Disclaimer: All the characters you recognize from the Stephanie Plum books belong to Janet Evanovich. The Inferna Angelus' on the other hand are solely mine as is the tiny terror tiger that rules them.

A/N: I know some of you can't wait for the mission action; but this chapter had to be. Bobby has to get the support he needs and Rubén needs his family. For those who tend to tears - tissue warning. I also want to send a special heartfelt thank you to those who left a review or sent a pm - I'm a space cadet at the moment and don't manage to answer individually; but I love the support and thoughts you sent me!

Chapter 51 – Confessions

Mission Field, Livingston, Montana

It was nine A.M. when Bobby stepped off the Rangeman jet in Mission Field, a private airstrip just outside of Paradise Valley, blinking against the bright Montana sunshine. The brilliant cornflower blue sky was clear of clouds and the air was already warm, carrying the promise of another hot summer day. Soon he'd have to face the two people who were more like parents to him than his own had ever been; but he'd broken all ties with them more than five years ago. He doubted he'd be welcome and wondered whether or not calling Rubén's parents to warn them about his visit would have been a wise choice; but he was too much of a chicken. This whole trip was taking a toll on him, no matter how extensively he and his therapist had talked through every contingency.

The last time Bobby visited this area, springtime was in full bloom. The sun had been comfortably warm, the flowers were bursting with vibrant colors and the air had been filled to the brim with the fragrances of spring. In Bobby's mind, the glory of the scene proved ironic. The season represented rebirth and growth not death and heartache; but his arrival to the home of Rubén's parents was to deliver the news of their son's demise. His mission left Bobby feeling shattered deep into his core. Now, six years later, the summer season was at its peak. The grass and crop were reaching toward the mid-morning sun as Bobby anxiously turned off Interstate 90 at the interchange for Highway 89 and entered Paradise Valley.

The beauty of the valley spreading in front of him once more took his breath away; it surely deserved its name. Leaving Rt. 89, Bobby followed the East River Road which hugged the banks of the winding Yellowstone River. To the right and left he passed sporadic grain fields; but otherwise it was nature at its best. Here and there houses and farms were scattered amongst the soft green slopes that stretched out along the Absaroka Range. He could see Mt. McKnight and Marten Peak in the distance. Memories were flooding his mind, making his heart flutter and his stomach clench. Rubén and he had climbed every mountain of the Range and made love under the vast blanket of stars visible so far up from any city lights, away from preying eyes and the stress of work. The times they had shared here were the best of Bobby's life.

Taking a deep cleansing breath, he left the Yellowstone River behind and turned first onto Chico Road then Emigrant Creek Road towards Emigrant Peak. The gravel road wound upward through the Gallatin National Forest. The earthy aroma of humus, foliage and pine wafted through the open windows of his rental SUV as Bobby weaved in and out of the sunshine. At about the half way mark before the Peak, he turned onto the sandy mile long driveway of the Rodríguez family's secluded ranch.

Crossing the small wooden bridge over the Blacktail Creek which supplied the Ranch with fresh spring water, Bobby inched toward the tree line. The sight of the ranch on the clearing ahead of him brought tears to his eyes. So many sweet memories of happiness, comfort, support and security washed over him causing his emotions to flare. He shut down the motor, jumped out of the SUV, bent over and put his hands on his knees while doing some deep breathing. His nerves were a mess and he was on the edge of an anxiety attack. Everything around him was familiar and screamed home; the trees, the smell, the horses' neighing, the clearing ahead with the beautiful ranch house, stables, barns and numerous paddocks. The pristine setting of Paradise Valley stretched out below the ranch in awe-inspiring and breathtaking conservancy with the Yellowstone River and the Village of Emigrant visible in the far distance. The air was impeccable; quite a few degrees nippier than in the valley; but allowed a detailed view of the mountain range on the opposite site of the valley. Closing his eyes and leaning against the car, Bobby tried to center himself for the task ahead of him.

