22 - Bury My Hands, And My Thoughts In My Pockets

Carlos helped Steph into the passenger seat of his black Mercedes and handed her the instant ice pack he'd retrieved from the first aid kit he kept in the trunk. He closed the door, and made his way around the front of the car to the driver side to slide in behind the wheel, giving himself a mental pep talk. Steph was okay. A sore knee was nothing compared to what Ramirez was capable of doing to her; what he suspected he had been doing to women for some time now. She was safe, and he was getting her out of this neighbourhood right now.

He had been on his way back to the Rangeman building on Haywood and had decided to do a drive-by of a couple of locations they were monitoring on the peripherals of the neighbourhood on his way. Stopped at a light, three cars back from the intersection, Carlos happened to spot a familiar red Mazda with Steph's number plates turning onto Stark Street. His heart had skipped a beat and the urge to swerve into the opposite lane and race after her was almost overwhelming.

Instead, he hit a button on the dash and the quiet strains of the classical music radio station he listened to switched to a harsh ringing sound as his phone connected to the Bluetooth. After a second, it was cut off by Tank's surly, "Yo."

"Something came up. I'm gonna be a little longer," Carlos informed him with neither preamble nor details. The knowing hum Tank emitted spoke volumes of the assumptions he'd made, though, and Carlos found himself suppressing a sigh. "Yeah, I know. Just… make something up to tell Santos, would you? I don't need any more shit from him." And with nothing more than an affirmative grunt, the call was ended. Familiarity and understanding had its perks.

By the time he made it through the intersection and caught up to the Mazda a block down from the gym Ramirez trained in, there was already a swarm of miscreants surrounding the car with the hood up. His intention, when he exited the SUV, was to discourage them from whatever acts of vandalism and theft they seemed keen on undertaking, but the scream that echoed out of the building down the street changed his focus as he broke into a run. Instinct took over as he burst into the gym and was immediately met with the sight of Steph pinned under a man as wide as Tank, but nowhere near as smart. Because if the man was smart, he wouldn't have laid a single finger on Stephanie Plum.

Carlos wasted no time in throwing the man across the gym, following on foot to deliver a warning in the form of a threat and to disable the men who sprang to his defence. He made short work of the task, and as soon as he was confident they'd all stay put, he backed away to where Steph still lay on the floor, watching him with a stunned expression. This wasn't exactly part of his plan to win back her friendship and make her realise he loved her, but there was no way he was going to stand idly by while she was beaten - and possibly raped and killed - by Trenton's pride and joy of the heavyweight circuit.

"Did you kill those guys?" Steph asked, drawing his attention back to the present.

He could hear the frown in her voice. A glance over revealed concern etched into every line of her face as she stared at him. "They're just unconscious," he assured her, returning his eyes to the road as they approached the same intersection where he'd spotted her passing through less than half an hour earlier. How much would his life have changed if his meeting had lasted just a few minutes more or less than planned? Carlos happened to be in the right place at the right time, which was more than what he could say for Steph at that gym.

"You were quick," she pointed out.

The image of her pinned under Ramirez's weight flashed in his mind's eye and he gripped the steering wheel a little tighter. "Not quick enough."

"What do you mean?"

Silently cursing himself for having uttered the words out loud, he gestured to where she held the ice pack braced to her knee, and waved his hand up to the ponytail he knew she hadn't styled to be as loose, lopsided and mangled as it was. "You got hurt." It didn't matter that the injuries were minor compared to what might have happened, the fact that she was injured at all had the beast inside him clawing at its restraints, threatening to break free. It wanted retribution. It wanted to slay anyone who had ever harmed a single hair on Stephanie Plum's head, starting with Benito Ramirez and his lackeys. Instead, Carlos took a slow breath and turned the corner. "If I was quick enough you wouldn't be injured."

A scoff filled the car from the passenger seat as she shifted a little. "I'm not some helpless child you need to keep an eye on in the playground, Ranger," she pointed out. "My mommy and daddy aren't gonna blame you if I fall off the monkey bars and skin my knees. I'm a grown adult. Not only that, I imagine injuries are part and parcel of the job."

"Some," he conceded. But he wasn't so sure about her mommy and daddy statement. From the fierce way Hildebrand had stood by Steph at the apartment, not to mention the hard glares and words of warning he'd sent Carlos's way, he wouldn't be surprised if the man hunted him down if anything happened to Steph. And then there was the fact that when Carlos had approached Bear during his shift the other night to ask if he could give the panic button to Steph, he'd flat out refused, stating that while he agreed that Steph needed certain safety measures in place, he wasn't willing to get in the middle of their standoff.

