None of the characters below belong to me. JE gets all the credit.

Jenny (JenRar) none of the clarity of writing belongs to me either. You deserve that praise as the beta on this story.

Chapter 20 – Listen Up

"I hate waiting," Stephanie announced for the second time in the last four minutes as we sat in the exam room of her Ear, Nose, and Throat Specialist's office, waiting for him to arrive.

She jumped up and looked at the cartoonish diagram hanging on the wall of the inner ear, giving Bobby a chance to get my attention.

"Nerves?" he asked, trying to explain her behavior.

I nodded my agreement. While Stephanie had definitely begun to accept her hearing loss and had made every possible accommodation to overcome her lack of hearing, having it confirmed as permanent was something else entirely. I knew her skills of denial probably enabled her to live with the hope that one day she might hear again.

Before the tension, and her pacing, could affect us all, the door to the room swung open, and the doctor entered with a smile. Stephanie spun around as he walked over to shake her hand.

The doctor took his time talking to Stephanie first, and I was as surprised as Bobby when she reported the ringing would come and go – or at least her awareness of it did. She also confessed that over the last few days, she could swear she was hearing really loud sounds, but she couldn't confirm if she was hearing the noise or just feeling the vibration, as it was only when there were intense levels of noise. Again, I was shocked to hear this, as she had said nothing to me. The doctor dutifully made notes of all her responses, and then stood to begin his exam.

She'd had an MRI earlier in the week, a computerized hearing assessment this morning, and after a long period of staring in her ear, he finally pulled up a stool and began signing to her. I was glad that he was focused on communicating with her directly, as it helped her to feel in control of her own body and prognosis. At the same time, I didn't like feeling shut out of her treatment. Obviously, she'd been hiding things from me regarding her hearing, and I didn't appreciate the fact that she was the only one getting all the information from the doctor now.

Bobby was squinting, as though trying to figure out everything the doctor was signing, but unable to mentally slow down the motions enough to read them.

I noticed their interactions getting shorter and shorter, and then the doctor stood up and announced, "I'll be back in a few minutes."

I waited until the door closed, and then stared at Stephanie. She bent her head back and looked at the ceiling for a moment, but I refused to ask what in the hell the doctor had said and why she hadn't shared any of the information she'd told the doctor with me before today.

Finally, she turned and looked at me. "I know you're probably upset that I didn't say anything about what I thought I was hearing. But I wasn't sure if I was right or not, and I didn't want to get your hopes up that I might be getting better if there was no chance of that."

I moved forward so she'd stay focused on me. "You know I don't care if your hearing changes or not. I do care about you keeping things from me." I wasn't sure I could explain how that affected me.

"I know you're probably pissed at me, but I just couldn't talk about it, because I was afraid if I said it out loud, I would jinx it or something," she responded.

It wasn't that I didn't understand what she was saying, but there was a bigger issue here than her irrational fear that speaking something aloud would negate it. "I'm not pissed, I'm hurt, and there's a big difference."

Stephanie's face completely transformed, and for the first time since I met her, I wished that every emotion she felt wasn't so clearly visible, making it possible to know exactly what she was feeling. She hadn't considered that I would be hurt by her confession, and hearing me admit it confused her at first, and then regret immediately took over her features. When her eyes began to moisten, I stood up and moved to stand in front of her. I wasn't sure what had happened, but even though I was the one that had been hurt, I was about to apologize. Thank God Bobby was like a doctor and I could threaten him to keep everything that happened here under the seal of confidentiality for medical reasons.

"Babe, I wasn't trying to upset you, but I had hoped that over the last couple of months, we had built something strong enough that you trusted me to hold onto your secrets," I began gently.

"I do trust you, more than anyone I've ever known," she quickly defended.

I raised an eyebrow and challenged her, "With everything except the most important thing going on in your life right now."

The tears that had been threatening escaped down her checks, and I moved to brush them away. "Don't cry," I pleaded. "I know you had your reasons, and in the past, I would have done exactly the same thing, so I'm hardly one to judge. But standing on this side of the secrecy, I have to admit that I don't like it. I want to know everything about you – the little day to day things that seem insignificant, and the truly huge things that carry the burden of changing your life. I want to know it all."

