A/N: As promised, the longer fic. I don't know where all of this angst is coming from. Usually, I'm the fluff queen, but I landed on this song and it just seemed so angsty Ranger to me. This song, Iris, is what I consider to be one of the most romantic songs of all time. Intimate, beautiful, and raw, I tried to capture that in this story. This is definitely my favorite piece I've written in a long time, so please let me know what you think.

Title: Iris

Inspiration: The Goo Goo Dolls

Rating: M, for violence and sex

Genre: Angst, Romance

Summary: Ranger has been gone for too long. Maybe it wasn't all that long before, but now that he has her, he can't stand it. What happens when he snaps? Can she truly heal every bit of darkness that has ever left him scarred?

WARNING: As always, please obey the rating. This is seriously M. This story features violence and sex, so please read with caution.

Iris

I felt mud slide under my feet and steadied myself as the rain poured over my head, drenching my green shirt and camo pants so that they stuck heavily to my body. It was uncomfortable, but I hardly noticed as I seamlessly re-steadied my boots against dirt turned mud.

I ran harder. Felt my muscles ache, finally, as the nerves in my body began to feel cold and strain. I pushed it to the back of my mind. It did not matter. I was nowhere near finished yet, and as I circled the field again, I mentally checked off the lap number. At some point, I was sure, I was going to switch to that place where my mind went empty and my eyes glassed over, the one I had honed so well.

And that was what I was trying to do. Create that vacancy in the minds of these young men because they were going to need it. It could save their lives, and the lives of others. It had saved mine.

My first solo mission was in Somalia when I was twenty-three. Dressed in black, a sniper rifle draped over my small pack, I moved stealthily. I moved carefully. I snuck, aimed, and fired. I watched him drop. And that was all I saw.

I hadn't heard them, and I knew I had been silent. That was another thing these boys needed to learn: silence. I could hear them treading along behind me: their footsteps, their heavy breathing, their soft swears under their breath. They would've been dead if they were me. But I was me. And I had been silent.

But so had they, apparently. I hadn't heard them, on a night much like this one, rain pouring down in sheets. But over there, there had been no path. Only muck to work through, bristles to push out of the way, dusk to be wary of.

I woke in a cell. It was damp, and quiet; made of that painted mud, concrete, and wood mixture like so many of the buildings here. It was small, and I could feel dirt underneath me. My pack was gone. So was the gun. So was my shirt, and I noticed that I was dry. It had to be day. The half foot wide gap in the wall near the ceiling shone one beam of light into the room, and with it all I saw was bareness. And blood.

There was so much blood. Dripped onto my chest, still leaking slightly from my arm, I realized that after the bash in my head someone had christened the deal by shooting me in the shoulder. I didn't panic. Not even close. I sat and waited and when the man came in and spoke to me in broken English, I met his eyes with defiance.

I didn't scream. Not when they pressed salt into my shoulder wound. Not when they took a knife and ran thin, painful lines up my chest. The scars were mostly gone now, but one or two still remained. And they reminded me. Reminded me of how when that knife had pressed against my throat, and then through my hand, I had gone to that place. My mind cleared. I felt no pain; I felt nothing.

I drifted away.

Only when they thought I was done, and left me to die, did I return. But I felt part of me stay away, keep away, and I thought that part was lost forever.

My adrenalin didn't last long. I made it to my pick up point, days late, and was lucky enough to find the sat phone I had stashed there working, despite the rain. By the time they air lifted me out, I thought I knew that part of my humanity, or sanity, or something stayed there in Somalia with my blood and my broken flesh.

But she came. God, did she ever. She came into the caverns of my soul and fished out the lost part, the part that I thought I had left with insurgents but that had always really been hers. And then I gave her the rest of me, and took all of her, and it was absolute, heavenly perfection.