And speaking of the safety precautions he'd put in place to protect her, seemingly against her will... "You didn't hit your panic button," Carlos pointed out, casting another glance her way and catching the mother of all eye rolls.

"By the time I was panicking, my arms were pinned down," she said.

"But you have it?" he checked. She'd said she would wear it, but the fact that she'd promptly stormed off after agreeing had put a seed of doubt in his mind, and the lack of alarm during the situation back on Stark Street hadn't eased his worry.

Instead of a verbal confirmation, Steph stuck her hand into her pocket, pulled out the small device he'd given her and held it up. She waited just long enough for Carlos to see it, then shoved it back away. "Where are you taking me?" she asked, peering out the window. As they passed another intersection.

"There's a clinic downtown that I have an arrangement with," Carlos explained. "We need to get your knee checked out."

"My knee is fine."

"You were limping."

"I banged my knee on the ground when Ramirez pushed me down," she explained. "It's probably just bruised. It'll be fine tomorrow."

"I'd feel a lot better if you let someone check it over to be sure it's not something more serious," Carlos disclosed. It felt far too vulnerable to lay that kind of truth out in the open for her to see, but he a) couldn't seem to help himself, and b) needed to let her see how much he cared about her. Silence met his confession, and when he chanced another look over at her, she was staring out the window, her expression troubled.

Carlos let the silence continue as he navigated the streets to the clinic and parked out the back. They spoke only enough for Steph to refuse any assistance as they got out of the SUV and made their way inside, but Carlos didn't miss the fact that Steph was making every effort to walk normally despite the grimace on her face. He kept pace with her, leading her straight to the receptionist desk at the far end of the waiting room. Pausing in front of it, he picked up one of the clipboards that sat on the corner, and handed it to Steph, earning himself raised eyebrows from both Steph and the receptionist.

"Bobby in?" he asked her, nodding toward the door to the left.

"With a patient," the woman informed him.

Carlos nodded, tilted his head toward the chairs closest to the door, and waited for the receptionist to agree with his silent request to jump the queue before he led Steph over to take a seat.

"Who's Bobby?" Steph asked the second her ass met the seat. Her neck was swivelling between Carlos and the receptionist still, like she was trying to figure out what had just happened. He watched the little crease form between her brows and longed to brush it away.

Hell, he longed to pull her into his arms and make sure she was okay. The brief moments she'd allowed him to hold her to his side while they exited the gym hadn't been enough. He craved the weight of her; the reassurance that came from feeling her breaths expand her ribs as she rested against his chest. The times he'd held like that in the past were few and far between, and reserved exclusively for those times when she was hurt, injured, or upset in some way. It had been a blessing, he realised now. Getting to wrap her in his arms was a privilege that he would have to earn once again. And hopefully, he could get on her honour roll and earn more.

"An old army buddy," Carlos explained, taking the clipboard from her grasp and starting to fill in some of her details. "He's a physician's assistant here. We have an agreement."

Steph stole the clipboard back from him, and he let her. "What kind of agreement?"

"Priority health care and maximum discretion."

Steph peered at him for ten whole seconds, the laser focus of her piercing blue eyes burning into Carlos's face as she tried to understand exactly what he meant without asking for further information. He was grateful she didn't ask any of the myriad questions he could sense swirling just beneath the surface, though, because he would have been helpless to answer them, and he hated talking in public like this. There was no way of knowing that the mother with the crying toddler across the room wasn't some government spy, or related to someone who had it out for him. Not to mention the fact that he was pretty sure Stephanie Plum could easily convince him to spill national secrets. Carlos could see the questions accumulating on her tongue, the need to know why and how and when, and he would have gladly told it all to her if she'd asked, despite the personal risk.

But she didn't ask.

After another few seconds, during which her brow furrowed further, she just sighed and bowed her head to focus on filling out the new patient form.

Steph needed to talk, he knew. It was how she had always processed the events in her life, but she didn't want to talk to him. Every interaction they'd had this week had made that abundantly clear. She swiftly dismissed him at Bear and Hildebrand's apartment, and couldn't get away from him quick enough at the end of their three-block walk. He'd tried to honour her wishes by providing the panic button instead of trying to talk her out of her decision to be a bounty hunter - instead of insisting she let him train her - but seeing first-hand how helpless she was out in the field this morning had chipped away some of his resolve to respect her boundaries.

If he thought it was hard to concentrate on his own work knowing she was out there putting herself in danger before, it would be impossible now. It might hurt his cause, but he wasn't going to take no for an answer when it came to her safety anymore. She may want and need space, but Carlos needed peace of mind and for Steph to stay alive.