The guard dogs announced his arrival loudly before they recognized him and their frantic barking changed into overjoyed whining. He didn't think they'd remember him; but even after six years they jumped up and down his body jockeying for a scratch and pat. Cheerful Mexican music sounded through the open windows of the house as Rubén's mom appeared on the porch. For the blink of an eye she froze and then threw her hands to her mouth.

"Bobby? Oh my god, Bobby!" She cried and ran toward him.

For days, Bobby agonized over how his arrival would be received. Would he be welcomed, embraced and forgiven for his absence or slapped, railed at and chased away from the grounds? Catching Rubén's mother, lifting her up and feeling her soft, voluptuous body in his arms, brought a wave of relief crashing over Bobby threatening to make his knees buckle.

"I'm sorry for abandoning you all, mom. I'm so terribly sorry," he let out on a breath while holding her tight in his arms.

"Hush, boy. The only thing important is that you are here now," she squeezed his neck and pressed a peck onto his cheek before he let her down.

"Let me look at you," she stepped back while keeping his hands firmly in hers. "You look tired, my dear; aged and tired. That beautiful spark is gone from your eyes."

"It's been some hard years, mom," Bobby took a shuddering breath. "I need to talk to you and pop. Will he listen to me?"

"Of course, my sweet child. What do you think?" Rubén's mother reached up and lovingly caressed his cheek. "You were, you are and you will always be our son, no matter the circumstances. Diego is taking care of one of the horses who's fallen ill. Go to the kitchen, make yourself at home and I'll fetch him. Then you'll tell us what's weighing so heavily on your shoulders," she smiled knowingly at him and with a wipe at her misty eyes turned and bustled toward the stables.

Of course she would know that something was going on, Bobby thought. She could always read him like a book.

Half an hour later they were sitting in the kitchen, steam rising from the coffee mugs in front of them and a plate with cookies in the middle of the table.

"Mom, pop," Bobby looked up at them, pain and distress plainly visible on his face. "I thought long and hard how to break this to you gently; but I simply see no way," he took a deep shuddering breath and looked down at his hands desperately clasping the mug in front of him.

"Rubén is alive."

Deafening silence.

After a minute Bobby looked up at them and could see utter shock drawn onto their faces. Lucia and Diego Rodríguez sat pale-faced in front of him, desperately holding each other's hands while they tried to absorb what they were told moments ago. Their son, their beloved Amigo whom they buried and never really stopped mourning, was alive.

"We need to see him," Rubén's father finally stammered with a trembling voice, struggling to get up, clasping the tabletop when strength eluded him. "Tell us where he is, Bobby."

"Please, pop, sit. There is more," anguish washed across Bobby's face. "What I am about to tell you will be difficult to hear; but you need to know in order to understand the whole situation," he pleaded, his eyes misty as he fought the urge to lose it. "The man you remember as your son doesn't exist anymore. Please, let me explain."

"What did those bastards do to him?" Diego Rodríguez quickly grasped.

Closing his eyes and folding his hands in front of his mouth, Bobby took a last centering breath before he started to unfurl the happenings of the last six years.

"Eight months after Rubén was declared dead, I received a call reporting he was found in some godforsaken Afghan dungeon. A team of the Inferna Angelus Syndicate, a group that specializes in hostage rescue, recovered two imprisoned Special Forces soldiers. They informed the IAs of another American prisoner somewhere in the dungeons below the building. The team immediately went to further investigate and by pure chance they found Rubén," Bobby paused and braved a glance discovering a waxen expression covering Lucia and Diego's faces.

"The al-Qaeda tortured him to within an inch of death; but we now have reason to believe that treason within our own government put him in that predicament. I first saw him at the ICU on Ramstein AFB in Germany where he was brought after his rescue. You can't imagine what he looked like," Bobby trembled at the memory. "He was unrecognizable. Oodles of monitors and machines surrounded his bed. Nearly every inch of his body was injured and wrapped in gauze or foil. Wires and tubes connected to the few patches of skin that were not bandaged in some way. Even with all the care he was receiving, they told me his chance of survival was only twenty percent."