"I should have told you," she admitted, the slightly slurred sounds coming through her speech once more.

"Tell me now," I suggested, hoping she would let me know more than I was able to pick up from her conversation with the doctor.

She shrugged, still trying to convince herself it was no big deal, but I could see the wish for something more on her face as she spoke. "It started with the explosion the day Hector helped me teach Joyce a lesson. Hector had us hide behind a car when he pushed the detonator. I could have sworn that I heard something when it exploded, but I wasn't sure if it was because I really had, or because I saw it happen and the boom probably made enough vibrations to be felt across the lot."

I could see why that didn't register enough to bring up at the time. I probably would have put it off as her mind adding sound to go with the visual.

"Then the next day, Hector and I went to a client's office because their alarm was going off from a staff member tripping it accidently, and then keying in the wrong code, freezing it in the alarm position."

I knew that was a downside to some of our older alarm systems, but a few clients refused to get rid of them and upgrade, which meant from time to time, we had to shut them off for the client.

"We pulled up, and Hector handed me a set of ear plugs and signed that the alarms were high pitched and really loud. I just stared at him until he took them back. I mean, the damage was already done. Why did it matter if I covered my ears now? But as soon as we walked in, I felt my ears start ringing – at least, I thought they were ringing. I had to run back out to the truck and get a different tool to finish the job, and as soon as I left the store, the ringing stopped, but when I reentered, it started up once more. Then, when Hector finally shut off the alarm, I realized what I'd been hearing had stopped, as well. It made me wonder if maybe I was hearing the alarm and it wasn't just a relapse of the ringing."

That instance probably wouldn't have made me jump to the possibility of her gaining any hearing, either.

"Then yesterday, I was running some searches, when Lester came back from the take down, where he'd leapt off the porch and tackled the skip when he tried to run. I was vaguely aware of the guys getting up and surrounding him, but I was still focused on my screen. Then I could have sworn I heard a Tarzan yell. I asked Lester about it, and he told me the guys were picking on him for the running jump, so he'd decided to join in their fun. That was the first time when I couldn't explain away what I thought I'd heard. There was no way I'd made up a Tarzan yell, so I figured I must have heard some of it. I wouldn't say it was clear, and he was literally right behind my chair, screeching at the top of his lungs when he did it, but I definitely caught something," she said, her eyes practically begging for me to agree with her that there was a reason to hope.

I gave her a small smile. "I would have loved to celebrate the possibility with you when that happened," I told her, feeling like an ass for taking the joy off her face, "but I can understand why you wanted to hang onto it for a little while, knowing we would be here this morning."

"Are you still upset with me?" she asked tentatively.

I pulled her to me instead of answering directly, hoping that the warmth of my embrace would let her know what my words were not. I heard the door open and pulled back, lowering my face to be level with hers to say, "I'm not upset. I wish I'd known, but I can see why you wanted to keep it to yourself until you knew for sure what was going on."

The doctor pulled out a strange looking chart with jagged lines on it and set it on the exam table where we could all see it. For the next ten minutes, he explained the results of the hearing test Stephanie had undergone earlier this morning. He signed and spoke, which allowed us all to get the information. He showed us how the low and mid range of Stephanie's hearing, where most of the spoken word would register, was still non-existent. Based on the exam, he was confident in saying that she would never regain that hearing. He also explained that because of the nerve damage of the prolonged exposure to such harsh sounds, he didn't feel that she was a good candidate for surgery to repair either the bones or the drum itself. He could do it, but in his opinion, it wouldn't make any difference.

Then he went on to explain about a device called a cochlear implant. A piece would be surgically installed in her head behind her ear, and a receiver would be snapped on the outside to convert auditory signals into electrical impulses rerouted directly to the nerve in the ear. Her body could be taught to interpret the impulses as sound. This device carried some restrictions that made him wary of suggesting it. First, he worried about her lifestyle. She would have an electronic device implanted in her head, meaning coming into contact with electrical signals – such as from stun guns – would be detrimental. Additionally, hard blows to the head at or near the device could also cause damage requiring surgery to repair or replace the device. Additionally, due to the nerve damage, he wasn't sure her body would even respond enough to risk the loss of the small amount of high end signal that her body was recognizing.

