A/N: This and the next two chapters might not make sense if you haven't read Fugue. Here is a quick synopsis of that story (with spoilers!) Ranger returns home from a long mission to find Stephanie once again living in his seventh floor apartment. He's a little shocked to learn that she now works out every day, never leaves the building without a gun and back up, and perhaps most importantly, she's not shy about her feelings for him. When she introduces herself to a new RangeMan recruit as "Stephanie Mañoso," he demands answers from Tank.

Tank explains that Stephanie is suffering from a rare disorder called dissociative fugue. It causes people to make sudden, unexpected travels away from home in association with the inability to recall all or part of their past. Some people assume a completely new identity, while others are just confused about their identity. Fugue is usually triggered by some sort of emotional trauma.

Fugue is about Ranger's search to elicit the truth about that trauma. Key players in the story include Manny, Ranger's sister, Celia, and his cousin, Selena. Manny is Steph's partner and we learn that he came to RangeMan from the FBI where he was a gifted profiler. Celia is a respected neurologist and the one who diagnosed Stephanie's condition. Selena Rodriguez (yeah, she really is that Rodriguez!) brings Ranger a copy of an old newspaper clipping that provides the answers he's been searching for:

Boulder, Colorado—Private funerals were held today for George Edward Foster and his estranged wife Rosemary Mazur Foster. In a presumptive murder-suicide, George Foster shot his wife in their home last Saturday and then shot himself. Mazur- Foster had sought emergency protection from her husband, alleging domestic abuse. Their two week-old daughter will be released to the custody of family members in Trenton, NJ.

I am indebted to Dog in the Manger and latetolove for their help and encouragement along the way. Latetolove helped me get started, and Dog in the Manger helped me finish. Thanks to both of you for not giving up on my and my story. All mistakes are mine.

Manny's POV

Hector was alone in the control room when I entered, the room silent except for the faint hum of the equipment.

"¿No vayas a la fiesta?" You're not going to the party? Hector glanced up at me and then flicked his eyes back to the monitors.

"No, soy un 'RangeMan on Duty' de esta noche," I explained.

Tank and Lester were guests at Mama Mañoso's birthday party. Vince, Binky, Ram, and Bones were providing security, along with a team that Antonio had brought from Miami. Bobby had a rare weekend off to spend with his girl in Princeton. With the entire core team out, I was left in charge at Haywood. "RangeMan on Duty" was the most senior staff person remaining on the premises, authorized to make decisions if shit hit the fan, at least until one of core team members returned. Tonight, that was me. I was hoping for a shit-free night.

"¿Estephania… la has visto?" Stephanie… have you seen her? Hector asked me.

I nodded. I had caught sight of her as she climbed into the passenger seat of the Turbo.

"She looked beautiful tonight. I saw her in the parking garage while I was making my rounds." That coral dress did something amazing to her eyes… was there a color called bluer than blue?

"Que hermosos todos los dos." So beautiful… both of them, Hector sighed.

I didn't swing that way, but I had to agree with him about Ranger. In a perfectly tailored Armani tuxedo, he was like a work of art. I could appreciate him in the way I could appreciate Michelangelo's David.

I cleared my throat and tried to organize my thoughts. "Stephanie staying on four or on seven?" I was pushing Hector to speak in English. It would be harder for him to fantasize about our boss that way in English.

"She has apartment on four, but she got ready on seven tonight." Hector was smiling, and I tried to tune out the thought that he was practically broadcasting. Lucky, lucky chica.

"That's good," I said, and I really meant it. Ultimately, Stephanie and Ranger being together would be good for all us. If Wifey finally got together with the boss, we wouldn't be in danger of her leaving RangeMan, or us, again. It bothered every one of us every time she went back to Morelli and then we didn't see our friend for weeks at time.

"So, any trouble?" I asked, jerking my head toward the monitors.

"Que es tranquilo... por el momento." It's quiet … for the time being.

"I might as well get started on the paperwork that Tank left for me," I said to myself as much as to Hector. Tank hated paperwork, and he'd had plenty of it while Ranger had been out of town. He had taken advantage of this rare opportunity to share some of his burden. I made it to the door of the control room before Hector called me back.

"¡Miras!." Look, he said.

When I turned to look at the monitors, I caught sight of three familiar figures, standing in front of the reception desk. Without saying another word to Hector, I left the control room and bolted down the steps, two at a time, toward the lobby.

"I demand that you call my daughter immediately," Helen Plum ordered Brett. She stood in front of him, ramrod straight, eyes narrowed, arms folded tightly across her chest. It was an impressive attempt at intimidation from a woman wearing a pink sweater set and pearls.

Brett ran his fingers through his spiky blonde hair before he answered her. From the look on his face, I could tell that he was getting frustrated and struggling to come up with an appropriate response.

"No can do, Mrs. Plum. She's not here."