The door to the corridor that contained the exam rooms opened, and Bobby Brown stepped out holding the door for a pimple-face teen to swing through on his crutches.

"Thanks Dr. Brown!" the teen called over his shoulder as he made his way towards the receptionist to sort out whatever needed sorting after his appointment.

"I'm not a doctor," Brown reminded him with a good natured shake of his head. "It's Bobby. Or PA Brown if you're gonna insist on being formal."

"Sorry, Bobby," the teen grinned, his cheeks turning the same colour as his flame red hair as he turned away.

Bobby let the door close as he crossed his arms over his chest, looking from Carlos to Steph - who was peering at the man curiously - and back, a question in the subtle tilt to his head that he knew better than to ask out in the open if he expected an honest answer. "Ranger," he greeted instead. "What can I do for you today?"

"We need a consult," Carlos replied, standing and offering his hand to Steph to help her up.

She slapped the clipboard into his palm instead, rolling her eyes and muttering to herself under her breath as she eased herself to her feet.

"We?" Bobby asked with a raised eyebrow. He held out his hand for the clipboard and Carlos handed it over, stuffing his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching for Steph again as she stepped forward with a now barely noticeable limp. Bobby catalogued the limp in a quick once over, then glanced down at the form long enough to take note of the name Carlos had printed at the top. "You and Ms. Plum, then?"

"Call me Steph," she requested, extending a hand for him to shake.

"Only if you call me Bobby," he responded easily, grasping her hand firmly then moving to loop her arm through his so she could use him for support. "Come on through and let's see what we can do for that knee."

"My knee is fine," she insisted grumpily, though she didn't protest the support as Bobby reopened the door and they passed through to the sterile hallway, Carlos following behind.

"Oh?" Bobby sounded surprised as he once again looked first to Steph, then to Carlos over his shoulder. An odd expression crossed his features that Carlos didn't even want to contemplate.

Bobby was a smart man and he dealt with a wide variety of people and situations in his current job. Carlos could only guess at the conclusions he was drawing right now between the fact that Carlos had never brought a woman to see him at the clinic, and Bobby's familiarity with Carlos's own history. If he so much as glanced at the reproductive health and family planning pamphlets on the counter in his office, Carlos was going to punch him.

They reached the open door to an exam room half way down the hall and Bobby led Steph inside, assisting her up onto the exam table while Carlos slid in behind them and closed the door. The second it clicked shut, though, Steph's eyes were on him, fire blazing behind her gaze. "What do you think you're doing?" she demanded.

Carlos was getting heartily sick of hearing that question tumble from her lips. Every move he made, especially the ones to keep her safe, she took offense to and demanded explanation. Why couldn't she just let him care for her? Was that so hard?

He'd followed them in because he didn't want to let Steph out of his sight. He was still dealing with the aftereffects of the adrenaline rush from the gym earlier, along with the constant battle of loving her when she didn't want a bar of him. He wanted to hold her in his arms and take away all her pain, both physical and emotional. But if she wouldn't let him touch her, he wanted to at least be in the same room so he could make sure no one else was inflicting more pain on her.

"I -" Carlos started, though he wasn't exactly sure what he was going to say.

Luckily, Steph cut him off before his lack of words could expose him. "This is my medical," she pointed out. "Haven't you heard of doctor-patient confidentiality? Give us some privacy."

"Babe, he's not a doctor." His words were automatic and he wished he could stuff them back into his mouth and swallow them the second he said them. The fire behind her eyes blazed hotter, a raging inferno blasting in his direction.

"For the last time, Ranger, I'm. Not. Your. Babe." Each word was its own sentence, punctuated with finality, but even as she yelled at him, he could see the hurt peeking out from behind the flames. He had to find a way to fix this. Had to find a way to get her to actually talk to him instead of just pushing him away any time he got even slightly close.

A glance at Bobby revealed the medic-come-physician's-assistant watching them both with raised eyebrows and a smothered grin. "She has the right to privacy and confidentiality," he reminded Carlos with a shrug. "You can head back out to the waiting room. I'll take good care of her."

Carlos didn't doubt that. Bobby was the best at what he did, which was why when Carlos found out he was working at the clinic here, he'd bartered an agreement with the owner. But even with the hurt and anger from Steph scorching his skin, he couldn't bring himself to leave her. "I'll be out in the hall," he informed them both as a kind of compromise. He would leave the room, because he knew they were right, but eight feet and a door was all the distance his heart could manage right now until he was sure she was okay after the incident.