AN: A gigantic shout out and box of Boston cream donuts to CornFedFiddler for beta reading this for me, finding all my typos, and vacuuming up all the commas I use like confetti and putting them where they belong. If you haven't yet, please check out her wonderful Babe fic, Plum Sweet.

This fic is a response to a Facebook challenge issued by MomofPhoenix, to create a one shot based on several memes she posted. The meme I chose is the story's photo. My one-shot ran away with me and became a six chapter short story.

This fic is rated M for language and some smut in later chapters.

Chapter 1

The Blind Leading the Blind

Steph's POV:

Not to brag, but I had house captures down to a science. Lula manned the back door. I took the front. When I knocked, and my skip made a break out the back, Lula sat on him. It was a good system. Not fool proof, but it worked a good seventy-five percent of the time. I liked those odds.

Of course, Monty Parish had to fall into that other twenty-five percent.

Instead of fleeing out the back, like any logical, sane fugitive from justice, Monty opened the door, blinked at me for a few long seconds, then screamed "Bonzai!" and head rushed me.

I'd like to say I stood my ground, performed a tidy little clothesline maneuver, knocked Monty to the ground, cuffed him, and dragged his ass back to jail. But Monty was nearly two hundred and fifty pounds of anger in motion. And I was, well, considerably less than that, even if I did have an unhealthy relationship with Boston cream donuts.

Barely jumping aside in time to avoid being trampled, I gave chase. Monty made a bee line for his electric blue Honda sport bike sitting at the curb. For a big guy, he sure could haul ass when properly motivated. Jumping on the bike, he jammed the key into the ignition and the engine came to life. Desperate, I threw myself forward, hoping to grab him from behind before he could rev the throttle.

I was about two seconds too late. Instead, I fell into the street, catching myself painfully with my hands as Monty squealed away, a river of loose dirt and pebbles kicked into my face by the rear tire.

Instinct pulled my hands to my eyes, trying desperately to rub away the grit. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I knelt in the street.

"Girl, what happened?"

I jumped as Lula's voice sounded somewhere to my right. Turning my blurry eyes in her direction, all I could make out was a large fuchsia and gold blob.

"I need to wash my face. I got dirt in my eyes." Desperately, I clung to rationality, beating down the rising panic. My eyes burned, and I could barely see.

"Monty got a hose in his back yard."

I stumbled to my feet and promptly tripped over the curb. Lula grabbed my arm to steady me and led me around the back of Monty's house. Metal squeaked as she turned the spigot, then a rubber tube got shoved into my hands. Tilting my head to the side, I doused my face with the frigid water, forcing my eyes open to wash out the gunk.

Finally, I pulled away from the stream of water, my hair, face, and t-shirt soaked.

"Better?" Lula inquired, turning off the water.

I blinked a few times, but the world stayed blurry and my eyes still hurt. Badly. Even hidden behind a thick bank of overcast clouds, the mid-morning sun seemed entirely too bright. "I think I might need to go to the hospital."

"Are you sure? Maybe you should just go home and close your eyes for a while. You never know what else you're gonna pick up at the hospital. You go in to have your eyes checked, and next thing you know, you got a case of measles, or meningitis, or something."

"I think I'll take my chances." Tears coursed from my eyeballs again, and nothing seemed to stem them. Fumbling around in my purse, I came up with a pair of sunglasses and jammed them on my face. The relief was minimal.

"Fine. I'll drop you off." She reached into my back pocket and snagged my key ring. "But don't expect me to hold your hand or nothing. You can call Officer Hottie or Batman for that. I don't need no smallpox or whatever."

Lula led me back to my latest craptastic car. The VIN claimed it began life as a red Ford Focus. How it had become a rusted out, half blue, half green emblemless sedan was a mystery I would likely never solve, but it ran. So that's all that really mattered.

At the ER, Lula walked me inside to the triage desk, my hand clutching the strap of her tank top in an effort not to fall over anything. Someone coughed from the waiting room area and she went rigid.

"Well. Here you go."

The coughing turned to noisy retching. I felt the breeze as Lula bolted.

A little over an hour later, my eyes had been numbed, examined, cleaned, and were now taped shut and covered with gauze and matching white, disposable eye patches.

"You were very fortunate, Miss Plum. While you have several corneal abrasions, you avoided serious injuries to your vision. You'll need to keep the patches on for the next three days, except to put in antibiotic drops. You will likely experience some blurry vision for a few days after that, due to the depth of the scratches." The harried nurse finally sucked in a breath. "Now, who can we call to come get you?"

I sighed. I had limited options, and none of them ideal. Lula might be convinced to come pick me up with a good deal of bribery, the promise I'd have a nurse wheel me to the parking lot, and the offer to spray me down with Lysol. My mother would retrieve me in a heartbeat. Then spend the next week ironing, drinking, and lecturing me on how I'd failed at life before reminding me that Esther Burnette's daughter never went blind from her job at the bank.

My boyfriend would be a good choice. That is, if I had one. Problem was, Joe Morelli and I had been on the outs for the past month. I honestly couldn't even remember what had started the fight, so I knew Morelli would have already forgiven me. But if he took me home, he'd likely say something about my career choice giving him heartburn, then suggest I marry him and become a housewife. The fight would start all over again. Except with no eyesight, I'd have a hard time storming out this time.

"You can call my friend Ranger," I finally replied, reciting his number for her. Part of me hoped she'd return in a few minutes to say he hadn't answered. I'd get no lecture about my job from Trenton's resident Man of Mystery, but I might get a lot more Cuban libido than I could handle in my current state. And my lack of vision would do nothing to dissuade me, seeing as I could close my eyes and picture the man naked. A vision embedded indelibly in my mind.

Ten minutes later, the air pressure in the room shifted, announcing Ranger's arrival just before I heard the clack of the curtain being drawn back and a softly muttered, "Babe." A second later, my mattress depressed on the left side as Ranger leaned against my bed, warm fingers brushing a few stray pieces of hair off my forehead.

"The nurse refused to tell me what happened. Just that they needed to release you into the care of a responsible adult, and you'd given my name."

I filled the expectant pause that followed with a brief account of my misadventure this morning. "I just need you to take me home," I finished.

"Let me find a nurse and get you a wheelchair."

My mother was probably already getting phone calls. HIPPA didn't apply in the Burg. The additional calls that would follow if I got wheeled out of here made me fear for my Pineapple Upside-down Cake future. "I don't need a wheelchair. My legs work fine."

Even though I couldn't see him, I sensed Ranger's smile. "Suit yourself, Babe." A second later, he scooped me up bridal style.

"I can walk!" I screeched, throwing my arms around his neck, my lack of vision throwing off my equilibrium.

Ranger paused but didn't put me down. "You can't see. You either roll out of here or exit in my arms. Choice is yours."

"Argh, you're impossible!" I punched his chiseled chest with the same effect as punching a brick wall, then rubbed my sore knuckles. "Get a damn wheelchair!" My mother would be drunk before dinner if she got calls about Ranger carrying me out of the hospital.

A small chuckle shook his chest as he gently deposited me back on the hospital bed. "Be right back."

Half an hour later, I was tucked onto my living room sofa, an afghan pulled up to my armpits. "Thanks," I muttered sleepily to Ranger. "Sorry I disrupted your day." Even taped shut, my eyes felt heavy. A nap called my name as I yawned.

"No trouble, Babe. Get some rest."

Ranger's POV:

My cell phone buzzed in the middle of Tank's usual Monday break-down of the services needed by our corporate clients. Glancing down at the screen, I nearly sent the unfamiliar Trenton number to voice mail. But something tickled the hairs on the back of my neck at the last second. A sensation that, I'd learned the hard way, was never good to ignore.

"Manoso. Who is this?"

A high pitched squeak came through the line, before a wavering female voice wheezed, "I'm sorry, I'm trying to reach someone named Ranger."

"Speaking," I barked.

"I'm calling from the emergency department at St. Francis." A heavy knot suddenly filled my gut. "We have a patient, a Miss Plum…"

"What happened? Is she okay?" Across my desk, Tank tensed. No need to tell him who I was asking about, my tone said enough.

"I'm s-sorry, confidentiality rules don't let me discuss—"

I cut her off, rudely. "Then why the hell did you call me?"

The nurse on the other end made some flustered noises for a full second before her grasp of the English language returned to her. "Miss Plum is ready to be released, but she must be signed out to the care of a responsible adult. She asked for you." The woman spit it out in one big rush, sighing once she finished.

"I'll be there in five minutes." I ended the call abruptly. "Steph is in the ER at St. Francis," I told Tank as I stood, grabbing for my car keys.

My fingers wrapped around the fob for the Turbo, but I dropped it back in the desk drawer half a second later. Without knowing what kind of injuries Steph had sustained, the Cayenne would be a better option.

"I'll clear your schedule for the rest of the day and finalize the details with Globe Tech myself."

I nodded my thanks and Tank clapped me on the shoulder as I passed, giving a reassuring squeeze. This wasn't the first time I'd run out on my right-hand-man in the middle of a meeting because of Stephanie Plum. And God willing, it wouldn't be the last.

Jesus, she'd better be alright.

I made no excuses to the men in the control room as I roughly pushed through the door to the emergency stairwell and jogged down to the parking garage, in no mood to wait on the elevator.

Five minutes later, I screeched to a stop under the covered emergency department entrance. Flicking on my hazard lights, I left the Cayenne at the curb, hurried inside, and gave my name at the triage desk. As an orderly led me to Steph's room, I tried to convince myself she couldn't be that seriously hurt, since Rangeman hadn't intercepted any emergency calls. And she'd been able to provide my name and personal number.

It did nothing to dissipate the vice crushing my innards.

"Babe."

It slipped softly from my mouth the moment I saw her, reclined on a curtained-off bed in the middle of a standard trauma bay. Both her hands rested on her lap, not a scratch on her. No stitches, casts, or bandages except on her face. Two large white patches, elastic bands stretched around her head, covered both her eyes. Her disheveled chestnut hair splayed out around her like an auburn halo, several stray curls falling across her face. She immediately turned in my direction, biting down on her bottom lip.

I leaned across her bed, resisting the urge to kiss her, and instead satisfied my need by brushing away her wayward curls. "The nurse refused to tell me what happened. Just that they needed to release you into the care of a responsible adult, and you'd given my name."

Patiently, I listened to her explanation. If it weren't the fact she'd gotten hurt, the mental image might have inspired laughter. Instead, I made a note to have one of my guys pick up Monty Parish. And if he happened to have one or two unfortunate accidents on the way to the police station, so be it. Steph had managed to wiggle her way into the hearts of every man I employed. Retribution would be unspoken.

I scanned Steph again. No way she could walk out of here. She could barely navigate an empty hallway with two working eyes, never mind one full of gurneys and bustling doctors while blind. "Let me find a nurse and get you a wheelchair."

"I don't need a wheelchair. My legs work fine."

She scowled, but it only made her look adorable. The corners of my lips pulled upward. "Suit yourself, Babe." With more enjoyment than the situation warranted, I scooped her up and pressed her to my chest.

Her arms circled my neck as she panicked. "I can walk!"

"You can't see. You either roll out of here or exit in my arms. Choice is yours." God, I wanted her to let me carry her, even though I knew hell would have to freeze over before she took that option.

"Argh, you're impossible!"

Her hand hit my chest in what I think she intended to be a punch, but it felt more like getting struck by a butterfly. A small bird, at most.

"Get a damn wheelchair!"

I shook my head, chuckling in amazement at the resilient woman in my arms. She'd gotten a face full of gravel, scratched both her eyes, couldn't see a thing, and yet she still had the spirit to put up a fight.

Damn. She was handling the injury better than I had. Of course, she had the luxury of going temporarily blind outside of a war zone.

Gently, I settled her back onto her bed. "Be right back."

Retrieving a wheelchair from the entrance, I attempted to help Steph into it. She pushed me away, insisting she could get out of bed and into it herself. Which she did. With me hovering about six inches away, tensed to catch her. A nurse arrived with a bottle of antibiotic eye drops, a bag full of extra gauze and eye patches, and detailed instructions that, except to put in the drops, Steph couldn't remove the eye patches for the next three days.

Steph crossed her arms, huffing, as I was finally given permission to roll her outside. It took effort not to laugh at her stubborn dramatics, now that I knew her injuries weren't serious and would heal without any lasting effects.

I guided her into her dim apartment. She'd flat out refused to let me carry her from the Cayenne, so she clung to my arm instead. She'd been yawning the whole way from St. Francis. I led her to her sofa and got her to lay down. Pulling the afghan off the back, I tucked it around her as she snuggled into a throw pillow.

"Thanks. Sorry I disrupted your day." Another yawn cracked her jaw.

I stepped back, brushing away the temptation to kiss her, pick her up, and carry her into her bedroom so we could nap together. "No trouble, Babe. Get some rest."

Her breathing grew soft and slow within a few minutes, and I knew she'd succumbed to slumber. Only then did I take my eyes off her to scout the apartment. Opening the fridge, I frowned. Save for a few bottles of condiments, two leftover slices of pizza, and three beers, it was empty. Her pantry fared no better.

Stepping out into the hall to avoid disturbing Steph, I pressed Ella's speed dial preset and lifted my phone to my ear. I explained my needs and she promised to bring it over within an hour. Next, I dialed Tank.

He answered on the second ring. "How is she?"

I smiled. How had one accident prone bounty hunter managed to enamor my entire staff? "She'll be laid up for a few days." I provided Tank a summary of events.

"You want me to clear your schedule for tomorrow and Wednesday too?"

"The whole week. Even once the eye patches come off, I think she's going to need some help. That, or she's going to try to go back to work before she should. Ella is bringing over my laptop, some clothes, and food, so I'll be able to work off site."

"Roger that."

"Oh, and Tank, see if you can't scare up some volunteers to go pick up Monty Parish."

Tank chuckled, the sound rumbling like a growl. "I think I'm going to have a hard time fighting off the volunteers."

"Just make sure he makes it to the station in one piece. The police will overlook some bruises, but not broken bones."

"Understood." And Tank disconnected.

My next call was to my mother. She answered cheerfully in Spanish. "Hola, hijo."

I responded in kind. "Mama, I'm afraid I won't be able to make it to dinner tonight." Genuine disappointment filled my tone. "Tell Becca I'm sorry I'll miss her big reveal. Text me if I'm getting a new niece or nephew."

A long, classic sigh came through the line. "Carlos, you work too hard."

"It's not work tonight, Mama. Steph got hurt this morning. I just brought her home from the ER, and she needs someone to look after her for the next couple of days."

"I hope it's nothing serious!"

"Thankfully, no. She got some dirt and gravel thrown in her face. She's required to keep both eyes covered with patches while the scratches heal, essentially rendering her temporarily blind."

A sigh of relief slipped from her lips, as if the injuries were to one of her own children. "Poor dear. She'd be welcome to dinner, too. I'd love to meet this Stephanie you always talk about. We all would."

"Not tonight." Perfectly healthy, meeting my family would be an ordeal in and of itself. One I never planned on asking Steph to endure. No way would I ever suggest she do it wearing eye patches.

"I suppose I'll accept that excuse this time, seeing as she's hurt. But one of these days, I will meet the women who stole my son's heart. Even if it means I hop in one of those Uber things and come looking for her in Trenton myself!"

I rubbed my left temple, staving off the headache forming. "Mama, as I've said before, Steph's just a friend."

"Bullshit."

There's very little in this world that can still surprise me. Hearing my devoutly Catholic mother utter that word, I nearly dropped my phone.

