"Veritas" (PRTF)

[Sierra]

Title: Veritas

Author: Sierra (Bravo45)

Rated: M (Restricted) for Violence and Language

Disclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers, I wish I did . . . I'm not making any profit from writing this, save for the plain enjoyment of it! I claim ownership to a couple of the characters, the ones you don't recognize from the series.

Summary: Time Force AU. One year has passed since their return from the 21st Century, and life has returned to normal for the former Rangers . . . only they don't know they've ever been Rangers. So what will happen when they are forced to conront an old enemy, and the partner of the man they betrayed one thousand years ago?

WARNING: This story contains some slash M/M references, as well as graphic violence, language, and sexual situations. It is based in an AU universe, and some of the characters are therefore slightly OOC, if this bothers you, you've been warned.

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The sky above them had become ominously stormy, enormous blue circles forming in it and sucking the life below up into oblivion, into another dimension, or into death . . . none of them knew; the wind whipped at the ship, causing it to rock slightly despite it's size and mass, and now blew mercilessly it at the young man standing on the beach, and he stumbled slightly as she reached the window.

"Wes!"

She pounded her fists against the impenetrable glass, tears already blurring her vision even as she demanded to know what he was doing, already knowing full well what is intentions were; he stood outside, his feet braced firmly in the sand, his arm raised so he spoke clearly into his morpher: "You have to go back to your time! You'll be safe there."

She didn't want to be safe . . . she wanted to be with him . . .

"But we're a team!" the Yellow Ranger sobbed.

The young Green Ranger swallowed, tears running down his dusty cheeks. "I-I feel like this is my home!"

"No, that's not possible!" Wes insisted, his crystal blue eyes pleading with them to understand.

"Why?"

"Because this is my time," Wes replied, his voice growing softer, "not yours . . . " he paused, his eyes meeting with her's and holding the gaze for a moment " . . . your lives are waiting for you in the future . . . "

She shook her head. No, he didn't understand! I don't want my life in the future anymore, Wes! I just want you!


"But, Wes," the Blue Ranger gasped, "you could be destroyed!"

"Maybe . . . " his words had a heavy impact on the young Red Ranger standing in front of them, and his shoulders sagged slightly, his jaw working itself painfully as he contemplated his own future; but he straightened up again, his voice just as sure as before: "But I won't stop fighting until I've taken my last breath!"

"Wes, no!"

She screamed out of her nightmare and sat up in bed, tossing the heavy blanket aside to rid herself of it's heat, already drenched in the sweat she had worked up while tossing and turning in her sleep; she was trembling, she realized disgustedly, shaking as if she were freezing in her warm bedroom, curled up in a comfortable bed next to her sleeping boyfriend. Suddenly remembering the man at her side, she looked down and smiled unsteadily, reaching over to brush a strand of blond hair from his peaceful face, causing him to stir slightly, but not awaken; Adam was a heavy sleeper, she knew, not even her nightmares could wake him.

She was grateful for that, for they seemed to be coming more and more often, and she still hadn't figured out why! Taking a deep, soothing breath, she got out of bed and wrapped a thin robe around her trim figure, running her hands through her thick, dark hair and letting it rest comfortably on her shoulders; with a knowing groan, she glanced at the clock hanging on the wall next to her bed: 0213 HOURS.

Damn it.

Longingly, she looked back at her bed, wishing she could crawl back in and curl up next to Adam, fall asleep once again and sleep the peaceful rest she had always known; but she had experienced the nightmare too many times to still hold onto that hope, and gave up without even trying, instead going to the kitchen and making herself a cup of coffee. The effects of the dream still lingered . . . her body shook ever-so-slightly, hot tears were in her eyes, though she was had no idea what was wrong . . .

Wes. She shook her head, confused. The name meant nothing to her. She had no brothers, her father's name was Neill, out of all her friends who happened to be men . . . none were called Wes; so why was it alway his name in this dreams? She closed her eyes, trying to draw upon the memory and picture this Wes' face, but only coming up with a broad-shouldered man who had blond hair and blue eyes . . . nothing to distinguish him from being any different from the man who was now sleeping in her bed.

She shuddered again, lifting the cup to her lips and sipping the steaming coffee, letting it singe her tongue and slide down her throat; with an indulgent sigh, she turned and walked slowly into the living room, sinking down onto the couch and sitting alone in the silent darkness. So much of the dream was still horrifingly real to her . . . she could feel the wind against her face, whipping the sand of the beach into her eyes and mouth . . . the bruises and cuts on her body still stung painfully . . . and her heart still contracted agonizingly, feeling as if it would break . . .

"Jen?"

Jen Scotts looked up quickly as her boyfriend entered the room, rubbing his half-closed eyes sleepily. "I'm right here, Adam," she said, smiling reassuringly, "don't worry, I just---"

"You had another one of those dreams, didn't you?" he questioned, quirking one eyebrow knowingly.

She hesitated, then lowered her head, staring into the blackness of the coffee in her mug. "Y-Yes."

"Shit." He took a step closer and sat down next to her, reaching over to begin rubbing circles on her stiff back. "You have any idea where their coming from yet? I mean . . . it just can't be normal, to dream like this---"

"I know," Jen cut him off, "it isn't. But I don't know . . . " she leaned back, pulling her legs up and resting her arms across her knees. "When I dream about it, I can see everything so clearly. I can feel it." Her eyes grew distant for a moment, as if she were suddenly somewhere else. "I was on a beach, I-I don't know where . . . but there was a horrible storm, and the wind was so bad it was nearly knocking us over." She frowned. "Us . . . me and four others. Four of us were in some kind of . . . ship, or something."

"And . . . the fifth?"

"He was outside," she finished, " . . . Wes."

Adam frowned. "And . . . you don't know anyone named Wes?"

"No one."

"Ex-boyfriends? People from school?" he prodded.

"No!" Jen rolled her eyes, exasperated. "I swear, Adam, I've known anyone named Wes. But he seemed so real in the dream! I-I can't even picture him right now but . . . when I was asleep, and he was there, it was like . . . " she swallowed hard, almost nervously, blinking back the tears that had sprung to her eyes again, partially from frustration, and partially from the unexpected pain she felt when she spoke of the mysterious man.

"Like . . . what?"

I don't know. "Like . . . " she tried desperately to explain, "like he was someone important to me. I-I loved him." At Adam's startled expression, she continued: "At least, I did in the dream. I'm sure I did. And I knew I'd never see him again . . . I-I think he was dying, or going to, or something. Either way, I knew we'd never be together . . . I was crying . . . and . . . " she brought her hand, covering her eyes for a moment before wiping them furiously and gulping down the rest of her coffee.

"Maybe we should . . . go back to bed," Adam suggested.

Jen turned to him, forcing a smile on her face and running one hand up his muscular leg, chuckling slightly as he jerked in response to her fingers groping for him . . . "I think that's a good idea," she said, forcing the images out of her mind to focus on the handsome man now in front her.

With a low growl, Adam sprang forward and captured her mouth with his, knocking her back onto the couch and pinning her beneath his weight, his tongue finding it's way into her mouth and playing with her's teasingly, bringing a soft moan from her lips; he lowered himself and began to undo the string of her robe, his eyes already glazed over with passion. Jen watched him for a moment, then closed her eyes when she felt his hot breath on her stomach and the wetness of his mouth against her cool skin . . .

. . . "We've been through a lot together."

Her eyes flew open.

"We sure have . . . " Wes paused thoughtfully, then looked at her and spoke in earnest: "And I'm going to miss you."

She gasped slightly, but Adam wasn't alarmed, assuming her reaction was from his fingers now sliding under the waist of her pants and lower . . . Jen winced, not from physical pain, but from the dream . . . memory . . . whatever it was, now assaulting her.