But now, I felt my mind drift, not to blankness, but to her. To her beautiful face: those soft, full, red lips that begged to be kissed, those sparkling blue eyes, that flush she got on her cheeks when I touched her and that wonderful, unbelievable crazed hair of hers that circled her like a halo, showing her to be the angel I knew she was. She was my angel. I was fallen and she was there to save me. I would never get redemption, but somehow, I got heaven.

And I'd give up forever to touch you,

Cuz I know that you feel me somehow,

You're the closest to heaven,

That I'll ever be.

I missed her. I ran and ran, watching the sun dim and the lights come on, and I trudged through blurs of rain with my mental countdown in the back of my head. They huffed and followed; they knew better than to ask to stop. This was for their own good, and they hated me for it now. But later, they would thank me. For now, they despised it, which was good. It made it easier for them to stay distant. Because right now, if anyone came close, they would see what this did to me. See that my thoughts no longer cleared, they focused on her. See that I was so far from okay because it had been too long.

This assignment had come to me with such urgency. Such importance. And I knew it was important, and they knew they would not have to force me to do it. Despite knowing what was right, I wanted, for the first time in a long time, to be absolutely and completely selfish. I knew I should care that the lives of good men were at stake, that my training them was necessary because I was the best, after all. That they needed me. But I didn't want to go.

I wanted to stay wrapped in her forever. I needed to feel her against me, safe and all mine. Didn't they see that I could no longer breath without her? That every day I spent sacrificing, I was feeling my lungs close up, the air grow thinner; I was dying?

So three months later I ran. Mud gave out and finally men behind me slipped and collapsed, and the momentum was lost with half a lap left. I sent them to the showers, and sent myself to my barracks. They were so cold. I sat on the grey blanket, tucked in to perfection like any good soldier, and pulled the photograph from between the bed and mattress.

And there she was. Beautiful and perfect, just like my memory. And I knew she would be. Every curve, every plane of her face, every expression was forever burned into my brain and no picture could do justice to the memory of her. She was beaming in the picture, so full of light, of strength, and I remembered back to when it had been taken. When we were together. When my arm had wrapped around her middle, she had gasped, let out a breathy giggle, and smiled into my shoulder.

There she stood, against me, hand wrapped around my shoulder, the tips of her fingers showing. She looked happy and innocent and in love. I remembered how I had leaned into her, then, and kissed her full on the mouth, despite Santos and his damned camera that I had been so thankful for later on. When she had pulled back, he was gone and she had smiled an entirely different smile for me: the one that told me she was going to ravish me on the floor.

When all I can taste is this moment,

And all I can breathe is your light,

And sooner later it's over,

I just don't want to miss you tonight.

I couldn't wait any longer. God, if I didn't get to her, get her to me, really, because I couldn't get to her, I was going to lose my mind. I could feel it leaving me already. I laid down on the empty bed, and I felt as though I was lost, back in that hellhole of a cell, back being tortured. But this time, the torture was so much worse. I couldn't empty my mind anymore, because she filled ever crevice of me, and now when there was nothing left of me, there was her. I couldn't escape. Couldn't drift away into peace as my body was wretched back and forth by the unthinkable.

And I knew why. It was because this time, it wasn't just my body, though that was part of it. The gaping hole in my chest attested to that. It was all of me. My mind, my body, my soul were all victims of this torment, and she was both my escape and my tormenter.

When I could no longer stand it, I headed to the gym. In the boxing ring, one of my trainees, one of the better ones really, put two pads on his hands, and I started.

Three months.

Right hook.

Empty, God so empty but so full of her. Just enough, just all consuming enough, to be unmanageable.

Left jab, followed by right kick.

She was so beautiful. I just couldn't get past that. And I wasn't just talking about her body, but about everything she was. She radiated light into my darkness, filled me with sparkling emotion. She made me feel, like I had never felt before. She made me see things in color, vivid, crazy color, so that the rest of my existence I knew, I had only ever seen black and white.

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming,

Or the moment of truth in your life,

When everything feels like the movies,

Yeah you bleed just to know you're alive.

