WARNING: Angst. The reason Ranger's so upset.

Senior Prom 15

Ranger might have mentioned once that he was good in the shower, but the reality of it was so much more than I could ever have imagined.

He washed me, and I washed him, and in the process we explored each other's most intimate cravings. He was insatiable, tasting, teasing, licking, biting. He kept trying to pick me up, and although I was almost delirious with need I persisted in refusing to let him, not wanting him to tear open his stitches again.

It seemed that Ranger's shower had an infinite supply of hot water, and we took full advantage of it. After some unknown time we ended up sitting on the floor of the shower with me in his lap, screaming out each other's names in ecstasy. Collapsing to our sides, we lay there on the tiles, still locked together, recovering in the deluge of warm water splashing over us.

oOo

We got dressed together in Ranger's dressing room. He pulled on a pair of black sweats and left his chest bare and his stitches uncovered. I dug through the small pile of my black RangeMan clothes on the bench but found only uniforms.

"Here, Babe," Ranger said, reaching into a drawer and handing me a pair of black boxers and one of his big t-shirts. I pulled them on, grateful for the soft cotton and soothing silk.

When I finished dressing, Ranger was standing in the doorway, and I waited for him to move so we could go have our dinner. He just stood there, staring at me but not really seeing me. His expression was blank, but somehow I knew his thoughts were far away, and not in a good place.

"Ranger?" I kept my voice soft. His expression didn't change but his eyes focused on me. "Come on, let's go eat."

I reached for his hand, marveling at how it swallowed up my own, and he moved and let me lead him to the kitchen. There were two covered plates sitting on the counter, and I removed the cover from one, testing the temperature with a finger.

"Sit down and let me just warm these up a little," I said, gesturing to the breakfast bar and sticking the first plate into the microwave. I got out silverware and napkins while it warmed and then placed the plate in front of Ranger. "Water?" I asked as the second plate was warming, and at his nod got us each a bottle from the refrigerator.

I took the stool to his left, saying, "You need to eat, Ranger," and he picked up his fork and began. I was starved, and tore into my dinner like a lion out in the Serengeti ripping meat off the bones of a fresh kill. It was a healthy meal of grilled chicken, brown rice and steamed vegetables, but like everything Ella prepared it was delicious. I kept shoveling the food in until my plate was empty.

In spite of my concentration on eating, I noticed Ranger was just picking at his plate, and when I laid down my fork he laid his down too, his plate still half full. This wasn't good.

I stood and swiveled his stool around until he was facing me, keeping my focus on his face to avoid being distracted by the well defined hills and valleys of that beautiful bare chest. "You didn't finish your dinner," I said.

"I don't want any more," he said, not quite meeting my eyes.

I stepped between his legs and put my hand under his chin, forcing him to look at me. A flash of bleakness was instantaneously covered by blankness, and then as I continued to hold his gaze, by warmth.

I released his face and picked up his fork, scooping up some rice and offering it to him. He opened his mouth with the instinct of a baby bird receiving food from its mother's beak, although lacking the eagerness. But he accepted the rice, chewing, and swallowing, his eyes never leaving mine.

Sliding the plate closer to me, I cut the chicken into bite-sized pieces and captured his eyes again as I resumed feeding him, bite of chicken, bite of vegetables, bite of rice, until the plate was empty.

Ranger remained on the stool and sipped his water, his eyes following me as I rinsed the dishes and stuck them in the dishwasher. My mind was buzzing, busy considering and discarding options for making Ranger feel better. More sex wasn't the answer. That might take his mind off his troubles for the moment, but it wouldn't ease the mental anguish that had been so apparent since he got back, in spite of his attempts to conceal it.

Job completed, counter wiped clean, decision made, I walked back around the breakfast bar. It was time to find out what was bothering Ranger, and I was just the woman for the job.

"Come on." I took his hand again, led him to the couch, and pushed on his shoulders until he sat down. Stepping between his legs I seated myself on the coffee table facing him, my knees pressing lightly against the insides of his thighs.

"Talk to me, Ranger. Tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong," his mouth said, but his eyes belied the statement.

I leaned in, putting my hands on his knees. "You've never lied to me before. Don't start now. It's obvious that something is very wrong, and I need you to tell me what it is."

His face was an expressionless mask as he said, "I can't talk about it. It's classified."

"You don't have to tell me who or when or where, or any of those other top secret details. Just tell me what happened to hurt you so much."

"I can't. And I don't want to talk about it." He wasn't looking at me anymore; he was looking through me at something far, far away, and his complete lack of expression and dead eyes sent a little chill through me.

"Ranger." I made my tone sharp to snap him out of it, to bring him back to me from whatever hopeless place he was in. When I could tell he was seeing me again I climbed into his lap, my weight on my knees on each side of him, and grasped his face in both hands.

"Tell me." I tried to show all the love I felt for him in my eyes, wanting him to know that I was here for him, no matter what.

He tried to hold out, but after a moment his face crumpled, the flatness that he'd been trying to maintain replaced by agony, pure and simple.

"They threw me away." He spoke in a monotone, although his breathing was ragged. "They were finished with me, and they sent me out to die. They didn't even respect me enough to have me taken out. They just delivered me into the arms of the enemy, expecting it to be the end of me. And it very nearly was."

He put his arms around me and buried his face in my neck, inconsolable, and all I could do was hold him, try to give him comfort with my support, with my embrace, with my love.

After a long time he straightened up again, his abiding, self-contained presence reasserting itself. "Well," he said, "it's finished. I'm finished."

My mind was working to digest his words, and a concern popped out. "Are you in danger now? Since you made it home? Will they try to…?" I couldn't say it, but he knew what I meant.

"No. There was a thorough debriefing when I got out of the hospital." He read my mind and answered my question before I asked it. "The military hospital, where they stitched me up the first time. A few heads rolled for what happened to me, and then I was cut loose. For good."

He leaned his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. My hands dropped from his face to his shoulders.

I understood now why he seemed so lost. "Tell me what you're feeling."

He kept his eyes closed, perhaps looking inside himself for the answer. "…Betrayed." He exhaled. "…Angry." His breath caught as he sucked it in. "…Alone."

My heart hurt for him. "You've still got people who care about you, who need you. And you still have backup. Tank, Lester, Bobby, all your men…"

His eyes opened, but he kept his head back, staring at someplace far beyond the room we sat in. "The opposite of loneliness… it's not togetherness. It's intimacy."

"Well then, you've got me."

Ranger's eyes rocketed back to mine, and the heat in them blew straight through me, incinerating the compassionate ache in my chest and replacing it with an inferno of desire. Without a word he stood, lifting me with him, and before I could get my mouth open to warn him about pulling his stitches again, I was flat on my back in his bed and he was lowering himself onto me.

TBC