Unapologize

By: PricklySare

A/N: Thanks to Stayce and my M's. :) Thank you everyone for reading. :) Onward with the story.

Sare

Chapter Forty-Four: Steph is Told a Story

Steph's POV

I'd just finished eating when Lester came back into the room. I'd noticed him leave earlier, but really hadn't thought much about it, figuring he was just heading to get something from the kitchen. When he hadn't returned after a few minutes, I'd started to worry. That feeling got stronger when Tank checked his phone, tapped a few keys and headed out of the room as well. Something was going on, and I had a feeling it was big. I'd started peppering Cassidy with questions, trying to keep my mind occupied while I waited for some indication of what the guys were doing.

When Lester caught my eye I knew that something was wrong, that something had happened. He motioned to me with a jerk of his head, and I stood up. "I'll be back in a minute," I told Cassidy as I followed Lester from the room. Lester led me to the room where I'd woken up and closed the door behind us. His body was tense, and he was holding onto his control by his fingernails. My breath caught in my throat when I looked into his eyes and saw that they were filled with a mix of emotions. There was shock, mixed with fear, and what could have been pride. "Les, what's wrong?" I asked, walking towards him and placing my hand on his cheek. Stubble tickled my hand, and for the first time I noticed that Lester hadn't shaved. The black circles around his eyes also indicated that he hadn't slept well. Some days I really felt like a lousy friend.

He didn't say anything at first, just rubbed his cheek against my palm, nuzzling it like a cat. I felt the tension that had been radiating off him slowly lessen, and he sighed. "I need a minute," he said, tugging on one of my loose curls. It was then that I noticed his knuckles.

"Holy shit, Les. What the hell happened to your hands?" I asked, dropping my hand from his cheek so that I could grab his hands. The skin was broken along each knuckle, blood seeping out of some of the cuts, and bruises were already beginning to form along the ridges. It was obvious that he'd been punching something. A lot.

His eyes clouded over before he dropped his head, looking at the floor. "The fucker," he said, lifting his hand to the bruises on my face. " The one who laid his hands on you was outside, scoping out the safe house. I had a talk with him."

"So talk in this case is a euphemism for beat the shit outta him," I stated, rolling my eyes.

"Beautiful, have you looked in the mirror? Did you not see what I see? What everyone here sees?" He growled, his frustration obvious. "He touched you. He beat you and hurt you.

I was silent for a few breaths, my eyes locked with his. "Honestly, I understand the reason behind it, Les. I do," I sighed. "Did you kill him?" I really hoped he hadn't because I didn't want to have to deal with the ramifications if he had. Not right now. Not with Les, and not when Ranger was gone.

"He's not dead. At least he wasn't when Tank pulled me off him."

"When Tank pulled you off?" To me that was unheard of. I knew that the guys were capable of just about anything, and had no problem with fighting and killing if the need arose, but in all the time I'd known them I'd never known them to lose control. The fact that Tank had to pull Lester off of the dumbfuck spoke volumes.

"Yeah," he said, shaking his head. "I'd planned on beating his ass, Beautiful, I don't deny that. I went out there with that intention. What I hadn't planned on was losing control. Seeing him there, fat, stupid, and smug, and I felt myself snap. I wanted nothing more than to kill him. He deserved to die."

I crawled onto the bed, positioning myself against the headboard before patting the mattress next to me. "Come sit down, I think we need to talk." Once he was situated beside me I leaned my head on his shoulder and said, "You don't need to kill him, Les."

"Beautiful, while Ranger is gone you're my responsibility." I wanted to interrupt him, to tell him that I was nobody's responsibility, but I knew that it would be pointless. After all, regardless of what I wanted to believe, he was right. He'd taken on the role of protector in Ranger's absence. Had taken that role on long before Ranger's most recent departure. Sure, all the guys looked out for me, but Lester was always there. Always. He was who I called when I couldn't call the Man of Mystery. "He hasn't even been gone two weeks yet, and I failed. You were hurt on my watch, and not by a skip, but by someone whose job it is to uphold the law and protect people. Not lock them in a cell, withhold their rights, and beat them." Two emotions hit me simultaneously. Anger and compassion, and I didn't know which one to focus on first.