I pounded harder into him. Harder into what were supposed to be pads, but he got angry. Just like I knew he would; just as I wanted him to. The pads flew off his hands and we both went wild, but it wasn't a fair fight. I was faster, stronger, and more experienced, and before I could stop myself I was pounding away. He got in one good punch, and I felt blood seep down from my eyebrow, welcomed it, loved it for making me remember that just because I couldn't breathe without her, I was still alive.

I felt hands grip me and shook them off. I felt them again, two sets this time, and was pulled back by a rough "Ranger". Nobody here called me that. I was 'sir' or 'Commander Manoso,' but not 'Ranger'.

I looked up and found one set of the hands belonged to Tank.

"What are you doing here?" I spat out.

"Weekly check in, or did you forget?"

He was being snide, and I deserved it. I couldn't remember the last time I had lost control, so provoked an innocent into a fight just because I couldn't handle it.

"What the fuck is going on man?"

I couldn't have this conversation in front of them. There were a few of my men in this room, and I was not to show weakness. The problem was, I already had.

"Nothing."

"The hell it is," he said, "Carlos, I haven't seen you go at someone like that since Ranger school. And now you're training Rangers, so you think you should give return to the good old days? Have you lost it? Have you gotten weak?"

I lunged at him, but he was ready for me. He swept my legs out from under me, for the first time in ten years, and landed me flat on my back with a boot firmly placed on my chest. And as the wind left my lungs, I couldn't help the gasp that escaped.

"Stephanie."

"What?" he said, solemn now, removing the boot.

"Just fucking get me Stephanie," I said, my eyes closing for a moment in regret at my slip.

And in that moment, I was thankful that he knew me, could read me. Because I knew what he saw then. He saw vulnerability flash in my eyes, longing, desperate need I had so been trying to squash, and I hated myself for the weakness, and the inability to express this to him in a better way.

He gave me a nod, and I swung up and left the room.

And the day went on. I went into my normal routine. I showered, dressed in the same green shirt and camo pants, though clean ones, laced boots, and swung dog tags around my neck. I went into the mess hall and sat at the same seat, ate the same food, and stared forward.

But that's where the similarities ended. I heard the noise take a lull, and then a few catcalls. But mostly, I felt tingling up my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck and my arms rise up, and a rush of longing and adoration.

I turned.

And she was there. Beautiful as I could remember, dressed in jeans, black boots, and a wrap sweater, hair cascading down her back. It had grown, but other than that nothing was different. Light shown out of her eyes as though God himself existed behind the glassy orbs. Luscious lips spread into a smile. Our eyes met, and I stood. I couldn't look anywhere else. It was like a beam of greatness drew me closer, and before I knew it I was in front of her, only an inch between us, but not touching.

I took a breath. And when I inhaled, that shuddery mouthful, her sweet scent filled me and for the first time in three months I felt oxygen flow into my lungs. At the same time, she wrapped her arms around my neck, placing small hands at the base of my skull, and I pushed my fingers through her hair, positioned my hand on her hip, and the inch disappeared as out lips collided in a burst of craving and adoration. I wanted to worship her, and I wretched myself away as though pulling apart two things joined with superglue.

"Babe," it came out as half contented sigh, half desperate need.

"Carlos," she said my name, leaning our foreheads together so that our noses brushed against each other, so close that we breathed the same air.

And I don't want the world to see me,

Cuz I don't think that they'd understand,

When everything's made to be broken,

I just want you to know who I am.

Desperation took over. That was the only way to explain why suddenly we had simultaneously dragged each other through the door to my room, why she was up against the door, and why I was frantically tearing clothing from her body.

Her hands moved as fast as mine, and before I could even comprehend what had happened I had slammed inside of her, and she was clawing at my back. Her legs wrapped around my waist, and I recklessly shoved a hand beneath her to take her weight. The other was alternating between running through her hair, over her breasts, and steadying us against the door. Fingers splayed wide against painted metal, she turned her face into my wrist and kissed, then yanked my head down with hands pulling at my hair until we were kissing as frantically as our hips were moving.

