her know you ignored her wishes."

Hector spun, scary-slow, until he was facing Bobby. All the previously held vitriol was redirected at Bobby, and the medic took an involuntary step backward.

"How will you dial her number," Hector hissed, "after I break all your fingers?" Ignoring Bobby's blanch, Hec proceeded onto the mats to meet Lester.

Lester faced this man, his paramour's protector, with none of Hector's righteous anger. Instead, he awaited his fate as a man condemned to the gallows, morose and resigned to his destiny.

Hector looked at Lester, contempt bleeding onto his features. He would make this right for Gia, the only way he knew how. He wasn't a nurturer by nature, nor was he particularly good at consoling a person in crises…but at extracting revenge, Hector was an expert. For her, he would offer this small measure of comfort.

"No tapping out," he whispered. When Les nodded in understanding, Hector's arm shot out and his fist connected with Lester's gut. The sound of expelled air and the grunt of pain was his only response, and after a few second's composure, he righted himself and waited.

Hector stood in swinging distance, regarding the man before him before landing a quick succession of three punches – two to his stomach and the last, across Lester's jaw. The men in attendance winced and shared a few troubled glances…why wasn't Santos fighting back, or at least defending himself?

Again, Lester took a moment to right himself. He stood in the same spot he'd begun in, blood beginning to ooze from the small cut on his cheekbone where Hector's knuckles had split the skin. And again, Hector advanced and struck. Two kicks, followed by another blow to the face that rocked Les back on his heels and onto his ass had a few of the RangeMen turning away, unable to watch.

As Lester righted himself this time, his body beginning to slow from the unchecked punches and kicks, his mission became obvious – he had no intention of defending himself. He was determined to take the punishment that Hector dealt, like some sort of sick atonement for his sins.

Hector, ever aware, had caught onto Lester's game fairly quickly. No matter; he wasn't here to work through some shining Hallmark moment of benevolence; he was here to right the wrong that had befallen his friend. With that thought, he approached Lester again, and again Les did nothing to defend himself. Another quick blow to the ribs, followed by two successive blows to the same spot, and Hec was pretty sure he'd cracked something…and he was only warming up.

Blow after blow landed, causing even the most hardened RangeMan to flinch. Cal was the first to leave the gym. He walked forward, slapped the mat and yelled, "This isn't a session, this is a fucking slaughter! You've proven your point; Santos, tap out!" Hector only stared at the man as Les slowly shook his head. Disgusted, Cal threw his arms in the air and stormed out of the gym, followed in short order by Zip and Junior.

Finally, after a brutal 19 minutes and 25 seconds, Bobby intervened. "Ric's not here, Tank's out, I'm pulling rank – this session is over. Gutierrez, get the fuck out of here. Santos, Christ…Ram, help me lift him."

Lester barely registered being lifted from the mats, or his journey to the infirmary. He could no longer differentiate the body parts that hurt – they all hurt. He was a giant ball of pain, bruised and bleeding on almost every visible inch of skin. His ribs were a constant, sharp stabbing pain, and he could tell from the way he was unable to straighten that at least two were cracked, possibly broken. He floated in a hazy fog, both relieved and disappointed that Hector had been called off so soon.

Bobby snapped an ammonia capsule under his nose, rousing Lester out of his delirium. After doing the standard faculties checks, Bobby probed for internal injuries and, after instructing Ram on how to assist, administered a few anesthetic shots before beginning a series of stitches along Lester's hairline and inside his bottom lip.

Bobby remained tight-lipped; he had nothing constructive to say to his best friend right now, so he kept his mouth shut. There was nothing to be gained from berating Lester for his self-flagellation and frankly, Bobby was pissed enough that he knew he'd say something regretful.

As he stitched in silence, Ram looked on in horrified fascination; Lester had volunteered for this shit. He'd served himself up on a platter and let Hector beat the shit out of him for more than a quarter of an hour, not once raising his hand in his own defense. He knew better, but had to ask…

"Why'd you do it, man? She wouldn'tve wanted that."

Les opened his eye, the one not swollen tightly shut, and tried valiantly to focus on Ram before answering.

"I deserved it," he mumbled. When Bobby snorted in disagreement, Lester waved a hand dismissively at him and continued. "When she was…kidnapped, I wanted to find those fuckers and gut them. I wanted to be the one to make them pay for hurting her." He grimaced and his eyelids fluttered. He grumbled, "Looks like Hector beat me to it again," before seemingly losing consciousness.

Ram asked, nervously, "Sir, is it okay for him to be asleep right now?"

Bobby snorted and clipped the suture he was working on, carefully applying antibacterial ointment before replying. "He's okay to sleep a while; we'll need to wake him every two hours so I can check his pupils." He peeled off the gloves he was using, quickly disposing of them and washing his hands. "Can you sit with him for a while? If he stops breathing, starts choking, anything like that, hit this red button on the wall, see? It'll alert me immediately, I'll be in the building."

Ram nodded and, after thanking him, Bobby headed for the control room to ensure that order had been restored after the morning's events. Having done that, he fired off a quick email to both Tank and Ranger – offline or not, there would be Hell to pay if Ric didn't hear about this ASAP.

Predictably, his phone rang a few short minutes later and he spent a few minutes, tiredly filling in the holes left in his email for Tank. After muttering a few curses, Tank promised to deal with Vince personally the next day before disconnecting the call.

After grabbing a water and an apple from the break room, Bobby went in search of the Man of the Hour to square some things away.

He found Hector in his second floor office, looking every bit as menacing as he had in the gym. He ignored Bobby's presence until Bobby, reaching the end of his rope with the entire situation, curled his hand into a thick fist and pounded the table near Hector.

Hec was on his feet and in fighting stance in an instant. "You going to take me on, too?" Bobby sneered, the anger clear on his face. "I just spent the last twenty minutes bandaging Santos up because of, what? Your need to piss a circle around Giana?"

Bobby was face down on the floor before he could even register that Hector had moved. His right arm, twisted behind him to give Hector leverage, was wrenched painfully upward until his wrist rested between his shoulder blades. The pain made him gasp and he struggled in vain to throw Hector off but the smaller man was impossible to shake.

He waited until Bobby exhausted his efforts before speaking. "You think this is some game, some moronic fight for dominance?" he hissed near Bobby's ear, making the man flinch at the hatred in Hector's voice. "He deserved it. He deserved it for hurting her and for making me look like a fool." And with that, he released Bobby and rose to a standing position, rightly choosing to back away as Bobby lumbered to his feet.

He turned, glaring at Hector before snarling, "How the fuck did he make you look like a fool?!"

"Because," Hector answered back, deadly calm, "I trusted him. I knew I shouldn't have, I told him so, but he convinced me that he loved her enough to never hurt her." Hec spread his arms wide, grimacing while slowly shaking his head. "She laid herself bare to him and he refused to do the same for her. Where she gave him understanding, he returned it with suspicion. She was patient and he hoarded his secrets, his demons, and when they found a way to resurface he used her love for him to hurt her. I should have known better; I am just as much to blame as him. I should never have allowed it." After a pause, Hector dropped his eyes from Bobby's and said, "I hate myself as much as him."

The two men stood in silent contemplation for only a moment before the sound of Hector's phone broke their reverie. He pulled it out of his pocket to check the screen, a haunted look passing over his face as he pocketed it.

"I have to go," he offered to Bobby, making his way to the door. He held it open as Bobby followed silently, locking it after Bobby passed through.

"You'll let me know how she is?" he asked as Hector headed for the garage. Hector paused and, without turning around, said, "Sì," before loping down the stairwell to head to Gia's.