Unapologize
By: PricklySare
A/N: General disclaimers, Yada, Yada. If you recognize them from books, they're not mine. Though they should be. I'd treat them better. As always, thanks to everyone who has been reading and reviewing. I'm glad you're enjoying it.
To my M's, you're the greatest. Stayce, thank you for editing and offering suggestions when my brain goes blank. :) You're awesome.
Now, onward to our favorite man in black who is currently in brown. :)
Sare
Chapter Thirty-nine: Dead Rangers Tell No Tales Part 1
Ranger's POV
The earth was rumbling under me as I pushed myself to my feet. I needed to get away from the compound before it crumbled on top of me. The air was thick with dust and smoke from the explosion. My ears were still ringing from the concussion of the blast, and my body felt like it'd been run over with a semi. Stumbling through the burning and smoldering debris that littered the desert ground, I took stock of my injuries. Other than a few bruises, a handful of cuts, and one hell of a headache, I'd made it out of the explosion with little damage to my body. Damn, you're one lucky sonofabitch, Manoso.
I wasn't sure when, or for that matter, if, anyone would be coming to check out the explosion, but I knew that I needed to be long gone before they showed up. The sky was beginning to lighten as dawn was creeping closer and I maneuvered toward the gear I had stashed away before infiltrating the compound. I needed to regroup, get some rest, and get the hell out of Mexico. My gut had been telling me that something wasn't right about this mission, now I just had to figure out what the fuck happenend Someone dropped the ball, or else this was intentional. Scaling the boulder I'd used for surveillance of the compound I retrieved my gear and headed back into the desert.
The days passed slowly as I trekked through the desert, barely stopping, and always keeping to whatever cover I could find. I arrived in Coyoacán as day was turning to night again, and my body was numb with fatigue. I needed to find a place to catch a few hours of sleep before I continued making my way toward the United States. I knew that there were 'emissaries' who for a price would take you from Coyoacán to the U.S. Border, but I had no intention of using a coyote to get back into America. I did however, need to use their resources. I couldn't just walk across the border, even though I was an American citizen. That would require me to present identification, and I couldn't do that. I wasn't even supposed to be in the country, so making my presence known wasn't a good idea, for a lot of reasons.
I had just entered Plaza de la Conchita when my eyes fell on it. The church was beautiful in the moonlight, and even though it was obviously no longer in use, and closed to the public, the ruins felt like sanctuary for me. Saying that I wasn't a practicing Catholic would be an understatement. The fact was, that I hadn't set foot in a church since before I'd joined the army. In the beginning it was because I was too proud to go to church, and wouldn't allow anyone, including God, to dictate my life. After a few years of living life balanced on the razor edge of the dark, I no longer felt worthy of entering a church. The darkness that has surrounded my life, and the things I'd done, not only in the name of my country, but to survive and protect the ones I love, well, God doesn't forgive those things. They tarnish the soul, and I know that the only place I'll be going to is Hell. On this night, however, Hell was going to have to wait. There was no place I'd rather be than inside the old church.
Slipping through the darkness, my eyes took in the belfries, the textures on the walls, and the large brown doors of the Renaissance-style church. Time had not been overly kind to this house of God, but even the discoloration of the stone couldn't take away from its welcome. It looked like it had been through wars and survived, it looked like my soul. In a matter of moments I had pushed open the doors and was engulfed in the absolute silence inside. Making my way through the darkness, using only the moonlight coming in through the openings to guide me, I approached the front of the church where the altar remained. Placing my hand on the worn stone I began tracing the cross that was carved there and let my mind drift.
There weren't many people who could have pulled off a clusterfuck like this, without drawing attention to themselves. The question was, which one of the bureaucratic assholes was responsible? I was considered an asset, and as such I was under the constant supervision of my handler; a person whose sole purpose was to make sure that I accepted and successfully completed all missions that were assigned to me. The handler was often times the only thing standing between the operative and unpleasant death. My contract wasn't up for renewal yet, and I had successfully completed every mission I'd been on. So, why would they want to eliminate their strongest operative?
I'd had a lot of time to examine the details of this mission, as well as the days leading up to my departure, and something that Dux Ducis said ran through my head as I walked, "Nychta, not everything is as it first appears." I started replaying the events of the past week since I'd accepted the mission: the solo drop off, the dead contact with a hit on Steph, Dilectio's aborted hit on me, and the compound being set to blow when I arrived. Things were becoming clear, and the picture they were painting didn't bode well for my continued existence. Who the hell did you piss off this time, Manoso? The question kept running through my head as I continued moving.
In my line of work I piss off a lot of people, some with more power than others, but all of them looking for payback. That's why I've been so hesitant to start anything with Steph. It would only take one person to figure out our connection and use it to hurt her. I never wanted that to happen, but it didn't look like staying away from her had made any difference. Scrog still went after her, and now, there was a contract out on her. Again. Obviously, it didn't matter if I acknowledged my feelings to the world, or kept them hidden. She was just a magnet for crazy people and danger, and even though it sounded like she was going to marry Morelli, I couldn't let her go.
With everything that had happened in the last week, I did something I hadn't done in years. I talked to God. Sitting in the dark, my hand on the altar and my eyes closed, I spoke from my heart. I was once told that the best way to speak to God was to treat him like a close friend. I didn't know if it would work, but it seemed like the right thing to do, and I didn't have any other ideas. Steph was in trouble, I was in trouble, and there was nothing I could do about any of it. Maybe giving myself over to my religious upbringing, even for just a few minutes would help me to get my mind straight. With a soft sigh I began, "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti."