The best thing about the pizza shop that Ashton had taken her to, was that Quin could easily remember right where it was, even in the heart of Manhattan. The store fronts ran together sometimes, but for some reason this one stuck out in the redhead's mind whenever she had a hankerin' for pizza.

That happened a little too often for her waistline's taste, but a craving had to be indulged or it would simply stay a craving. Besides, something about the slightly dark, mild atmosphere of the place was just what the doctor ordered after a long day. Or after a day off. Or pretty much any other time.

Whenever she visited, Quin sat at the huge bar that she and Ashton had occupied the time they'd come. The bartender was still as brusque ever, and if he gave a noncommittal grunt in her direction, Quin always smiled in return. She ordered the same cheese pizza every time, and if she was in a mood, a beer. Somehow, the guy always knew when that was, even if Quin wasn't sure herself.

Today was not one of those beer days, so there she sat with her giant piece of pizza and a coke, mulling over the last few weeks and how busy they had been. Her birthday had passed, Nate had confessed that he loved her, and more and more her near death experience with the pink elephant man was starting to fade into the shadows. The ripples caused by life in recent months were smoothing out and life was taking on a comfortable rhythm again.

In New York the Ranger didn't happen to see many faces he recognized while just making his way around on the sidewalk. There were just too many people for such pleasant, or less than, surprises to happen more than once in a blue moon. Though, today was one of those rare occasions.

Across the street, a quarter of a block or so down yonder, the Ranger caught sight of a red-headed police officer he recognized. She was the officer who had given him a hard time after he aided her in the botched abduction of a young girl. Since that even police scanners had occasional buzzed with references to his characteristics.

He watched the woman as she made her way into a pizza place. He needed to confront the woman, see if he couldn't get her to forget about his involvement, or at least see reason... That he aided her, what is he dropped one criminal his actions saved at least one life.

He crossed the street and made his way to the shop, thankful he didn't have one of his cowboy hats on today. That would have made him easier to follow in the event of an escape, more noticeable on approach, and given the officer more to work with was his attempt to fail. Though, the latter wasn't such a big thing, his accent betrayed him, and how many people wear Wranglers and cowboy boots in New York City?

He slipped into the pizza shop quickly scanning the area looking for her, he would rather have the drop on her. After a short while he saw her, sitting at the bar with a coke and pizza.

Before approaching he took in the layout of the establishment, where tables were, high concentration of people, exits, etc. If the officer decided to make a scene he needed to know the fastest way out. The number of files at the P.D. that had some reference to him or rounds that would match up to his side arms was most likely quite the pile. Getting apprehended was not something he was going to let happen.

Eventually he strolled up behind her, the light noise of the place not completely masking his footsteps. Cowboy boots are fairly loud footwear, most things with heels tend to be. He slid into a seat next to her, facing away from the bar, turned and simply said,

"Howdy."

Quin was a firm believer that being a cop made you notice things that you didn't even know you were noticing. Like the sound of boot heels on a hard surface. Something about the sound tickled the back of Quin's mind, but it wasn't until the owner of the sound sat and swiveled to face her, that she fully realized what she was hearing.

Jumping out of her seat and immediately trying to apprehend the man would have been foolish. She was by herself, and she'd seen the day of the kidnapping that he was more than capable of handling himself...at least with a gun. Mike paused in front of the guy, even though his back was turned and Quin shook her head with a smile. The bartender said nothing, as always but raised an eyebrow and went back to polishing glasses that were so immaculate there was no way they needed cleaning.

"Hello." Quin said, picking up her pizza and taking another bite. Her horoscope had said that following daily routine would produce uncommon results. This...probably counted.

"Are you here for the pizza, because it's awesome.... Or did you need something?"

The officer continued the exchange of pleasantries instead of trying to make an arrest. Which meant she was smart. When she continued speaking the Ranger spun the chair around to face forward, a nonverbal way of saying he wasn't going to try anything. This would be a lot smoother if the cop didn't have to be so on edge.

"I cain't jus' pay my favorite member of New York's finest a visit?" He turned to look at the man on the other side of the bar. "Though, if it's awesome... A slice of whatever ya have with the most kinds of meat on it, an' then throw some jalapeños on it if ya got 'em. And a glass of tea, uh, sweet and iced, please." Yankees were a weird group, you have to be certain to clarify what kind of tea you want or they'll bring you all kinds of other nonsense.