In his opinion, what Stephanie had interpreted as intermittent ringing was actually environmental noise that she was just unaccustomed to hearing, or it was coming through at too low of a level for her to pick up enough to understand and classify.

The large amount of data was making my head swim, and I didn't know where to begin with questions.

Fortunately, Bobby stepped forward and asked, "What would you suggest as a next step?"

The doctor sat back and looked between the three of us before responding. "I would suggest a matched set of hearing aids and a trial period. If there is a way to amplify the loud room noise to an acceptable level that your body can interpret, you could learn to adjust to hearing some sounds in that way to regain a sense of confidence about people startling you or sneaking up on you. I'm willing to pursue any of the other methods we've discussed, but I believe that with your lifestyle, which you have made amazing strides to reclaim, this is the best course of action. You will never hear the way you used to – there is just too much damage for that to be possible – but I would like to try this as a method for giving you another tool to adjust to the level of auditory input your body can process."

I noticed that he didn't apologize or soften his words. He was giving her the facts, plainly laid out for her to consider, but he offered no condolences for the news he was delivering. At first, I wondered why that was, but as Stephanie asked more questions about the point of having hearing aids if she had nerve damage, I realized this was what he dealt with for the better part of his day. In Stephanie's case, her hearing was, in effect, gone, but that wasn't something to mourn. Her life was continuing. The loss of her hearing wasn't a terminal diagnosis, and he wasn't treating it as such.

I had a feeling that his treating this so matter-of-factly was keeping Stephanie focused on the information and not on the permanence of what he had explained. She was now legally classified as deaf; nothing could change that. She had switched into the mode of how to deal with it. It was that character trait that I admired so much in her.

The doctor had taken away her ability to deny what was happening, so it was time to stand up and face the facts, and she never disappointed when she drew on that well of inner strength. It took twenty minutes of questions and answers, before she walked out with a prescription for a set of hearing aids, specifically geared to pick up and amplify the portions of the sound spectrum that her body could still hear, despite the damage to the nerve. He warned her that they would take a significant amount of getting used to, and not to expect them to allow her to hear everything, because that wasn't going to happen.

Then he brought up her speech and said that because she could no longer monitor her voice, she was beginning to slur a few sounds together. He told it was common and that she was doing surprisingly well, considering how long she'd been without her hearing. A brochure was placed in Stephanie's hands for a therapist that he felt could assist her in learning how to clear up her speech before the habits became ingrained enough, they were difficult to break. He promised her it wouldn't take long, but thought a series of sessions would make a big difference. I was relieved he'd brought it up so I didn't have to.

With that, he seemed to have shared everything necessary, so he wished us all good luck. Stephanie slid off the exam table to shake his hand and thank him for taking his time to explain everything in such detail.

The doctor stopped and looked her in the eye to say, "I see a lot of people for the same reason you are here, but there is something about how you have just jumped in, refusing to let this stop you, that makes me want to do everything possible to accommodate your zest for living. Many people turn inward over a loss like this, but you have stepped up and changed where you had to in order to continue moving with the life you want to live. Honestly, that's inspirational around here, so if there is anything I can do to help you, just name it."

I made a mental note to find a way to thank the doctor for his words. I could say the same thing to her, and she'd probably shrug it off as her lover having to encourage her. Hearing it from someone who sees stories like hers for a career put it in a certain perspective that she couldn't discount.

We made our way to the parking lot, and Bobby stopped to talk for a moment. He took her brochure and hearing aid prescription and promised to make appointments for both on her behalf. I knew that the wait for either of those might be weeks, but something told me he'd have her being seen within a day or two, tops. I was damn lucky to be surrounded by men who excelled in their fields. Bobby was a perfect example of that in the medical arena, and I wasn't the least bit hesitant to entrust him with overseeing Stephanie's care.

He took the information, promising to be in touch as soon as he had everything set up, and then jumped in his truck to head back to the office.