"All of you," Wes amended, quickly, suddenly flushing a deep red. "I'm gonna miss . . . all of you."

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"So," Admiral Isaac Garcia finished, "in closing, this year the Federation has seen a significant drop in crime, and I think it's obvious we have the Captain here to thank for that---" he gestured to the black-haired, blue-eyed man seated at his left "---without him, Ransik would undoubtedly still be roaming the streets. A threat to all of us."

CPT Alex Drake averted his gaze from the eyes of everyone around the table that suddenly looked up to stare at him, inwardly, he groaned and cursed Garcia for even mentioning it; the battle he had fought with Ransik over a year ago had cost him dearly, though it was without question worth it to rid Silver City of the notorious mutant criminal. Still, he found his hand reaching for his bare wrist and wincing when he was forced to realize once again that his morpher was no longer there . . . as had his own health, the morpher had been damaged beyond repair during that battle; he and it were forced into inactive status, and so now he found himself sitting in a briefing room instead of on the streets fighting crime.

"That is all," Garcia concluded, "thank you for your time."

Alex rose with everyone else to salute the Admiral smartly, then turned on his heel and strode out of the stifling office, nearly colliding with the freckle-faced young woman who was hurrying by the door; recognition flashed between them, and he spoke before he could stop himself:

"Jennifer."

Jen turned to him slowly. "Alex . . . you look, uh, good."

"You, too." Had it really been ten months? Ten months since they'd broken off their engagement, on good terms, but nonetheless painful . . . it hadn't been too long after he captured Ransik and proposed to her outside the courthouse, they'd only been engaged for two months before things started falling apart; Jen's nightmares became more and more intense, and he was assaulted every night by a nightmare of her . . . her falling in love with another man. It became too much for them to bear, and they agreed to split; the pain had only increased when he discovered a mere three months later she was moving in with her new boyfriend, Time Force hotshot himself LT. Adam Phillips.

"What are you doing back in HQ?" he inquired, politely, falling into step beside her.

"I was told I've been reassigned," Jen explained, quickly, "my initial briefing is in---" she glanced at her watch "---an hour. In Major Logan's office."

Alex blinked in surprise. "Yours?"

"Yes." She eyed him warily. " . . . Why so surprised?"

"Because," Alex said, his calm voice hiding his shock, "I was told to report for that same briefing . . . "


. . . From a distance, a pair of green eyes watched the two converse and frowned deeply, retreating back into his office. "I still think it was a bad idea," he grumbled, "teaming up the originals again . . . what if they figure it out?" He spoke to the tall, brown-haired man seated behind an oak desk, who now shuffled through a pile of papers, looking entirely uninterested.

"They won't," he assured his fellow officer.

"How can you be so sure?"

"It's all been erased from the databanks . . . there's no evidence there was ever a mission to the Twenty-First Century, let alone that they were the ones to do it." He smirked arrogantly. "As far as they're concerned, there was a break-out at the prison and Ransik escaped, stole a the prison ship, and is only just now finding himself in a different millenia."

"And what about the Quantum Ranger? Jesus, Tom, what about Wesley Collins?"

The man behind the desk leveled the other officer with his sharp gaze.

"They won't find out," he snapped, "Wesley Collins died in a car accident in the year two thousand one . . . remember? As for Myers---" he shrugged "---we'll take care to make sure they don't run into him during their mission. They'll be briefed to stay clear of the locals anyway."

"Hell of a lot of good that did last time." The elderly Lieutenant groaned. "But what about when they meet Ransik? He knows the truth. And I can't help but worry they'll run into that--that Myers . . . and he'll confront them! It's not like we had the opportunity to er---"

"Keep your voice down!"

The Lieutenant flushed. "Sorry."

"The last thing we need is someone overhearing us, you know that."

"Y-Yes."

"Now . . . they will be chosen as the new Rangers, and sent on a mission back in time to recapture Ransik after his recent escape. There will be no rendezvous with an old teammate. They will expect Ransik to try to confuse them. Everything will be just fine, you'll see. They'll never find out . . .

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"No, please stop!"

9 . . .8 . . . 7

She cried out in protest, slamming her fists against the computer console before returning to the window, hardly able to see anything through her tears now; her voice cracked painfully as she spoke: "Wes, I-I wanna tell you something---"

"Jen," he interrupted her, calmly, "don't worry. Everything you've always wanted is waiting for you in the future."

"No, Wes, please! I-I want you to know that I---"

But the world dissolved around her at her words, the blond man's face suddenly twisting into a mask of agony and slowly crumbling to dust, his eyes dulling and his skin falling away till there was nothing left but a skeleton that crumbled to the ground a shattered . . . now she was gripping someone else's shoulders, pleading with him in that same heartbroken voice: "Tell us! What happened to Wes?"

For one moment, no one said a word. The Rangers around her resigned themselves to the horrible truth, tears now falling unashamedly from their eyes. But she refused to believe . . . no, not until he said it. She kept her deathgrip on the dark-haired man's broad shoulders, willing him to say the words she wanted to hear, knowing he wouldn't---couldn't:

"He didn't make it . . . "

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YEAR 2002

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The Commander of the Silver Guardians cursed softly to himself as he tripped jumping out of his SUV, his injured leg still dragging slightly, even a year later; but he ignored the nagging pain and continued on around to join the young Guardians surrounding the bank, his blaster already drawn and levelled on the door, where a masked man was holding a young woman by her throat, a .45 pressed to her temple.

"Drop the weapon and let go of the girl!" the commander shouted.

"Are you crazy?" the man said, incredulously, "hell no! Not 'till you can tell me I'm getting of here---"

"Oh, we'll get you out of here, all right."

"---free!" The gun was pressed even harder against the sobbing woman's head. "Unless you wanna have to clean up her brains once I spill 'em all over this nice floor."

Commander Eric Myers scowled, his eyes hardening as he replied, evenly: "You do that, and there won't be enough left of you for your own mother to identify the body!"

Behind the ski mask he wore, the robber's gray eyes widened slightly. "Y-You can't do that!" he stammered, "I have a hostage!" As if to remind them, he shoved the woman forward slightly, but still kept a firm grip on her neck. "I swear to God, man, I'll kill her!"

"I don't believe you," Eric sneered, "but even if I did . . . I'm here to protect this bank and it's assets! I can't let you go with that money." He nodded toward his own weapon. "You think I'll hesitate for one second to 'decorate' the floor with you? . . . You're wrong."

At that moment, the man's eyes drifted to the object strapped tightly around Myers' wrist, and once again his gray eyes widened in shock: Eric smirked knowingly, stealing himself a glance at the battered Quantum Morpher he still wore with pride. It was useless now, too damaged in that final battle for even Alan Collins' best scientists and mechanics to repair, but it was a memorial . . . a tribute . . . and he would never take it off.

It helps, he added to himself, that it's recognizable.

"Y-You're that . . . " the man's voice cracked, trailing off.

And with that, he lunged to the side in a desperate attempt to reach the corner of the building, where cover from the Guardians' blasters could be found . . . but he was far too slow; as soon as he moved, Eric squeezed the trigger of his blaster and the ray flashed out with unavoidable speed, the first one striking the woman's shoulder and causing her to lose her balance and fall, leaving her kidnapper open . . . Eric wasted no time sending another shot downrange, this time with the laser hitting it's target square in the chest even as the man raised his handgun to aim for him.

Blood immediately spurted from the wound and one shot rang out, the bullet flying harmlessly into the air, far above the heads of the Guardians; the woman screamed in pain and terror, but Eric walked by her and to his target, standing over the wheezing man silently. With a dispassionate gaze, he watched as the man took one last harsh breath and his eyes clouded over in death, his body shuddered once violently, then lay perfectly still on the red-stained concrete.

"He's dead," Eric announced, turning around to see the woman now lying on the ground, a Guardian bent over her.

"You shot me!" she gasped, her face white, "you b-bastard! You could've killed me!"

Eric gritted his teeth, his dark eyes flashing menacingly before he knelt down next to her and gripped her arm coldly, ignoring the way she cried out in pain and protest. "Listen here," he snapped, "this will heal---" he pressed a finger to her forehead, she whimpered with fright "---this won't." Without another word, he dropped her arm and stood up, walking away hastily, knowing the situation was under control; he had reached his vehicle before he spotted the crowd and heard the flashes from their cameras, then came the voices:

"Commander Myers, you've been criticized in the past for your cold----"

"Myers, you just shot an innocent----"

"It's been one year since your partner's----"

"Myers, how do you feel one year---"

He slammed the door shut, blocking out the sounds around him as he started up the engine and backed out of the parking lot, watching the reporters scurry to get out of his way. How do I feel? He smirked, shifting gears and driving off onto the highway. I don't feel . . . not anymore . . .

TBC

***

I hope you liked it, there's still 5 more chapters if anyone's interested!

[BLANKS]

I remember this from ff.net. Got a kick out of it; defiantly a different norm on the TF Rangers.:023:

[white time ranger]

nice to see you around again, Sierra. ;) as always, a wonderful read! I always enjoy reading things twice. (this is White Time Ranger from ff.net)

[Sierra]

CHAPTER TWO

"As you all well know by now, twenty-four hours ago, there was an assault on the maximum-security prison located in Delta Sector Five. Ransik managed to escape. Undoubtedly, with the help of his daughter Nadira, and perhaps his servant, the robot known as Frax. Either way, they retrieved the time travel device and managed to program it into the prison ship's data, then proceeded to transport themselves into the year two thousand two. Obviously, there is no Time Force organization that far back, and therefore he must believe it will be easy to gain control---perhaps altering our lives without us even knowing it.

"The five of you have been selected based on your performance on and off the field of battle during your years of service. There has not been a team of Rangers in hundreds of years, but now is the time to renew that old tradition, by asking you to join the ranks of the most revered warriors in our history---such as Tommy Oliver, and Andros the Space Ranger. Battling Ransik is an incredible feat, as some of you already know, and is nearly---though not entirely---impossible to defeat him single-handedly; it is our hope you will learn to cooperate as a team, and bring in this mutant quickly, without further damage."

Jen Scotts, Katie Walker, Trip Regis, Lucas Kendall, Adam Phillips, and Alex Drake were lined up side-by-side along the table, staring at the officer before them with obvious shock in their eyes; Major Logan nodded slowly, as if to enforce his earlier words and convince them he was, indeed, telling them the truth. They continued to stare at him in amazement, but he went on:

"Specialist Trip Regis, you have been selected to be the Green Chrono Ranger. You will also be in charge of the health of the other Rangers, as medic of the team. Hopefully, there won't be any need for your services, but with your prior training, we know you're more than capable of handling it."

Trip took a breath and held it as the morpher was placed on his wrist, the light reflecting off it's metal and glittering in his eyes. "Th-thank you, sir," he stammered, "you can count on me."

"Specialist Katie Walker, you are now the Yellow Chrono Ranger. You are also given the position of armorer, in charge of maintaining the team's weapon arsenal and making sure everything is working properly; I need not tell you how critical your job is, you will need your equipment in perfect running condition to accomplish your mission."

Katie nodded sharply, confidently, slapping the morpher onto her wrist herself and saluting the Major. "The equipment will be ready twenty-four seven, sir. Guaranteed."

"Lieutenant Lucas Kendall . . . the Blue Chrono Ranger. You are the team's pilot. You have been given the helm to the timeship and the coordinates will be transferred to you immediately, as well as some of the basic structure of the ship, including a new cloaking device designed to keep it hidden while you are in the past."

Lucas looked down at the morpher and studied it for a moment before returning the Major's stare, his voice clear as ever: "I'll get us there just fine, Major, no worries."

Finally, Major Logan turned and faced Jen, who watched him carefully as he spoke: "Lieutenant Jennifer Scotts, you are the Pink Chrono Ranger. Second-in-command of the team, you must make sure everyone is pulling their own weight accordingly; if anyone is slacking off, as an officer, you know how to handle it. As I said, you are the second, and you will be relied upon heavily by your only superior . . . a team cannot function without a proper chain-of-command."

"Understood, sir," Jen said, softly.

Alex and Adam exchanged glances as the Major came to them, meeting one another for the first time face-to-face. Fantastic, Alex thought to himself, sarcastically, my first mission in over a year . . . and I'm teamed up with my ex-fiancee and her new boyfriend! But he kept his face perfectly impassive, saluting the Major and listening intently:

"Captain Alex Drake, you are the leader of this team. Unfortunately, your Red Chrono Morpher was not repairable after your last encounter with Ransik . . . but Time Force has managed to design a new one." Logan didn't miss the glimmer of hope in the young officer's blue eyes. "You are, once again, the Red Chrono Ranger. Granted, we didn't have as much time to finish this morpher, so it is not as sophisticated as your last one---but it will protect you, and serve it's purpose. And I expect you to."

Before Alex could even open his mouth to reply, the Major was speaking again:

"Lieutenant Adam Phillips, you are in the same position as Drake is, I'm afraid. But while your morpher is not nearly as advanced as the others', just as I told Drake, you will find it very helpful to you, and I've no doubt you will fulfill your duties with it honorably. You are now . . . the Black Chrono Ranger."

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YEAR 2002

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Eric awoke to the persistant sound of his alarm clock buzzing wildly only inches from his face, with a startled grunt, he reached out and slapped the offending machine off the table, it hit the floor with a thud and was finally silenced, leaving him in the quiet of his dark bedroom; the sun had yet to rise, but he knew he had only an hour till his shift began. There was a time, he reflected, when he rose hours before the sun did, went for a run, then got to work energized and ready for the day . . . quit bitching, he scolded himself, swinging his legs over the side of his bed and sitting still for a moment.

He didn't need to look to know, but nevertheless he found his eyes drawn to the calendar hanging on his wall on the opposite side of the room: The days past had been crossed over in black ink, leaving only one day left . . . October 31st, 2002. Halloween. One year later. He grimaced as he stood and the familiar pinch made itself known in his upper leg, the doctors his employer had called upon to treat him insisted they could make the leg good as knew with a few minor surgeries, but he had stubbornly refused.

He gave his life. I can stand this much.

The high-pitched sound from his phone caused him to jerk in surprise, but he ignored the shrill ringing and went on to the kitchen, rummaging through his near-bare cupboard till he found the half-empty box of cereal left there and quickly rinsed out a bowl he'd left in the sink the night before; his answering machine beeped for a moment, then Alan Collins' voice came through:

"Eric, it's me . . . listen, we both know what today is and I---well, I was wondering if you'd like to go with me to the cemetery later."

"So we can remind ourselves why he died?" Eric wondered aloud, pouring the cereal into a bowl, then cursing when he discovered the refrigerator was empty.

"I know a part of you still blames yourself for this, but I know there was nothing you . . . any of us could've done." A long pause. "Anyway, I'll be down there around ten. I hope to see you." The line went dead, and once again there was silence.

Eric plopped himself down on his tattered couch and began methodically shoveling the dry cereal into his mouth, barely noticing the stale taste, his eyes now glued to the blank television screen; the clock in the other room chimed cheerfully, announcing it was six o'clock, and he knew the morning news would be coming on. Just as he knew what their top story would be. Suddenly losing his appetite, he set the bowl on the coffee table in front of him and leaned back, closing his eyes . . .

"No! No . . . I'm going with you." He struggled to sit up, disgusted with himself when he felt the sharp pain begin at his abdomen and shoot up through his chest, causing him to cry out and fall back into Collins' arms. Instantly, he felt his friend's hands on him and saw Wes' concerned face as he spoke softly:

"Eric, don't worry . . . I've got it from here."

Eric opened his eyes quickly, certain he would find himself laying in the middle of a destroyed city, flames shooting up as explosions ripped through it, the smoke thick in the air and suffocating . . . but he was still sitting in his living room, far from the dangers of that day. He sighed, grasping the remote stuffed between the cushions of the couch and turning on the TV; a woman's voice slowly raised in volume, till he could make out her words:

"Today marks the one year anniversary of the death of Wesley Collins, son of business tycoon Alan Collins' and heir to the mult-billion dollar business, Bio-Lab. Collins, who was later revealed by his father to be the Red Ranger, was the only Ranger seen that day, Quantum Ranger Eric Myers was recuperating in a hospital at the time of his death, and it is assumed the other four were killed earlier . . . "

Eric winced as she mentioned his time spent in the hospital, while Wes was out fighting, he had been lying flat on his back, completely helpless; Collins had sat with him for hours as they waited for news, they waited for hours . . . then a day . . . before a Guardian had finally appeared in the doorway and gestured for Collins to join him outside. They had exchanged hushed words, and Eric had watched sympathetically as Collins broke down in tears and folded into the Guardian's arms, unable to control the overwhelming grief that had washed over him . . . Eric had known instantly.

Gritting his teeth, he pushed himself off the couch and stalked back into the kitchen, grabbing the only thing left in his refrigerator and downing the beer in a few, long swalllows; shaking his head quickly to clear his suddenly blurry vision, he set the can down and went into his bedroom to quickly toss on his uniform before heading out the door. The reporter's words still echoed in his mind as he got into his SUV and started the drive into the city . . . "It is assumed the other four were killed earlier . . . " he cursed again, gripping the steering wheel still his knuckles paled.

Killed! They didn't even stick around long enough to . . . they abandoned him. Anger seemed to tint his vision red as he drove on, entering the city and finding himself surrounded by the traffic within, a year later, Silver Hills was almost completely restored, but there were still remnants of the devastating battle . . . posters of loved ones who had been killed were past on trees and fences, flowers placed below them in tribute . . . in one section, all the debris that had landed there was kept in place, and a portrait of Wes was placed amidst it. It was clear that a year later, residents of the once blooming city had not forgotten . . .

And neither would Eric.

---------------------------------

Alan Collins slowly emerged from the black limo and hesitated once he stood outside in front of the cemetery gate, the cold October wind found it's way past his heavy jacket and he shivered, wrapping his arms around himself before continuing on through the gate; he could have walked blinded, after so many visits he knew the way to his son's grave as well as he knew his way around his own house. Tears stung his eyes as the headstone came into view, and he felt his body begin to tremble, a sickness settling in the pit of his stomach as it always did when he was reminded of . . .

He nearly fell to his knees at the grave, but somehow managed to brace himself and sit slowly on the moist ground, now face-to-face with the stone that bore his only son's name; he blinked back the tears, but they slipped through and fell down his wrinkled cheeks as he raised his hand and placed it on the marker, once again reading the words inscribed:

WESLEY COLLINS

1981-2001

He Made His Own Destiny

"Wes," he choked, fighting down the sobs he felt threatening to rack through his body. "Dear God, son . . . I'm so sorry." He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, unable to force away the images of his young son that passed through his mind . . .

Wes learning how to walk on unsteady legs, giggling and squealing the whole way . . .

Wes' first day of school, looking ridiculous in the little black suit and tie, but so proud as he boarded the schoolbus and waved goodbye . . .

Then, more painful memories surfaced, for Collins was well aware that his relationship with his son hadn't always been good . . .

Wes' high school graduation, the graduation he had missed for a business conference in Switzerland . . .

Wes coming into the house late one night after partying with his friends, the alcohol reeking from his breath . . .

Wes' face as he left his father, and his home, behind . . .

"I'm so proud of you, Wesley," he whispered.

He watched as his son and Eric clasped hands firmly, nodding to one another in silent understanding . . . then Wes turned his bright blue eyes on him, opening his mouth as if to say something. No . . . don't you dare say goodbye, Collins ordered, silently. Instead, he placed his hand on Wes' shoulder, somehow managing to keep his voice steady and confident:

"Go get 'em, son . . . "

That was the last time he'd ever seen his son. A sob escaped from Collins' body and doubled him over, remembering the anxious time he spent at Eric's bedside in the hospital, hoping against hope that Wes would walk in with that goofy smile on his face and announce that everything was taken care of . . . that everything was fine. But it hadn't happened that way.

"Mr. Collins?"

Both Eric and Collins looked up quickly at the sound of the unfamiliar voice coming from the doorway, an exhausted young Silver Guardian stood there, fiddling with his hands uncomfortably, his eyes unable to meet theirs. "Yes?" Collins questioned, his stomach twisting sickeningly. God, no . . . please . . .

"Would you come out here for a second, sir?"

"Of course." Hesitantly, Collins stood and followed the Guardian out the door and around the corner, then listened as the young man---hardly older than Wes, he noted---tried to speak, his voice cracking as he related the events:

"Your son, sir . . . "
--------------------------------

"The databanks report that Ransik first appeared in Silver Hills in the latter half of the year two thousand two," Trip reported, his eyes never leaving the computer scanner he sat in front of; "by the old Julian Calendar . . . November third." He finally rested back, looking over his shoulder to where Jen, Adam, and Alex leaned against the wall, staring at him. "So I suggest we try to arrive before that. Maybe find and capture him before he can do any damage."

"I agree," Alex said, "let Lucas know to patch in a course for the first of November, two thousand two. That'll give us a couple extra days, at least."

Jen frowned. "Not long . . . "

"We don't want to stay in the past for long," Adam reminded her, "the longer we're there . . . the bigger the chances are that we'll be discovered, and even minor meetings could impact the timeline."

"Which is why," Alex spoke up, "we're not to speak to any of the natives." He paused. "More than likely, if there's an attack . . . the Silver Guardians will arrive on the scene, so there's no way of avoiding that. But we can't interact with any of them."

"Silver Guardians . . . " Jen rolled the words over her tongue, thinking for a moment: "That was the organization created by Alan Collins, wasn't it? They're considered the first branch of Time Force."

"Correct," Alex said, "when Collins died, the commander of the Guardians at the time took over and began training them more as a military unit rather than police one." With a thoughtful look, he leaned over and typed on the keyboard of Trip's computer, waiting momentarily while the machine hummed, then the screen flickered to life with the picture of a young, handsome man of Asian descent, clad in a black uniform and a red beret. "Ah yes . . . Eric Myers," Alex said, "ex-Army Ranger, he was the one to take the Guardians to the next level."

"Do you think he'll give us any trouble?" Adam questioned.

But Alex was lost in his world, scanning through the information quickly, absorbing it . . . "It says here," he said, softly, "that he was the Quantum Ranger. The morpher was designed by Bio-Lab technicians." He looked up. "Bio-Lab was another company owned by Collins."

"He's a Ranger?" Trip gasped, his eyes drawn to the new image: Now of a red and black uniform over a muscular body. "The Quantum Ranger . . . funny, I don't remember hearing anything about him in history class."

"Neither do I," Jen commented, frowning again.

Adam shook his head, impatiently. "More importantly," he said, "what will happen when we go back there and have to face this . . . 'Quantum Ranger'? I mean, he's obviously gonna want to know who we are."

"We just won't answer him," Alex said, calmly, "we don't have to. Of course he'll be suspicious . . . but that's not important." He tapped a button, and the screen turned black. "We just need to focus on getting Ransik back here, as quickly and as safely as we can . . . I think that's enough for now, go on home and we'll pick up where we left off before our briefing tomorrow morning. Dismissed."