"Lester Santos, what the hell do you mean, you failed? Failed what? My life isn't a test for you to pass or fail. My friendship isn't dependent on you making a passing grade. You're not a failure, not in my eyes, and I can pretty much guarantee not in Ranger's eyes either. Get your head out of your ass and start realizing that the world is not resting on your shoulders." Apparently anger was the emotion that won the battle in that round, I thought ruefully. Oh well, compassion would just have to come after I was done reaming Lester a new one.

"Let me ask you something," I said, not giving him a chance to speak. "Do you think I've failed?"

"What? No," I could see the shock run across his face.

"Even though I break you guys, blow up cars, roll in trash, get concussed, and pick up stalkers like most people pick up food at the grocery store? You don't think I'm a failure? That I've failed you, or Ranger?"

"Of course not. You're the bravest woman I know. Your luck might suck, but you're strong, and you overcome every obstacle that you face. Why would you ask that?"

"If you don't think I'm a failure, Les, then why would you even for a moment think that you are?" He was quiet for so long that I figured he wasn't going to say anything at all. I adjusted myself into a more comfortable position and watched as the numbers on the clock clicked off the passing time.

"You don't really know me, Beautiful. Not the man I used to be," he finally said, startling me. I tilted my head to look up at him. His eyes were closed and there were lines around his mouth. I watched as a muscle in his jaw tensed and released, tensed and released.

Finally I said, "I know that you're a good man. I know the man who is my best friend, who takes care of me and makes me laugh. Who you were, has made you into the person you are today. I know that you have dark things in your past. Things you're not proud of, and things that I don't need to know. Regardless, I don't judge you. I won't ever judge you. When I chose to be part of your life, part of Ranger's life, and in fact, when I chose to be part of Rangeman in general, I knew what I was getting into. I made that choice on my own.

"It's been your choice to not tell me about your past. A choice that I've respected the same way I've respected that choice with Ranger. If you ever decide to talk to me about that part of your life, I'm here to listen. Until that point, don't throw it in my face that I don't know you," I said, the anger I'd been feeling since he'd spoken coming clear in my words. I moved to get off the bed, needing to pace, to let my frustration out somehow. I still had a headache, and the dull ache was adding to my agitation.

"Wait," he said, reaching for my arm. I stopped and looked at him, trying to keep my face expressionless. "I'm sorry."

"For what, Les? Having a bad day? It happens to all of us," I told him. Looked like it was time for compassion.

"No, but for not opening up and then being angry that you couldn't understand." I moved closer to him again, letting my leg touch his while I faced him.

"I'd like to understand, Les," I said. His face wasn't giving anything away, but his eyes showed his internal conflict. "You could tell me a story," I told him, hoping he would understand, and knowing that even if he did it was still his choice.

He watched me, his eyes never leaving my face. I wasn't sure what he was looking for, but he must have found it because he said, "Yeah, I could tell you a story." He adjusted his body on the bed and began. "Several years ago, four guys sold their souls to the devil in the belief of a beautiful, patriotic future. The American dream, and hot apple pie. They gave up their rights to a normal life, to a peaceful existence, so other people could enjoy that freedom. They were young, cocky, and invincible. The future was looming large and bright in front of them, and they were ready to kick ass and take names.

"Each one had a special talent, and that talent decided their name. A name that people would come to fear, a calling card; a symbol of the power that pain, fury, darkness, and death represented. They used Latin terms because they evoked a powerful image. Many countries still understood the otherwise dead language, and their knowledge would add to the fear. Mors Mortis is Latin for death, and death is what one of the guys was good at. He wasn't just good, he excelled, he was a living, breathing, walking, killing machine. He never worried about the people he was killing, he was doing it for freedom, for patriotism.

"There was a beast inside him, a monstrous animal that he let loose each time he took a life. He was a primal hunter, dispatching death swiftly and without mercy. He was cynical, and a smart ass. To him there was nothing but the chase and the kill. Even in life, when he wasn't doing his patriotic duty, he was still carrying around the beast. When he and the guys would go out, hit the clubs, he would use his skills even then. He wouldn't kill his prey; at least not in the literal sense, but he'd hunt them down and kill their hearts. Break them and destroy them the same way that he did in the dark jungles of third world countries.