When she pulled away to scream I moved my lips to her chin and worked them down to the hollow of her throat, desperately kissing, licking, biting, and sucking every inch of flesh in between. I usually tried not to mark her visibly; the evidence of our desire for each other was something personal and not to be displayed for the whole world, but I couldn't find enough strength to stop as she groaned and offered her neck to me.

There was a time when possession had taken over, and I had left a huge hickey against her throat for the world to see. But now I knew she was mine, just like I was hers, and I no longer needed or wanted to demonstrate it to the rest of the world. But as she shuddered violently and came against me, clenching around me as I continued to move inside of heaven, I sucked harder at the hollow of her throat because it was just another bit of her that I wanted closer to me.

And she didn't mind. I knew it when she entangled her hands back in my hair and pulled hard, baring my throat and sucking at the love bite she had left on my shoulder when she had exploded on top of me.

Despite the fact that my body was wound so tight I felt like I might just pop, her gorgeous body, bared to me and coming, renewed enough sanity that I managed to lift her and stumble to the bed.

When she lay flat beneath me, I drew my hands up the sides of her body, removing the hastily pushed down bra and spreading her hair beneath her like a halo. I took a breath. Still inside of her, I took a moment to press my lips softly to hers, then brush our noses together because it was just so painful to not have her face against mine, her skin against mine, her body around me.

"Hi Babe," I sighed, running a hand against her face, swiping my thumb across her lips, staring into those mesmerizing eyes.

"Hi Carlos," she gasped, and I realized with some surprise that my body knew hers too well, and that I had started moving in that slow, lazy rhythm that drove her out of her mind.

"I'm going to worship you later. Show you how much I've missed you. I'm going to kiss every inch of your unbelievable body and make you scream my name until you're hoarse."

"I know," she panted, "But now, love me," the last word came out as a mew, her head tipping back as I pushed deeper inside of her, and began a steady pounding of long, deliberate thrusts.

My eyes rolled back in my head as she wound her legs up my back and crossed her ankles, alternating moving them to my shoulders so that when I slammed into her slow, it was deep and hot, and bringing them down to my rear to urge me inside of her faster. It was so languid and sensual that my eyes crossed and my hands ran over her body with more and more urgency.

And then finally, I couldn't take the slow, delicious torture anymore. I slammed my lips onto hers for a kiss I knew wouldn't last long, and sure enough moments later she broke her lips away to gasp breathlessly as I pounded into her hard enough that she arched off the bed in ecstasy within moments. She looked wild and beautiful as she screamed my name, and I groaned as I felt her fluttering around me, drenching both of us.

With a few last thrusts, I jammed my hand between us and stroked her core in tight, hard circles and she imploded. Her eyes sprung wide open, her body arched completely off the bed, and she dug her fingernails into my hair and pulled roughly as her teeth fell on my neck.

With a scrape of her teeth and another tug at my scalp, my body swept with pleasure from the tips of my toes to the roots of my hair she was so insistently pulling on. Everything in between was washed with absolute delicious heaven, and inside her, I exploded so hard that I watched dots appear in front of my eyes. All I could do was gasp for breath and hope desperately that I wasn't crushing her beneath me, as my limbs all but gave out from beneath me.

I shook against her violently, and then realized that she was shivering, and then couldn't figure out who was doing what and we just trembled against each other for long minutes. When my body finally caught up I rolled to my side, bringing her with me, and kissed her. The kiss seemed to take her from her trance, because moments later she was cupping my face and we were kissing wrapped around glistening, bare bodies.

And I'd give up forever to touch you,

Cuz I know that you feel me somehow,

You're the closest to heaven,

That I'll ever be.