He watched as Adam took Jen's arm with a light touch and they walked out of the room side-by-side, murmuring to one another . . . probably talking about the mission, he tried to convince himself, but the thought didn't do much to ease his mind. With a discontent mumble, he gathered his gear together and followed everyone else out into the hallway, heading for Logan's office; the hushed voices from within the room meant little to him . . . just some meeting, probably. But a quickly muttered statement caught his attention as he opened the door---

"---careful the Rangers don't find out. Who knows what could hap---" the unknown officer cut off abruptly when Alex stepped inside, and Logan rose quickly to extend his hand to his old friend.

"Drake, sit down," he instructed, "how's the mission coming along?"

Alex hesitated, then cleared his throat and sat down. "So far, so good," he said, "everyone knows what has to be done, and I'm confident in their abilities. Time Force chose wisely for a team."

"I agree," Logan said, "I've seen you work together before . . . oh, Alex, this is Lieutenant Commander Jessup."

"Sir," Alex said, curtly, nodding to the officer.

"Rob's told me all about you, Drake," Jessup said, conversationally, "your reputation precedes you."

And what do you say to that? Alex nodded slightly, then turned back to Logan: "Anyway, I just wanted to drop off these papers from the briefing, so you could look them over. We'll be leaving tomorrow for the mission."

"Excellent," Logan said, rising with Alex and shaking his hand again, "good luck."

TBC

[Blue Shadow]

This is so cool, I've been looking for this fic on all the boards I've been on wanting to read the next part lol, I'm so glad you posted it here because its way cool.

[Sierra]

CHAPTER THREE

-----

"Eric!"

Eric's head snapped up with alarm at the sound of Alan Collins' startled voice, finding him standing in the office doorway, his face smudged with dirt and his suit tattered; Eric leapt to his feet, rushing over to his employer in a few steps: "Damn, what the hell happened?" he demanded, as a cold feeling of dread settled into his stomach.

"They're back!" Collins gasped, his eyes wide with horror, "dear God, they're back . . . we thought they were gone . . . gone . . . " he was beginning to mumble incoherently, and instinctively Eric took him by the arm and led him over to a chair.

"Sit down, take it easy," he instructed, "tell me what happened----Jones!" The Guardian passing his office froze. "Get Mr. Collins a glass of water." Once the young man hurried away, Eric leaned in close, trying to make Collins' meet his eyes. "What are you talking about? Who's back?" And don't let it be who I think it is.

"R-Ransik . . . " the words were uttered so soft Eric had to strain to hear them.

And then Eric heard it: The screams from outside the building, followed by the all-too-familiar sounds of explosions and an insane sort of laugh, in the form of a robotic, high-pitched voice. His blood ran cold. Color drained from his face. It can't be! he tried to convince himself even as the glass of his office window shattered and a cyclobot jumped through. They're gone! Wes defeated them! But there was no more time for disbelief, Collins jumped out of his seat and moved aside quickly, giving him room to attack the cyclobot, a sharp kick delivered to it's chest rendered it useless, but it was soon replaced by more.

It was just like before. The swarms of cyclobots, Frax's crazy laugh, Ransik sending cars flying into the car and buildings crumbling to the ground with earth-shattering explosions replaced by raging fires. Eric shuddered as he smashed his fist into a cyclobot's face, blood suddenly spurting from his knuckles, he ignored it and turned back to Collins, grabbing him once again; without a word, he half-dragged the dazed man from his office and out into the hall, only to discover it was now a scene of chaos. Guardians battling back cyclobots while the innocent civilians who had been there for minor traffic violations or something else like that, now huddled in dark corners in attempts to shield themselves from the horror still fresh in their minds from a year ago.

Something to his left caught Eric's eye, he whirled around, simultaneously drawing his blaster, just in time to pull the trigger and send a laser beam straight into a charging cyclobot; another Guardian ran over and grabbed Collins' other arm to steady him, Eric glanced at her, barking out orders: "Get Collins to safety now! Davis, get a perimeter set up around the building!" He scanned the room for more capable leaders. "Gray, get a patrol together and into the city! We need to get there before too much damage is done!"

They leapt into action, and so did he, racing for and out the door to once again see his home look like a scene out of the Apocalypse; he cringed, flinching when another explain shook the ground beneath him, but he knew he couldn't afford to let it sink in . . . not yet. "Damn it," he muttered, glancing down at his useless morpher. If only.

Determined not to dwell on the past anymore, he gritted his teeth and ran for his SUV, hopping in and taking off down the dangerous street, now crowded with terrified civilians in and out of their own vehicles, desperately trying to flee the city; they all knew what was happening, had been through it before, and had no desire to stick around and see it happen again. But Eric continued on, in the opposite direction of everyone else, further and further into the city---into the city that had transformed itself into a battleground; he gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to release the tension that kept him stiff and was beginning to make him ache.

"Shit!"

The word barely got out before he plowed into the overturned car in front of him, and the heavy SUV was soon flipping over, landing upside-down on the other side; Eric cursed again, blood seeping into his eyes from a head wound, his breathing restricted by the seatbelt pressing against him. Frustrated and now in pain, he reached for the buckle . . . only to find it stuck in place, he wiggled it a little more frantically, but it stayed in place, bent during the crash.

"Goddamn it!" he swore, looking around . . . the glass in the vehicle was shattered from the impact, and all around him he could see other cars crashed on or around the road. There must be something up ahead, he thought, nervously. Twisting around painfully, forcing his neck into an unnatural angle, he looked through the broken windshield, briefly wondering which way he was facing . . . but it didn't matter, he soon realized, catching sight of a tall golden figure following the shape of a broad man dressed in black, his face horribly disfigured.

"Ransik!" he shouted, pounding his fist against the glass, sticking pieces of it into his palm. He didn't notice. His attention was focused solely on the man he hated so much, the man---if you could even call him that!---who had taken away everything he had dared care about; his morpher that he had worked so hard for, his own health, and . . . he winced now, the pain in his chest from the belt growing stronger. He struggled some more with the buckle, knowing his attempts would be futile, and just as clearly knowing no one outside his vehicle would dare face Ransik and Frax to help him.

Well, at least there's no . . . he froze in mid-thought, suddenly hearing the liquid dropping and seeing a little river of gasoline running down the road, right toward a car that was engulfed in flames.

"No, no, no---" he muttered, shaking the buckle furiously. "Open!" Shaking his head, he patted himself down hastily for something sharp, a knife or scissors . . . anything! But he hadn't thought to grab the knife he usually carried with him when he rushed Collins out of his office. Brilliant, Myers, he scolded himself, the one time you need it! With a growing feeling of despair, he tried again to pry the buckle free, then to slip himself out from under it . . . it was too tight, and breathing was becoming more and more difficult.

"Anyone in there?"

He stopped. That voice . . . no, it couldn't be. Impossible! He went on, ignoring the sound, certain he was imagining it all, losing his mind in the midst of the chaos.

But it returned. This time, with a body to go with it.

To his utter surprise, the Red Chrono Ranger lay on his belly on the opposite side of the vehicle, his face covered by a familiar helmet, a white gloved hand reaching inside for him. "Give me your hand, I'll pull you out!"

Eric stared at him in numb shock, unable to move or speak even as the Red Ranger continued to reach for him, daring to crawl further in, onto the glass that covered the interior. "Are you hurt?" he was now asking, in that same voice. Wes . . . Eric blinked slowly, wondering if the person would disappear when he opened his eyes . . . but no, when he did, Wes was still there, urging him on.

"I can't," Eric finally managed to speak, "the belt . . . it's stuck." Slowly, his thoughts returned to him. "You got something sharp? I can cut it."