The memories brought a sudden surge of anguish over Bobby. His effort to hold back the tears burning in his eyes waned.

"It wasn't enough for those bastards to torture him, to break his bones, to carve, burn, brand, flog him, to pull his nails and teeth. They raped him – brutally – many times. The anal damage was so severe that it had to be surgically repaired."

Rubén's mom stood up, slid onto the bench next to him and held him while they cried together.

"What happened then, son," Mr. Rodríguez' hoarse voice brought Bobby back to reality and forced him to gulp down his despair in order to continue.

"For five weeks, the doctors at Ramstein kept him in an artificial coma. When he finally awoke, he was in a catatonic state and completely unresponsive to his surroundings. A week later a MedEvac flight brought him back stateside to Walter Reed Hospital in Washington. In the course of the following months, the doctors there put him under high doses of Benzodiazepines and exposed him to electroconvulsive therapy in the hopes to elicit a response from him. When his catatonic condition hadn't significantly changed half a year later, they decided nothing more could be done and wanted to transfer him to a VA medical center."

Bobby had to stop as anger flared hot and consuming from the memory of the day when Dr. Krawell at Walter Reed told him and the rest of Rangeman's core team that Rubén had to be moved because 'they had done all they could and needed to make room for a soldier that would actually benefit from their medical care.' Just like that his love was dismissed for no other reason than he muddied the hospital's track record, at least that is how it was perceived by Bobby. Trying to reign in his anger, he continued with his recount of events.

"He was broken and all they were willing to do was allow him to vegetate in some VA hospital room. I would not subject Ruben to such a lousy existence. None of us – Ranger, Lester, Tank, Ram, Cal, Woody or myself – could live with that outcome. Ram finally found a private mental institution near Georgetown, Kentucky. Cedar Creek Behavioral Health Center's alternative therapeutic tactics sounded promising. We brought Rubén there and the changes we witnessed were tremendous. Without any heavy medications or electroshock therapy, he uttered his first word about a month after being transferred to the facility. He remained at the institute for fourteen months before we moved to Trenton where Ranger and the guys had opened a new Rangeman branch. That was one year and nine months after he was rescued," Bobby paused, remembering Rubén's struggle in the face of all the men working at Rangeman.

"What happened then, darling?" Lucia Rodríguez squeezed his hand and wiped away the tears from Bobby's cheeks.

"He had trouble dealing with people, even with his former friends. First, we had to search for our own apartment outside the Rangeman building because he was uncomfortable being continuously surrounded by all the men. Next, he sold his Rangeman partnership. He wasn't able to manage the responsibilities and pressures of the job. Then, he began to withdraw farther and farther into himself and away from his coworkers and sadly, even me. Eventually, he started to work only nights in order to limit interactions with other people. I tried, mom and pop. I really tried to accommodate his needs and provide support; but the more encouragement and love I showed him, the more he pulled out of my reach. One day, he simply slipped away from me. Eighteen months after we arrived in Trenton, we ended our relationship. I moved back into the Rangeman building; but we managed to stay close, at least as close as Rubén would allow. At the end of last year, we started bonding again. We would hang out, go horseback riding or on day trips together. I really hoped that we could find our way back into a romantic relationship; but things didn't turn out that way."

Bobby took a few cleansing breaths. His head hurt, his hands were sweaty, his whole body coiled up with tension; but he needed to get it all out in the open.