As her..."friend" ordered up a heart attack on a plate, Quin stared. Really? All of that? She looked down at her own slice of cheese pizza, feeling like some sort of minimalist and took another bite while Mike grunted and turned to work on the order. They had stuff like that? Geez. Quin didn't know whether to be impressed or a little disgusted.

"You're allowed. To be honest though, I'd have been more pleased if you'd showed up to the station and we were talking in a room with double sided glass."

He was technically still wanted in connection to that shooting. Even if the victim had been a cold-blooded kidnapper...and even though Quin felt slightly different about the whole situation since she had been assaulted earlier in the year. "But, I'll take what I can get. I refuse to believe you're here just to chat though. So what exactly is it you need?"

The female officer replied and the man went off the handle his order. She'd have preferred an interrogation room. "I'm sure ya would, but police stations aren't known for their food. That... an' I find the complementary bracelets chafe."

She wanted to get right to business, so banter exchanged he obliged. "First off, if it wouldn't be too much t' ask yer name. In fairness, I'll give ya one of mine." He extended his right hand toward the woman. "I'm called the Ranger. An' I'd like t' discuss this whole me bein' wanted business."

Her name? A thin eyebrow arched as Quin regarded the man next to her. Nothing about his posture indicated that he was any kind of threat, but the fact of the matter was that he'd killed a man in cold blood without a second thought. He was dangerous. Dangerous to her, and dangerous to anyone else in the bar.

"Archer." Quin said, gingerly reaching out to return the handshake. "Officer Archer." If he was going to play the name game with his stupid vigilante moniker, she could keep up. She smiled.

"As to being wanted, I can't remember what the statute of limitations on Murder in New York City is, but as soon as that rolls by, you're good to go." That was a lie. She knew what the statute of limitations was...or more precisely that one didn't exist.

"Is that all?" Because if it was...things got tricky, and "The Ranger" hadn't even gotten to eat his pizza yet.

The Ranger would have liked a first name, but given the situation he'd have been disappointed in Ms. Archer had she provided it. Handshake out of the way the Ranger withdrew his hand, casually, behaving as if the fact Ms, Archer being a police officer was of no concern.

"Murder's an unlawful killin' with malice aforethought. An' the killin' was lawful, but even if it wadn't, there was no premeditation." He considered adding, that as someone who enforces the law she should know it, but decided against it. "No, that ain't all. As much fun as it is t' reminisce on old times, we really do need to discuss me being wanted."

The Ranger made a quick scan of the area, noting changes in the surrounding, while trying to make it look more like he was just gathering his thoughts. "The police diggin' around fer information, and by police I'm tempted to say it is you and only a few other sicne I doubt the city would squander resources searchin' fer someone they could only prove I eluded a police officer, but I digress. Yall're diggin' around an' it could cause a chain of events that lead t' this city bein' less safe than it presently is. Now, don't confuse that with a threat. Rather, I'm sayin'a lack of me would cause more problems than me acting does."

"And I'm sure you have a permit for that gun." Quin said, rolling her eyes as he tried to argue semantics. He (because she was loathe to call him 'The Ranger' even in her head), rambled and Quin continued to eat her pizza.

And....yeah...the city would be more dangerous without him.

"You and every other costumed freak prowling the night." she said with a sideways glance.

"You're all just too good to rough it out like the rest of us on the force. Or maybe you're just above the law with all your loop holes and self-righteous metting out of justice."

Quin shrugged. "I don't really care." she said, sipping her coke as Mike brought the man his pizza.

"You don't get to just shoot someone in the face and walk off without answering to anyone about it."

"What gun? Do you mean the one that could have come off one of the the kidnappers? And I don't wear a costume." The interjection over, he let Ms. Archer finish.

His food was delivered and he took a bite of what was more like a slab of meat with a pizza for a topping than the other way round, chewed, and swallowed before responding. "Don't get me wrong, police do a good job, an' manage t' handle major cases that come their way; but there are times when their top heavy bureaucracy, interdepartmental pissing contests, and politics rob citizens of the protection they deserve. Not t' mention police're handcuffed when it comes t' investigation."

He took another bite of his pizza, and then washed it down before adding, careful not to incriminate himself, "Some people're trained in how t' investigate, track, an' eliminate targets in non-permissive environments. These people can use their skills t' handle cases that the police cannot handle without endangerin' more people due to the box they must operate within."