"Something sharp?"

He could almost imagine the dubious look on Wes' face beneath the helmet, and in his mind he heard the young man's words: "Yeah, Eric . . . I'm hiding a machete beneath this baggy suit!" He smiled slightly, and then heard Wes' real voice: "This definitely isn't funny! No, I don't have . . . " his voice trailed off. "The glass!" Moving quickly, he scurried inside even further and rummaged through the debris for a good sized piece, then grabbed the belt pressed so tightly against Eric, beginning to saw at it.

"Wes," Eric said, urgently, "there's gas leaking, once it reaches that car . . . "

"I saw it."

Still, he continued to work.

"No," Eric insisted, "let me get it . . . no point in both of us going up in flames."

"I can get it easier from over here."

"Wes---!"

"I'm not Wes!" the Ranger's voice rose slightly, "I don't know who he is, but it's not me. Now hold still so I can get you out of here."

He went on with his task, but Eric fell silent, crushed by the reality that had overcome him . . . you knew it couldn't be him. Don't be stupid. It's your own fault for hoping . . . but he knew without a doubt whose voice was behind that mask, he'd never forget the voice of the man he---he jerked his attention to outside the vehicle as a roaring sound erupted from the car the gas was trailing to, sparks fell to the ground, and ignited on the pool.

"Whoever you are," he said, gruffly, "you'd better hurry the hell up!"

"Done!"

But he was too late. As he spoke, the flames reached the SUV and it exploded into flames, the Ranger threw his body over Eric's to shield him, his suit protection enough from the searing heat; Eric felt the flames lick at his uniform, catching and beginning to burn down to his skin as the Ranger suddenly grabbed him and pulled him across the seats, and to safety. He heard voices . . . familiar voices . . . but struggled to open his eyes, now sore from exposure to the fire; the voices continued around him, and a female voice rose above the rest:

"What were you thinking? You could've been killed!"

He knew that voice. He knew it far too well.

"You bitch!"

Eric jumped from the ground and stalked toward the startled Pink Ranger, his bloody hands clenched into fists, he was almost within reach when the Red Ranger grabbed him from behind and whirled him around. "You should get out of here," he said, firmly, "it's not safe."

"No shit it's not safe!" Eric snapped, "and no thanks to all of you!" He glared back at the Rangers, pausing only briefly to wonder who the black one was; then he looked to the Red Ranger: "I don't know who the hell you are, but you've got some explaining to do when this shit is over!"

"We don't owe you any explanation," Jen said, defensively.

"Let's go, guys," Katie suggested.

"That's right," Eric shot back, "just run away like you've always done! Too chickenshit to stick around fight!" He spat the words out at them as they grouped together and ran off . . . vaguely noticing that they were running toward Ransik and Frax. It doesn't matter, he told himself, bitterly, they weren't here when it counted.

Then he heard another explosion from behind, and was forced back into harsh, cold reality . . .

---------------------------------------------------------

Jen sank down on the sand and leaned up against the side of the cliff overlooking the beach, she rubbed her sore arms tenderly, suddenly wishing she had kept more active; since Alex had taken Ransik down over a year ago, there had been little crime, and her body wasn't accustomed to battle anymore. Glancing around the group, she noted with some satisfaction that it seemed to be the case for all of them.

"Good job today," Adam spoke up.

"We didn't even get close to Ransik," Lucas countered, "or Frax. We've been here two days and no luck." He squatted next to Jen. "And that Silver Guardian . . . what was with him anyway?"

Jen shrugged. "Who knows? He sure seemed to know us though." She frowned, her eyes scanning for a moment before spotting Alex standing a ways off, facing the ocean. "Alex---were there any indications of a team of Rangers during this time? Something that would explain Myers' . . . reaction."

"No." Slowly, Alex turned to face his team. "There was nothing about a team. He shouldn't have recognized us at all." He hesitated. "It's late, let's head into the ship and get some sleep."

With nods of agreement, they rose and entered the timeship, which Alex briefly decloaked so they could see it, then once again raised the shield over them; it was a small, cramped space for six people to sleep, but they still held out hope they wouldn't need to for very long. Katie and Trip stretched out on the floor side-by-side, while Lucas plopped down in the driver's seat and was soon snoring peacefully; Alex had stayed outside for a while longer, so Jen and Adam were left alone.

"You were awesome today," he assured her, placing a kiss on her forehead, "I've never gotten to see you fight before. I'm impressed."

"You weren't bad yourself," she teased, softly, returning his kiss with one of her own on his lips. "Too bad we didn't get a chance to face Ransik."

"We will," Adam replied, "he can't stay hidden forever. Eventually, he'll make an appearance, then we'll get him."

"Yeah . . . "

He watched her shiver, and wrapped his arms around her protectively. "How're you holding up, babe?" he asked, quietly, closing his eyes and resting his chin atop her head, which now was pressed to his chest.

"I'm fine."

He winced. "I didn't mean about the mission, Jen."

He felt her sigh against him, and this time when she spoke, there was a note of insecurity in her voice: "I'm okay, Adam, really . . . it's just weird. Being with him again."

Weird. That's reasonable enough, they were engaged, of course she's feeling kind of awkward. "I know this has gotta be hard on you," he admitted. But is it just because of the break-up, Jen? Or because you still love him? He thrust the unbidden thoughts from his mind. "Things'll be back to normal soon enough."

"I'm sure they will---" she pulled back, smiling up at him "---I think I'm gonna get some air for a little while longer, it's been a crazy day, but I'm not too tired."

"Okay." He tried not to think about her and Alex on the beach alone. "I'm gonna turn in . . . this Ranger shit wore me out." He grinned, kissing her again. "Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight," she mumbled, her voice tinged with fatigue.

As she headed for the exit, Adam lowered himself to the ship's floor and curled up next to the pilot's console, trying to will himself to sleep, only to be continuously bombarded with images of the woman he was slowly falling in love with outside with her ex-fiance. It's Jen, he tod himself, you know she'd never do anything . . . she doesn't love him anymore. She's the one who ended their engagement, after all!

Somehow, that thought didn't help much.

--------------------------------------

Collins rushed up to the receptionist's desk at the hospital, his face pale with the terror from the day, he was still shaking, much to his own disgust. "Excuse me," he spoke, urgently to the redheaded woman behind the desk, "is there some way for me to check to see if a friend of mine has been admitted here . . . " He glanced at her nametape. "Cassandra?"

"Sure," Cassanda replied, "as long they were conscious, or had someone with them to supply a name." She typed something into her computer. "Name?"

"Eric Myers."

She blinked, clearly recognizing the name, she continued to type, then said: "No, he isn't . . . oh wait, yes. He checked himself in briefly this afternoon for minor injuries, and left an hour later."

"Oh, thank God . . . " Collins breathed, "and thank you. Thank you very much!"

He quickly turned and hurried out of the hospital to where Phillips was waiting by the car, his aging face lined with concern: "Master Collins . . . ?"

"He's all right," Collins said, "checked in a little while ago with only minor injuries."

"Excellent news," Phillips said, his voice betraying the coolness of his words as he rushed around to get in the driver's seat. "Would you like to stop by his house, sir? Perhaps that's where he is."

They had already stopped by three times in the past two hours, but Collins nodded slowly, leaning against the car door and resting his aching head against the window; the day had seemed to drag on forever, between the frantic escape from the downtown attacks, to searching for Eric the entire evening . . . and it was still only nine o'clock. Collins sighed self-indulgently, rubbing the space between his eyes with his two fingers, desperately trying to rid himself of the migraine that had been plaguing him for hours.

"There's some aspirin in the drawer back there, sir," Phillips suggested.