I glanced down at my watch and saw that the early appointment had taken the better part of the morning, so we were nearing the lunch hour. "How about Pino's for lunch?" I suggested.

Stephanie wasn't in denial, but she was definitely on overload, and I knew she needed some time and space to process everything she'd just learned. She nodded that lunch was okay, and we made our way to her new Pilot, which she'd insisted on us driving to her appointment.

I got behind the wheel, wanting to drive anytime we were together – not because I didn't trust her skills, but because I wanted to do anything she'd let me to care for her, and this was one of the things she didn't seem to fight me on.

When I pulled into the parking lot at Pino's, there were the typical sampling of cop cars, but the lot was far from crowded. It was only 1130 hours, which was still a little early for a true lunch rush.

The booth at the back was open, so I took the seat against the wall, leaving the bench opposite me for her. Neither of us needed a menu. We tended to get the exact same thing every time we were here, and since the foods offered hadn't changed in the last ten years, there was no chance of a new item being served that would be tempting.

"How are you?" I asked after we placed our order.

"I'm not sure," she responded with complete honesty. "I guess there is a piece of me that is disappointed. I'd hoped since I seemed to be showing some improvement that there was a chance things would continue to heal and I would regain a lot more of my hearing. But at the same time, it does seem like there are still some things to experiment with to get a little more sound from the world, so I'm not feeling completely bummed, either."

"I was glad the doctor said what he did as we were leaving today," I confessed.

"Why?" she jumped in.

"I have been so proud of the work you've done since the accident. He was right that a lot of people would have hidden away from the world, but you took a few days to learn some skills, you accepted the help of people who wanted to do something for you, and you returned to your life pretty quickly. You haven't let this stop you, and despite what you might think, it's damned impressive," I assured her.

She smiled at my word choice, and then said, "I don't remember you swearing as much as you seem to."

I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes at her comment. "I try not to when I'm out in public. A lot of swearing is a sign of a person who has no control, and I don't want to give that impression. But when I'm around you, I've accepted the fact that I have no control, so you're probably going to get a lot more unedited thoughts than most people."

My words made her smile. "I hope so; I don't seem to have an editor when I'm around you, so it seems only fair that I'd get the rough draft version of your thoughts, too."

We talked for a few minutes more, before I realized she'd effectively changed the subject so that she wasn't the center of attention. She had a real knack for doing that. I was about to call her on it, when a couple of people approached the table.

I lifted my hand and pointed to Carl and Big Dog as they walked over to see Stephanie.

"Hey, guys," Steph greeted them as the old friends they were.

"Hey, Steph," Carl spoke first, a little slower than usual. I'd noticed a lot of people doing that who hadn't been around Stephanie much since she lost her hearing. She was perfectly adept at reading lips, and the speed with which people spoke didn't seem to impact her understanding.

"What's up?" she asked, as though she knew they weren't just stopping by for a social visit.

This time, Big Dog spoke, a little louder than necessary, again mistakenly trying to accommodate her hearing loss. "We got a strange report at the station from Joyce Barndhart, and we need to ask you a few questions."

Neither of them seemed too worked up, so I had a feeling it was a bit of a technicality, but I was still on alert; if Stephanie confessed what she had really done, there was the potential for charges to be filed.

Carl jumped in then. "She spent the morning with Robin, demanding that we arrest you for causing her to lose her hearing. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

"Wait," Stephanie interrupted for clarification, not because she couldn't figure out what he was saying, but because it made no sense. "Joyce is saying she still can't hear?"

Big Dog attempted to cover up a laugh as a cough, before saying, "That's right. She spent over an hour writing out notes with Robin by hand."

"Why didn't she just talk?" Stephanie blurted out with an obvious observation.

"Who knows," Carl responded, not hiding his annoyance. "Anyway, we read the report. We saw no evidence that your car was used as a weapon to deafen Joyce, so we don't see any grounds for charges, but we had to ask."

"Has she been to a doctor?" Stephanie asked.

"Robin asked her that, too," Big Dog disclosed. "She said she wasn't willing to have a doctor look at her, because then it would be a preexisting condition on her insurance."

"What an idiot," Stephanie said with a huff.