"One day, things changed. He started laughing, really laughing. His jaded and cynical view of the world began shifting, and he realized that there was more to life than just doing his patriotic duty. That somewhere along the line, he'd lost the innocent, naive kid who wanted to kick ass for his country, and had started to become exactly what he was fighting against … a monster that thrived on the terror and destruction of weaker people. When it came time for him to renew his contract, to sign away whatever was left of his soul, he said no. He turned his back on the life he'd been living and decided it was time to experience life without the beast.

"That day, he locked the beast away, but sometimes when the emotions get to be too much he realizes that he isn't strong enough to hold it back. The animal inside rushes its mental bars and breaks free, lashing out at the thing that threatens to destroy what he holds dear. His friend. On those days, beating the shit out of someone just isn't enough. On those days, he loses control of his actions with no regrets."

Tears were rolling down my cheeks unchecked and I felt my heart break. Not in disgust of the things that Lester had done, because I had no doubt that the story was about him, but in sympathy and sadness for the innocence that he'd lost for a red, white, and blue dream. I crawled into his lap and wrapped my arms around him, not in lust, or passion, but in comfort and friendship. I think he needed to closeness as much as I did. With my head resting against his chest, I listened to the sound of his heart beating and spoke with all the feeling in my heart.

"Lester, you did a job, and you did it well. The past is the past and even though the beast still resides inside you, you are not a primal animal. You have compassion and love, friendship and trust. You are not Mors Mortis. Not to me, and not to your friends. You chose to let go of that part of your life as much as possible, just like you chose to focus your life in a more positive direction. What you did and who you were in those jungles isn't who you are to me." I hadn't looked at him, didn't want him to see the tears streaming down my face, but now they had soaked through his shirt. I wasn't dumb enough to think he didn't know I was crying. The tears were evident in my voice, but he didn't need to be faced with them. This wasn't about me. It was about him, and what he needed from his friend. From me.

He moved his hands up from where they'd been fisted at his sides and began rubbing small circles along my back. We sat there in silence for a while before he spoke again. "Beautiful, I'm not sure what I did in my life to deserve a friend like you, but whatever it was I'd gladly do it again." A smile twitched on my lips and I hugged him tight.

"The feeling is mutual, Les," I told him. A knock at the door startled me and I jumped in his lap before remembering that I was in a safe house, and I was protected. I relaxed again before calling out, "Come in."

Tank walked in and instantly looked worried. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said, smiling. "It's just been one of those days." He seemed to accept this and nodded.

"Cassidy said you left in the middle of talking to him and didn't come back. He was worried." I looked at the clock and realized that it had been several hours.

"Shit. Oops," I said. "I didn't mean to worry him. I was just talking to Les."

"Well, you've been released. It's time to head back to Rangeman. We need to get our friend into a holding cell." I shuddered when I realized who he was referring to and felt Lester's body tense beneath me.

"If it's okay with you, I think Lester and I will ride in a different vehicle than Deputy Dumbfuck," I told Tank. I really didn't want to be in an enclosed space with him, and I didn't think it would be good for Lester to be near him yet either. He needed more time to get control over his anger.

"Hal and Cal are taking him in. We'll let him sit around in a cell for a few days, see how he likes having his rights violated," Tank said.

"Okay. When do we leave?"

"Fifteen minutes." He paused and looked at Lester who hadn't said a word. "Santos, you good?"

"Yeah, I'm good," he said, his voice scratchy.

"Then lets get this dog and pony show on the road," Tank said before walking out and closing the door. I took a moment to look at my friend and ran my hands down his cheeks.

"You gonna be okay, Les?" I asked.

"Someday, Beautiful. Someday." I guessed that was going to have to do. I kissed his whiskered cheek and climbed off the bed.

"Lets go home." I was more than ready to get back to Haywood. I needed to be somewhere that I could feel Ranger. He'd been gone nearly two weeks, and I had no idea how much longer he'd be gone. What I did know was that even though I missed him, I knew that he was okay and would make it home safely. We'd figure out the rest later.