Helen's voice raised an octave. "She's not staying in her apartment, and her cell phone service has been disconnected. We assumed she would be staying with Joe Morelli, but he told us that he hasn't talked to her in weeks." She took a step closer to Brett, pressing her palms against the reception desk. "He told us that she was living here."

"She's not in the building," Brett answered evenly, neither confirming nor denying Steph's current address. "If you want, I can take a message for her, maybe ask her to call-"

Until this point, Frank Plum and Edna Mazur stood a few feet behind Helen, quietly watching. Finally, Frank took a step forward and spoke up. "If she's not here, maybe we could talk with Ranger for a minute."

Now Stephanie and I had spent a lot of time together, both as partners and as friends, while Ranger had been out of town on this last assignment. I'd accompanied her to the Plum house a few times for dinner. I was a little shocked to see that Frank looked like he'd aged ten years since I had seen him last. Uncharacteristically, he was wearing a rumpled golf shirt and unpressed khaki trousers. Apparently, Helen wasn't ironing this week, and I had to wonder how she was working out her anxieties.

"Ranger's not here either," Brett replied. "They're both-"

"Out of the building," I interrupted, stepping up to the desk. No sense in giving information to the enemy. "Manuel Ramos," I reminded Frank, offering my hand to him and ignoring Helen. "Can I help you with something?"

"We have a right to see our daughter," Helen cut in. Her voice was shrill.

Brett gave me an exasperated look. You're the RangeMan on Duty, the look said. Do something.

"Why don't we step into the conference room?" I suggested, motioning them into a small room off the lobby. The room was decorated in soothing blues and greens. We didn't use the room much. Ranger wasn't really into soothing.

I gestured to the chairs around the polished mahogany conference table, inviting the Plums to have a seat.

Helen chose to remain standing, apparently willing Frank and Edna to do the same. I noticed the raised, red blotches that had appeared on Helen's neck and remembered that I had seen the same sort of rash on Wifey when she was really upset.

"We need to see our daughter," she told me. There might have been a hint of pleading in the tone. It was hard to separate it from all the anger, though.

"Stephanie is a reasonable, responsible adult," I said, attempting a conciliatory stance. "I am sure she will make contact when she is ready to talk."

"It's our right," Helen hissed, her fists clenching at her sides.

I tried to draw on every negotiation technique I had learned at the Bureau, as I responded, "Didn't Stephanie have a right to know the truth, Mrs. Plum? As tragic as the situation was, didn't she have a right to know about her birth parents?"

Helen shook her head, not wanting to hear me. "She can't just shut us out, after all we-"

"After all you did for her, Mrs. Plum? Is that what you were going to say?" My words were deceptively polite. My tone was anything but. "What about what you didn't do? You didn't make her feel loved and cherished, like she really belonged. You didn't honor her mother's memory, your sister's memory, by cherishing the part of her that lived on in Stephanie. Instead you pretended that she never existed."

"But Lottie Krupski-"

"I don't want to hear about Lottie Krupski's daughter, Mrs. Plum." I interrupted brusquely. I was quickly losing patience.

Helen blinked at me, confused. "Lottie Krupski doesn't have a daughter," she said. "She was my best friend when I was growing up. When she was nine, her parents told her that she was adopted." Helen paused, as if she needed to search for the words that came next. "Lottie was never the same after that, never really happy. She just couldn't seem to quit wondering about her 'real' family." For just a moment, I saw sadness and regret instead of anger. "I didn't want that for Stephanie. We are Stephanie's real family."

With that, Helen turned on her heel and marched out of the conference room.

Frank looked at me helplessly and his eyes followed his wife out the door. He took a step in that direction, and then he turned back toward me. He was clearly torn. Like always, his wife expected him to follow her lead. No doubt, she was in the lobby, tapping her foot, waiting for him to join her and drive her home. Finally Frank said, "If you see my Pumpkin, tell her I love her."

"Why do you always call her that?" I asked him softly.

"Stephanie is the name they gave her." His voice cracked a little as he spoke. "Pumpkin is the name that I gave her."

With one last, sad shake of his head, he slipped out the door, and I was left alone in the little conference room with Edna. Throughout the interchange with Helen and then Frank, she had remained uncharacteristically still and silent, standing close to the door, one hand on the doorjamb for support.

Now, I'd always liked Stephanie's grandmother, despite her reputation for groping and pinching any available RangeMan. Honestly, she had always struck me as a sassy teenager, trapped in an old woman's body. In fact, the last time I saw her, she was wearing a hot pink velour track suit with 'Sexy" stenciled across the butt. My recollection was that her hair matched her tracksuit. Today, in a shapeless housedress, printed with small, faded blue flowers, she just looked old and tired… very, very tired.

"How could you let it happen like this, Edna?" I asked her as gently as I could.

"I didn't like it, but at the time, it seemed like the best option. It was the only way Helen would agree to raise Stephanie." Edna's voice wavered. "My husband and I thought Helen and Frank were Stephanie's best chance for a normal life." Her shoulders slumped, as if she was carrying the weight of the world, and she swayed a little on her feet, tightening her grip on the doorjamb.

I didn't bother asking her to sit. I just sat down and pulled the chair next to me away from the table, hoping she would take the hint. Under normal circumstances, no RangeMan in his right mind would take the chair next to Edna Mazur. Much safer to take the chair across the table. Tonight, though, I didn't think I needed to worry about any randy behavior from Stephanie's grandma.

"So why didn't you take her?" I pressed. "Did you not want her?"

For a fleeting moment, I saw the old spark in Edna's eyes. Then it was gone. "Want her? Of course I wanted her. I wanted to take that baby girl and use her to fill the hole in my heart that was left when Rosemary died." Edna paused. "Turning her into a replacement for my dead daughter wouldn't have been right. She deserved her own life."

"You could have given her that," I persisted. "You would have done right by her-"

"You don't understand," she said, pressing her hands to her temples as if to suppress the painful thoughts that had surfaced. "I didn't think I could… not at the time." Edna stared at me for a moment, clearly wondering how much to tell me. After a moment, she seemed to make her decision and spoke again. "I'm not proud of this, but I went to pieces after Rosemary died. I blamed myself for missing the signs that might have saved her."

"You were depressed, " I said. "Completely understandable given the circumstances."

Edna shrugged. "They didn't call it that. The doctor just gave some pills for my nerves, but they didn't really help. I didn't really feel less sad. I just felt numb. There were days that I couldn't seem to get out of bed. Then Harry had his first heart attack and I thought I might lose him too…" Her voice trailed off.

Edna looked heartbroken and I felt a twinge of guilt about pushing her. Then a memory of Stephanie popped into my mind. When we'd dropped by her parents' house for dinner one Friday night, she was flying high. She'd brought in two skips without serious incident and she had earned an 'A' on her Spanish test. Helen had just sighed and asked when Stephanie was going to settle down and be a good Burg wife so they could be proud of her. Wifey had looked no less heartbroken than Edna did now. My decision made, I forged ahead.

"So Helen insisted that no one could ever tell Stephanie about her birth parents, that was the deal?" I clarified. "She and Frank took her even though they didn't really want another child?"

Edna shook her head vigorously. "No, it wasn't like that. Helen and Frank wanted another child desperately, but they couldn't have one. After Valerie, Helen had three miscarriages in a row, all boys they think. The doctors said it would have been dangerous for Helen to keep trying."

Edna's hands twisted nervously in her lap and she looked like she wanted to bolt. Out of loyalty to Wifey, I decided to press on.

I ventured another guess about the Plum family dynamics. "Helen and Frank desperately wanted a son, but they got Stephanie instead… a unsatisfactory replacement for all of the boys that were lost. Is that why Steph grew up such a tomboy, and why Helen treated her the way she did?" This was all starting to make sense to me. At last, the profile of the Plum family was coming together.

But Edna just raised both hands in protest, letting me know I was off base. She looked upset and, when she started rummaging around in the big black pocketbook she carried, I wondered if she was just going to pull out her gun and shoot me. That would be classic Edna Mazur. I was surprised when she pulled out a lace hankie and dabbed at her the corners of eyes.

"Listen to me. You've got it wrong. Growing up, Helen and Rosemary never really got along. Rosemary was the baby of the family, and I think Helen was a little bit jealous." Edna hesitated. "See, Rosemary was a bit of a free spirit… just like me. Might be the Hungarian gypsy blood we have in us. We just naturally understood each other in a way that Helen and I never did.

"Growing up, Stephanie was the spittin' image of Rosemary... had her spirit, too. I don't think Helen could ever get past that. She wanted both her daughters to be like her, not Rosemary."

"And you let Helen treat Stephanie the way she did because you felt guilty about loving Rosemary more," I chided her gently.

"It wasn't like that," she protested. But we both knew that it was.

Edna hung her head. I thought she might retreat from the conference room in search of Helen and Frank without saying another word, but she surprised me. She stood up, drew herself up to her full height and looked me straight in the eye. There was no shame there, not anymore. "After that disaster with Dickie Orr, I couldn't just sit back. From that point on, I tried to teach Stephanie to make better decisions about men than her first mother did." With her hands on her hips, she asked me, "So Mr. Ramos, how did I do this time around?"

I met and held her gaze, pausing before I answered. I thought about the scene I had witnessed in the parking garage earlier tonight. Ranger and Stephanie had walked to the Turbo, fingers intertwined. After he had buckled Steph into the passenger seat, Ranger paused, gently caressing her cheek. I knew she must have said something to him when I saw a rare, full-fledged smile crease his face. "How long?" she had asked. He gave her one of his patented, one-word responses. "Siempre." Always.

I reached out and patted Edna on the shoulder. "This time, you did good," I told her. "Stephanie's made her choice, and she chose well."