Both the guys laughed at her completely accurate assessment. Finally, she made a motion with her hand that I didn't recognize, but the look on her face that accompanied it made me believe it was the sign for a word her mother would not approve of.

"I'll see if I can talk to her. I promise you, I haven't made her deaf. It's not like I'm contagious or something. I'll see if I can get her to calm down and leave you guys alone," Stephanie promised, obviously not thrilled with the idea, but knowing that since she had caused this mess, she felt the need to clear it up.

The guys thanked her and left us alone to eat our lunch.

As soon as they walked out of Pino's, I leaned over and smiled. "I can't believe she hasn't let anybody check her ears."

"I've decided nothing she does surprises me anymore. Hopefully, she'll let me help her get it out, and then she'll be okay and will forget the whole thing happened."

There was that sense of denial she loved to bring out. I figured if Steph opened Joyce's ears, it would only provide evidence that she was responsible for it being in there in the first place. Hopefully, we could find a way to make her sound deranged enough that the police would refuse to act on any future allegations.

While I was running through possible defenses, Steph interrupted my thoughts and said, "So, the police ball is in a couple of days."

"That's right," I agreed, wondering why she was bringing it up.

"Did you have any trouble getting guys to go?" she asked around the last bite of her sub.

"No. This year, I announced that I had eighteen tickets, which would allow nine couples to join us at the banquet and dance, and within five minutes, they were all gone," I told her, reporting the record speed with which people had volunteered to go this year. I'd always gotten rid of the tickets, but never that quickly.

"Why did they volunteer so quickly?" she asked, something I'd wondered, too.

"Tank says it's because they've seen how happy we are together, and they all want something similar in their own lives," I told her.

She picked up a napkin to finish cleaning off the marinara sauce while considering what I'd said to her. "That Tank is pretty smart," she finally admitted, making me laugh at her word choice.

"I'll let him know what you think," I told her, knowing I couldn't wait to pick on the big guy for the surprise with which Stephanie admitted to his apparent intelligence.

"What I mean is that's the kind of answer I'd expect from Lester, who'd have overheard it in conversation while hanging out with the guys. But I have a feeling Tank had to intuit that from their behavior, which means in addition to all his other skills, he's a master of reading people, too. I learn something new about him every day," she clarified, only adding more fuel to the fire for me to use later.

"I have a feeling he doesn't want people to know," she mused, possibly stating her thoughts aloud, not intending me to hear. "Maybe like Hector understands English, but doesn't advertise it, because it allows him to listen to the guys and pick up on all kinds of things. Tank stays quiet, which lets the guys think he either isn't listening or isn't interested, but really, he's studying them without them being aware of it."

She was exactly right – at least about Tank. His size made people notice him immediately upon entering a room; I mean, you'd have to be blind to miss someone like him. But he had the ability appear unengaged so that you discounted him quickly, and then his lack of movement allowed him to somehow blend into the background, where people would forget about him. He'd gotten plenty of intel just sitting at a table doing what appeared to be nothing.

"Was there a reason you asked about the ball?" I wondered.

"I just need to know who I'll be dancing with that night," she replied quickly.

I threw down the money to cover our meal and sizable tip, and then stood up to offer her my hand. Once she was standing directly in front of me, close enough that our bodies were touching, I told her, "You'll be dancing with me that night."

"What?" she challenged with her new confidence. "You don't share?"

I couldn't stop the growl that came out in response to her words. "Hell, no, I don't share. I might consider backing off enough to let you dance with a friend or two, but make no mistake – you're mine."

I saw and felt the shiver that went through her body at my words and raised an eyebrow, challenging her to debate the point. She surprised me when she didn't push me back on my possessive stance, but responded, "Just remember, I feel the same way."

Then she spun her hot little body around and walked to the exit. I watched her leave, a little distracted by the way her jeans framed the view I was given.

I'd always thought having a woman lay a claim on me would feel suffocating and stifling, but hearing it come from Stephanie's mouth was a turn on. I was hers, and instead of it making me feel claimed, I felt like I belonged.

Well, it made me feel a lot more than that, but I needed to get her to Haywood to show her the rest of it.