As we both came down, she ran soft delicate fingers up and down my chest, pushing me to my back so that she could rest her head against it, curls tickling my arm. I could feel her staring at the way my muscles clenched, then the way my body relaxed under her more soothing strokes. We sat there forever, her touching me, me adoring her. And then she ran the tip of her finger carefully along one fine white line, up, then another, down.

I could feel her wonder as the afterglow eased gently into quiet contemplation and curiosity. Feel her wanting to ask, and I myself contemplated just how long it would be until those lips parted in question and concern.

It didn't take long. Her fingers traced them, finding most despite the fact that they hardly showed against my skin, and finally, she spoke.

"Are you ever going to tell me about them?" came the quiet question, soft and loud in its gentleness, against the rings of screams from minutes ago.

I sighed slightly, and her eyes continued to follow the path of the lines, as though she could somehow erase them if she stared for long enough.

"No."

I spoke quietly, and it was only once the word had passed through my lips that she turned her head, rested her chin on my chest, and stared at me with big, azure eyes that I was quickly lost in.

"Why?"

"Because," I started, and I ran fingers gently through her tangled locks, "I don't want the images in your head. Querida, you know me. God, you know me like no one else does," my voice thickened, "But you don't have to know these things. You don't have to picture it; it doesn't need to haunt you the way it used to haunt me. I would never want something, someone, so beautiful and whole to feel something so crippling."

"But Carlos, I want to know you. This is part of who you are. I can take it."

I smiled. I knew she could take it. There was no doubt in my mind. And there was such a conflict within me; she had all of me, and this was a part of me, but I didn't know how to explain to her that even though her fingers and eyes could not erase the scars on my body, she removed them from my soul. That she healed me. That she had all of me already. This knowledge wouldn't help her be more a part of me, because she had already mended the darkness in my past. And I didn't want to see her light succumb to pain that no longer existed anyway.

"I know, Babe. I know you're strong. I have no doubt about that. But you are such a part of me now. If I tell you about them, you will feel the pain I felt then, just as I feel yours. What's the point, when I no longer feel it? When you have already taken it from me?"

She stared for a solid minute. I was surprised by her silence, and even more so when she lifted from my chest and placed a soft, full kiss on my mouth. Breaking apart, she drew her body down the bed and the same warm, loving kisses followed the path of her careful fingers, soothing and caressing with gentle precision.

"Your right, baby," she said, and I saw obsidian swirling in her normally light eyes, and caught the seriousness in her tone, the meaning in the pet name she so rarely used, "I don't need to know. Because I know you. That's enough for me. Maybe one day, I'll get the story. But for now, let's love away the pain you do have. And mine. Because being separated from you was like being left without oxygen."

Just as I pulled her back up to me, rolled her beneath me, buried fingers in her hair and slowly plied her lips against mine, I realized what she had said, and all I could think as her long leg wrapped around my waist, was that we had finally lost our minds.

She was my oxygen. And I was hers.

And I knew that the next day, when I stood in front of the mirror, the scars would forever be gone.

Because she didn't just know me, she healed me so deep I forgot that the scars had ever really been there at all.

I just want you to know who I am.

A/N 2: Hope you enjoyed! I mentioned that this is my favorite thing I've written in awhile, and it mostly is, but in the end, I wasn't sure it completely came together. I wrote some of the sections out of order, and I was worried it might not have been as cohesive as I would've liked. And I wasn't so sure about the ending either (it changed a few times), but alas, I had promised a prompt post, and I wanted to deliver. Sometimes spending too much with these things makes it worse anyway.

I hope that the details about Ranger's time in Somalia was interesting. It was some of the first non-romantic plot stuff I have written in a long time (at least for fanfic), and that being said, I don't really know that much about the army, Rangers, Somalia, or what kinds of things go on there. I hope this is believable enough. Thanks again for reading, and please drop me a review! They really encourage me, and I'll need it since I have nothing prepared for the next chapter! Not to mention, and more importantly, they always make my day.