Quin did her best not to let her lip curl while, 'The Ranger' was talking. The police did the best they could, he said, and that was the first time Quin agreed.

Sure there were business politics, and interdepartmental 'pissing contests' all over the NYPD, but the redhead liked to think that MRC was above all of that. It was a brave new world, and you simply couldn't afford to hate the person in the next desk because they'd gotten a promotion you were sure you'd deserved. Things like that paled in comparison to zombie attacks and mutants trying to vaporize half the city.

Yes. MRC was different. Quin was confident in the fact, and as the vigilante (because she refused to call him anything else in her head) explained his on the job skills, Quin studied him.

He obviously worked out, but didn't hold muscle in that behemoth way that sometimes made you wonder how a guy could even hold a gun. His hands looked like a worker's hands, and there were calluses on his fingers. From what, Quin didn't know, but this was definitely not a guy who went and got manicures with his girlfriend. Those things, combined with what was obviously a gun he was carrying and the fact that he had that general, 'mess with me and I will break your face' demeanor suggested truth in his words.

Still.

"And when people like that run into the law. The law has to operate inside their box." The off-duty officer finally said.

"They can't let one maniac run around with a gun, shooting whoever they deem necessary, and tell the next one that he can't." Quin smiled a little, as she reinforced his earlier points, then turned slightly on her bar stool and looked him in the face as she worked out exactly what to do.

"You're about three-thousandth on the priority list right now." she admitted, a little wryly. "I won't take the heat off...but I'll stop throwing fuel on the fire."

"You make yourself useful to me and the department. You found me here. When you have something that could be of interest to us in our box of bureaucracy, you let me know."

Quin knew that all he had to do was shrug his shoulders and say okay, then leave the bar and never be seen again, but she hoped that wasn't the case. The guy wanted to act like he had the city's greater good at heart, then he could do something to help.

The Ranger continued to eat as Quin spoke. Taking a drink to help everything down when she finished.

"Generally you put the smaller box inside the bigger one, though in this case the boxes're most often next t' one another. And of course you don't let a maniac run around with a gun, that would be crazy. Turnin' a blind eye on methods used by highly trained individuals that avoid harmin' innocent people though is not crazy." The Ranger stopped to take a drink before continuing. "I could could come to you and the department with things of interest, but I can act faster than the police can and have a less heavy handed approach to infiltration. I could be more useful t' the police if they informed me of people they couldn't touch due t' the handcuffs on them, an' I acted on it. Confirmin' the suspicion and exposin' them or eliminatin' them."

"In the heat of the moment, it's sure tough to tell the difference between the crazy one and the other unless they're in police blues." Quin said, when the man next to her had finished speaking.

'The Ranger' had a point. It would be nice to have someone to go to when the going got tough...when those people slipped through the justice system who had no business being on the streets. The problem was that if the police started taking things into their own hands, even through indirect means, it undermined everything the justice system stood for. Everything she'd worked so hard for.

The redhead shook her head, taking a thoughtful bite of her pizza. "How does that make us any better than the criminals?" she asked. "We're locked in our box for a reason. Even if it is next to yours."

A moment of silence, and the redhead shrugged her shoulders.

"I already told you I'd stop throwing fuel on the fire. It's the best I can do. At least try to stay out of our way if you don't want to go through official channels."

The Ranger ate his pizza as Quin spoke, keeping his eyes on her so he wouldn't appear dismissive. When she finished he washed the food down before he spoke. "Look where their gun is pointed. Soldiers wear uniforms to identify friend and foe, but they don't often shoot their own guys who're dressed and armed like the rag heads their fightin'." He drank a little more.

"And what separates you and I from the criminals is justice. They kill, maim, an' steal only for their own gain. Whether it be money, power, or sadistic pleasure. If we kill or injure someone it is to protect, avenge, or save someone. An' thank you. I generally stay under the radar as far as police are concerned. You jus' happened t'o be there while I was that one time."

Really? He was going to use racial slurs now? Quin scrunched her nose up slightly at that fact and shook her head. His words made sense, she was sure, to someone like him, but the redhead still wasn't going to buy it. Not entirely.

"I guess I'll just have to leave that to you and the rest of the vigilantes. Just make sure nobody has any reason to be confused." she said.

"Because justice isn't our business, the law is."

And she believed in it. She had to believe in it, to do what she did, the way she was raised.

"But I think we've got an understanding."