But Collins didn't hear him, too distracted by the sights of the city surrounding them, once again in ruins from the devastating attacks, brief as they may have been; fires still raged on dangerously, while servicemen and women from the Fire Dept. fought them courageously, other buildings were on the verge of collapse, debris scattered around them. National Guardsmen patroled the streets for looters, the lowest of the scum, the ones who would take advantage of such a horrible time to steal from the helpless.

"I can't believe it," he whispered.

They were silent the rest of the drive, but Collins couldn't restrain the strangled cry that escaped from his lips as they drove into the neighborhood where Eric still lived, despite having saved enough money for a more respectable home. Now the area looked even worse than usual, and even worse than the rest of the city! The house next to Eric's was crushed, the roof having caved in, and Collins cringed when he realized it was the home of the little girl Eric had once spoken of with fondness . . . he prayed she and her family had escaped before.

They pulled into the short driveway and Collins got out, heading into the small ranch house, already calling Eric's name with as much worry as he would've had he been calling for his own son. Just like you did, a year ago . . . he shuddered, going into the living room and scanning it anxiously: It had definitely been entered, and not by welcome guests. The windows were shattered, the TV sparking with electricity from the exposed wires, the couch shredded . . . but no sign of Eric.

"Eric?"

Then he heard it. The faint sounds of a man's harsh breaths, he followed them, his heart tugging painfully as he realized it could only be one person; and he found Eric sitting on the floor of his bedroom, his arms at his sides, his head hanging so his chin was at his chest. But he slowly looked up when he heard Collins' arrival, his dark eyes dull with exhaustion . . . and defeat.

"My god," Collins whispered, "Eric."

"I thought he was Wes . . . " Eric's voice cracked slightly, but his eyes were dry.

Collins frowned, the name of his only son sending a shooting pain through him. "What?"

"The Rangers . . . they're back."

The Rangers. Instantly, a flash of cold fury overtook him, and Collins had to grit his teeth to keep from lashing out at the only target had: Eric. He knew the former Quantum Ranger felt the same way he did about the team that had abandoned his son when he needed them the most. "Y-You saw them?" he said, hoarsely.

"The Red one got me out . . . " Eric muttered, "I thought he was Wes . . . it was his voice, I know it was!" His eyes were still distant, as if he were still somewhere else. "But it didn't know me . . . he didn't know me . . . "

---------------------------------------------

"Hey there."

Alex turned at the sound of her voice and smiled slightly, gesturing for her to sit down next to him on the sand, then looking back at the ocean, mesmorized by it's beauty, the way the moon reflected off the water; Jen did sit down, her own eyes staring at him rather than the beauty before them. Something's wrong, she knew without having to ask. The dark circles under his pale eyes that were now so deeply troubled by something he was unwilling to announce to the rest of them, but perhaps she could . . .

"What's wrong, Alex?"

He smirked. "You wouldn't believe me if I said 'nothing', would you?"

"Not a chance."

Now he chuckled, but the sound didn't seem genuine to her. "I guess there's no point in lying then," he sighed, "it's just . . . what happened earlier today."

"You mean when you pulled Myers from that vehicle?" There was an edge to her voice, she had argued with him against the idea of going inside the vehicle, knowing full well it was on the verge of exploding.

"Yeah, that . . . " Alex looked down, his hands working together as he always did when he was thinking. "He thought I was someone else. He recognized my suit and . . . called me by name."

Jen blinked. "He knew your name?"

"No. Not mine."

"Then . . . "

"He called me something else." He looked up again at the sea, then to Jen, his confusion evident on his face. "It was like he was certain he knew who I was, Jennifer, there was no doubt in his mind. But he shouldn't have . . . shouldn't have ever seen this suit before!" He shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense."

It sure doesn't. But then, what has lately?

Now even more curious than before, Jen asked: "What was it? What was the name?"

Alex paused, taking a few breaths before uttering the words that would shock her and change her completely in only one second . . .

"Wes. He called me Wes."

TBC

[Blue Shadow]

wow, this is awsome, I can't wait to read the next part

[Sierra]

CHAPTER FOUR

----------------

"Wes. He called me Wes."

"It's Wes, by the way."

She stopped in mid-stride, still clutching the container holding the newly-captured mutant within it, letting out a small sigh, she turned to face him. "What is?" she questioned, raising a thin brow impatiently. I just agreed to let you keep the morpher . . . don't push your luck.

"My name." Again, that charming smile. "I just realized we never really introduced ourselves. So, without further adeu---" he stepped forward and extended one smooth hand in a friendly gesture "---I'm Wes Collins." His blue eyes implored her to take his hand, more of a gesture of friendship than a greeting, something she well aware of.

I can't be his friend! His face . . . she shuddered, wishing she wasn't holding the container so she could wrap her arms around herself protectively, and wishing there was some way to avoid being under his curious gaze. "I-I'm Jen," she stammered, "I guess you already knew that but---anyway, yeah. Jen Scotts."

His eyes lowered to her hand, and his voice took on a soft tone: "Umm . . . so I know this must be strange for you. But I'm hoping maybe we could . . . " he cleared his throat, suddenly not the stubborn and selfish boy she'd seen only hours before. Suddenly, he seemed much more insecure than she'd realized, and she saw the want . . . the need . . . to have a friend deep within those dancing eyes.

"It is strange," she admitted, "but we're a team now." She forced a smile to her face. "And I'm beginning to think maybe you're not so bad after all . . . Wes."

His glowing smile was all it took for her to realize that what she had just said, really was the truth . . .
"Jen? Jennifer? Are you okay?"

Alex was squatting in front of her now, his hands on her shoulders and shaking her gently but urgently, worry written all over his face; Jen smiled unsteadily, finding her voice weak. "Y-Yes," she stammered, "I mean . . . I'm just, uh, confused."

"We all are---"

"No, it's not the same," Jen cut him off, "that name . . . " she shuddered, suddenly feeling cold. Why do I feel like this beach is so familiar? Looking around, she could almost swear she'd been beneath the rocks of the cliff overlooking the Pacific, feeling the sand between her toes and the fresh ocean breeze against her face . . . but it was impossible.

Wasn't it?

"What do you mean?" Alex questioned.

"Listen, Alex," Jen said, slowly, "this might sound kind of crazy . . . but, well, for the past few months, I've been having these dreams. Or nightmares. Memories, I'm not sure. I-I just had one, when you said that name." She shook her head, trying to work through it in her mind. "But no matter what happens in them, there's always one thing that stays the same . . . "

After a moment of silence, Alex pressed her on: "What is it?"

"There's a man," Jen said, her voice growing quiet, "I can never remember his face when I wake up---but he had blond hair, and he was built like you. His name was . . . Wes."

For a moment, Alex was silent, allowing her words to take meaning. "Jennifer," he said, slowly, "that doesn't necessarily mean anything, really. I mean---"

"No, Alex," she said, quickly, "there's more." She swallowed. "I told you I had a flashback, or whatever, when you said his name . . . but this time was different. I remember his face now." She closed her eyes, shivers running down her spine as the face flashed before her in the darkness . . . an easy smile, flushed cheeks, carefully carefree blond locks . . . "He looked like you, Alex. Exactly like you. Except for his hair."

"That . . . that doesn't make any sense."

"Well, what does at this point?" she spoke harsher than she'd intended, but didn't stop to care. "All I know is, there's no denying it anymore! This person . . . whoever he is . . . he's real. And I knew him, he meant something to me, even if I don't know what it is anymore." She turned tear-filled eyes to Alex, who met them with his own, now filled with confusion. "But now it seems like I'm not the only one who knows---or knew---this Wes."

"If he looked like me," Alex said, softly, "chances are, he sounded like me, too---"

"---Myers heard your voice---"

"---and thought I was Wes." Alex sat back slowly, suddenly dazed. "This certainly . . . complicates things."