"Mother!"

"Carlos, anyone with two eyes can see you're in love with her every time you mention her name."

My voice cooled. Most sane people recognized it as a warning I was getting to the limit of my patience. "Mother, she and I are friends. I have no room in my life for a relationship, and she knows that."

My mother huffed, undaunted by the tone of my voice. "Carlos, whether you put a label on it or not, you have a relationship with Stephanie. What do I always tell you? Good relationships do not just happen. They take time, patience, and two people who truly want to be together. Now, I've seen you invest all three in this woman." I started to object, and she cut me off. "You would not be there taking care of her otherwise! So, unless she's crazy and doesn't want to be with you, I fail to see how you can tell me you aren't in a relationship with her."

"She's not crazy. She respects and adheres to the boundaries I put in place."

"Then you're the crazy one, child. And as blind as her, if in a different way."

The line went dead. I looked down at my phone, eyebrows knitting together. Did my own mother just hang up on me? Over Stephanie Plum?

Refusing to think more deeply on it, I tapped out a text to Connie, letting her know Steph was okay but out of commission for the rest of the week. If Vinnie had a problem with that, he could take it up with me. Seeing as the man nearly shit his pants anytime I walked into his office unannounced, that guaranteed he wouldn't have a problem with giving Steph a week off.

Reentering the apartment, I heard a soft buzzing. It stopped, then a moment later, started again. Tracking the sound, it led me to Steph's purse, which she'd dropped on the floor next to the sofa. Quickly, I snatched the bag before it could rouse her and carried it into the kitchen, digging through the disaster zone in search of her vibrating phone.

It silenced itself as soon as my hand fell around it. The spiderwebbed screen showed five missed calls from her mother and two from the cop. My finger poised over the power button, prepared to just shut the thing down. But, having just spoken with my own mother, a thistle of guilt tugged at my brain at the thought of leaving the Plums in the dark about Steph's condition.

I might have to issue myself hazard pay for this.

Jabbing the most recent missed call, the phone dialed as I raised the device to my ear. I'd had discussions with terrorists I'd looked forward to more than a conversation with Helen Plum.

"Stephanie! Finally. Do you know how many calls I've gotten? My daughter gets struck blind, and I have to hear about it from Dottie Howard. And they're saying you got wheeled out of the hospital by that Ranger man—"

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Plum." A shocked gasp came through the line. "I just wanted to let you know that Steph is fine. She has some minor corneal abrasions that should heal in a few days with no lasting effects to her sight. I knew you'd be worried." The sarcasm lay heavy, but even I have my limits to my control. "I plan to ensure she's well cared for over the next few days and follows doctor's orders."

I hung up without waiting on a response. Then I powered off the phone. The cop could wait for Steph to call him back. And if she couldn't do that until her vision returned, all the better.

Tossing the phone back into Steph's bag, I hung it from the back of one of the dining chairs before taking a seat at the table. The open floor plan meant I was close enough to hear when Steph woke, but far enough from the couch I would not disturb her as I answered e-mails.

A white bag stamped with the logo for Mercer County Community College caught my attention. It rested on the far edge of the table near Steph's laptop. I knew she used the table more as a desk than an actual dining surface. For that, she'd need to have real food.

Curiosity got the better of me and I peeked inside the bag. Two books on business sat inside. The stereotypical yellow and black cover of a "Dummies" book got me to crack a smile. The other, The $100 Startup, got me thinking. Without a sound, I slipped the receipt out of the bag, my smile growing to a grin. The bag and books had likely sat, untouched, here on her table for close to a month. Purchased right around the time I got wind of her latest fight with the cop.

That wiped the smile off my face. I glanced over at Steph's sleeping form. Why had she called me over him? My eyes swung back to the untouched text books.

Babe, what's running through your mind?

AN: Thanks for reading. Please review to let me know what you thought. They brighten my day and validate that I'm not just typing dribble.

If you enjoy my writing, please check out my complete, novel length HEA Babe fic, Hot and Bothered.