"You need to be aware that what you know about Rubén's military life is just a shadow of the fame, mysticism and mortal fear that was really surrounding him. The name he was known by was La Muerte, the death. It was a persona he slipped into when he went on missions and was feared around the globe. Nobody survived a meeting with him. Muerte never again made an appearance after Rubén came out of his catatonia and we all thought he was gone. At the beginning of this year, Ranger volunteered the services of the company's special operatives for a perilous mission. Rubén had been significantly involved in the prenegotiations and repeatedly advised against accepting it. When he discovered Ranger intended to yield to the government's terms and deploy teams for this operation, all of Muerte's violence and destruction fiercely bubbled up to the surface. He was back with a vengeance and seemed to separate himself from the rest of Rubén. He overtook control of the body and became more and more possessive and violent. The only one who was able to handle him was a mutual friend, Esmeralda Torres. Esme got through to both of them, Rubén and Muerte, and could level them. When Rubén tried to commit suicide because of Muerte, it was Esme who talked him out of it. Then, about three months ago, there was a new mental breakdown and Rubén fell back into catatonia," Bobby took several shuddering breaths as he tried to fight the tears. The memory of his own cowardice hurt him more than words could say.

"Drink something, boy," Diego Rodríguez voice cut through the fog in his mind.

Looking at the coffee, Bobby stood up and got himself some cool water.

"I failed him," he continued, his voice breaking as the truth hit him once more. "I abandoned him in the hour of his greatest need; but I just couldn't deal with it anymore. Muerte was so physically and psychologically aggressive toward me. I saw Rubén suffering under Muerte's aggressions and constant harassment and I just couldn't bear watching my Amigo struggle. I felt empty and ran away like a coward. It was Esme and her brothers who brought Rubén back to Cedar Creek. In the following weeks, Esme made me realize that I needed to take better care of myself. She made me promise to find you and tell you about Rubén so he could hopefully return into the loving arms of his family. I really want to continue taking care of him as will Esme; but I realize that I need help. Right now Esme is away on a mission and it's too much for me to handle alone. Two days ago Rubén started to utter some words again. Speaking strains him as he struggles to find and say the words. The doctors are unaware as to how far he will recuperate this time. He may possibly remain a nursing case; but he's definitely on the road of recovery."

There were a few minutes of silence in the kitchen while Rubén's parents mulled over what he'd just told them.

"Five years and four months since his rescue," Diego Rodríguez finally spoke up. "Why... Bobby, why didn't you call us? Why did Rubén not want to come back to us?"

There was no anger or criticism in his questions. Pain, terrible, heart-aching pain laced his words.

"When Rubén and I decided we wanted to spend the rest of our lives together," Bobby eventually found his voice, "He made me promise that should ever something happen to him, I'd wait until there was a final outcome before I tell you. I wanted to honor his wish. Then, when he started to recover, he refused to contact you."

Bobby took a deep breath and played with the glass of water in his hand.

"He no longer looks the way you remember him," Bobby's voice was gravelly. "His face is marked by scars; his whole body," he started; but couldn't finish the sentence. "He once said he looked like a patchwork quilt and in some ill way he's right. There are so many scars, so many skin grafts, that it's hard to recognize the former beauty under those reminders of the terror he went through."

Bobby opened his backpack and pulled out some pictures he brought with him.

"I don't know how he feels now after he's slowly waking up from this new catatonic state; but before the last breakdown, all those years ago when he first was at Cedar Creek, he'd hated himself. He perceived himself as crippled and monstrous, physically as well as mentally. He had convinced himself that you were better off without him," Bobby pressed his lips together and pushed the pictures over the table.

Lucia and Diego gasped at the sight of their son.

"Those bastards," Diego Rodríguez was fighting the tears that threatened to spill over while he pulled his sobbing wife into his arms and soothingly rubbed her back. "We need to see him, Bobby. Instantly. Tell us how to get to that Behavioral Health Center so we can book a flight and accommodation."

Marshall Field, Georgetown, Kentucky

It was nine p.m. when the Rangeman Jet softly touched down on the private airstrip outside of Georgetown. The three hour flight had been comfortably silent. Bobby took a nap while Lucia and Diego Rodríguez came to terms with what they'd learned about their prodigal son and tried to prepare for what was awaiting them when they'd see him the next day. They had agreed that Bobby would bring them to the hotel where he reserved a suite for them and then drive on to Cedar Creek. He felt exhausted, wiped out, and at the same time nervous and on edge. He needed to see Rubén, to lay and reconnect with him. Badly.