"Do you think . . . " Jen hesitated. We're not supposed to have any contact with the natives, she scolded herself, but none of the natives were supposed to recognize us, either! "Do you think," she began again, "we should have a talk with Eric Myers?"

Alex was hesitating, too, she could tell, torn between his duty as their commanding officer to carry out all orders given to him, but also just as curious as she was; he turned his eyes back to the ocean, crashing against the rocks with a soothing sound, the weather fast getting colder as night fell. He shivered. "Jennifer, there's something you should know, too." He took a long, shaking breath. "You're not the only one . . . who's been having dreams."

-------------------------------------------------------------

"Drink some of this, it'll wake you up some."

Eric mumbled something under his breath, but took the offered cup of steaming liquid and held it to his lips, breathing in the aroma of fresh coffee before taking a sip; Collins eased himself down in a chair across from him, unbuttoning his suit jacket and sighing heavily, his eyes wandering to the cracked bedroom window. "I can't believe it's happening all over again," he murmured, "I thought it was over."

"We all did." Eric grimaced, bracing his arms on the mattress of his bed and pulling himself up. "Never though we'd see Ransik again. Or any of them."

By 'them', he meant the Rangers, something that Collins was well aware of. "Eric . . . you told me the Rangers just left Wes?" The words were as hard to say as the thought was to comprehend: How could they? How could they abandon their friend and leave him to die?

"That's what he told me," Eric said, "well . . . actually, he really didn't say much about it at all. Just that they were gone." He sighed, his voice dropping so low Collins could scarcely hear him: "And it was only us left . . . just the two of us."

Collins frowned. "But you said there was a Red Ranger out there today? That's why you thought he was Wes . . . ?"

Eric winced, covering up the involuntary reaction to hearing Wes' name by rubbing his side gingerly, he cleared his throat gruffly before replying: "There was . . . more to it than that." Collins didn't need to ask him to elaborate, he already knew he had perked the man's interest. "His voice. I'd know his voice from anywhere."

"So . . . you know this Red Ranger?"

Eric shook his head.

"But you said---"

"That I'd know the voice from anywhere," Eric corrected, "I don't know who was behind that mask, but I know he had Wes' voice. There's no doubt about it in my mind . . . and my mind's not so far gone as to have imagined it." He snorted bitterly. "Not yet." He rose as Collins tried to speak, cutting him off before he could even begin: "I think I'm gonna head out for awhile, check around the city, see what I can do. You should stay here. Stay safe."

"Here?" Collins looked around dubiously.

Eric smirked, downing the rest of the still hot coffee and carelessly tossing the mug aside. "They're less likely to attack here than the Collins Estate," he pointed out, "so yeah, stay here. I'll be back in awhile."

He strapped on his blasters and headed out the door, leaving Collins alone in the dark bedroom as the sun set outside and took away any light still remaining; he sat by the bed, his elbows resting on his knees and his eyes fixated on the floor. They left him alone . . . to die. But they're back now . . . why? Why couldn't they have come sooner? They could've saved him! A rational part of his brain reminded him for a moment that perhaps they couldn't have, perhaps they all would've died trying. At least he wouldn't have died alone.

And that fact was the most painful for him to bear, even after a year. His only son, the person he had watched grow from a spoiled, immature boy to a courageous, independent man . . . the boy and man who'd always loved company, being around his small family and friends, thriving on the energy of the social scene . . . he had died all alone, with no one to comfort him while he was in pain, or to say words to ease his mind before . . .

Collins shuddered. If only I could erase it all . . . but he knew the memory would stay with him till his own death, the memory of being forced to identify the body of his boy . . .

. . . "Right this way, Mr. Collins, please."

It struck him as odd that the mortician was being so polite, as if they were meeting for tea rather than meeting so he could stare into his dead son's face. Don't say that, he scolded himself, there's still a chance it isn't him . . . not all the Guardians know him that well. And it's not like there aren't many blond haired, blue eyed men in Silver Hills! But the chill creeping down his back was telling him an entirely different story as he was led into the cold, white room and to a metal table where a covered body lay.

"God, no . . . please."

He reached out to grasp the edge of the sheet and pull it away, but his hand wavered, trembling so violently he was forced to grasp his wrist; Phillips came to stand at his side, resting a wrinkled hand on his employee's shoulder. "I can do it, sir," he said, softly, "I've known Wesley since he was a boy . . . they would let me."

"No," Collins choked, "if it's him . . .it should be me."

"Then let me help."

So together, they gripped the sheet and slowly pulled it down . . .

The room seemed to spin wildly and every image but the one directly before him blurred, all except the young man lying on the table . . . his dirty blond hair caked with blood, his handsome face bruised and torn, his clear blue eyes nearly closed . . . save for the small crack he couldn't help but see, as now it seemed the eyes were staring back up at him.

"It's him!" he sobbed, his knees buckling and bringing two Guardians over to steady him.

Phillips replaced the sheet hastily, turning to Collins, who was now crumbling to the cold floor.

"It's my Wesley . . . oh God, please! Not my boy . . . not my boy!' his sobs were becoming more and more hysterical, his entire body shaking from the shock. "My son . . . oh God, my son . . . Wesley . . . "

--------------------------------------------------------------------


"If anthing can . . . deneutralize those crystals," he gasped, every breath sending a sharp pain shooting through his chest, "my . . . Quantum Defender can." He reached up, holding out the only thing he had left to give, then opening his hand . . . silently wondering whether or not Wes would take it, after everything . . .

He did. He grasped it forcefully, knowing just as well as Eric that it could possibly be the last time . . . they locked gazes, to Eric's surprise, Wes had no fear in his eyes, only a sheer and unexplainable determination. He knew he would die. He would never be able to defeat Ransik, Frax, and their army all alone. And he had accepted that.

"Go get 'em, son," Collins said.

He didn't realize it. Or maybe he just refused to accept it. Either way, Collins managed somehow to force a small, encouraging smile on his face as he put his hand on Wes' shoulder, then he and Eric watched the man they both loved run off . . . most certainly to his death . . .

Eric stood in front of the grave, his hands folded in front of him and his head lowered so he could look down at the stone. "Here we go again, Wes," he whispered, "only this time . . . I guess I won't have you to give me a hand." He smirked. "Even if I don't need it . . . why would someone like myself need help from someone like you anyway? Typical, spoiled rich kid . . . "

The words were spoken for old times sake, to make him smile at the memories, but instead he flinched, wishing against all he knew was possible that he could take those words back. They weren't true, Wes. But I couldn't tell you the truth.

"I should've told you," he whispered, "maybe you would've turned against me . . . but at least you would've known the truth." He should've known. He died not knowing how . . .what . . . he wasn't like a brother to me at all, he was a lot more than that . . .

But he was the only person he would ever admit that to. Word had leaked out about him back in his prep school days, and he'd found out the hard way that it still wasn't acceptable in the world he lived in . . . so what else could he have done but leave? After the rumors started flying about him and Wes, he had to . . . I couldn't let Wes be dragged into something that wasn't his fault. Be hurt by something he had no control over. But forgetting the young man hadn't been as easy as he'd anticipated . . . and when they met again three years later, everything had come back to him in a staggering whirlwind of painful emotions.

"And I couldn't tell you."

"Excuse me?"

He recognized the woman's voice instantly and turned around to glare at her, a vicious flash in his dark eyes. "What are you doing here?" he snarled, clenching and unclenching his fists.

Jen flushed. "I-I don't know," she admitted, now fiddling with her hands nervously, "well . . . I was looking for you. But when I came by here, I wanted to stop . . . I don't know why either."

"Maybe because the man you 'loved' is buried here." Sarcasm dripped from his every word, but her face twisted into a mask of utter confusion, her eyes void of recognition. What the hell is going on?

"I'm Je---" she began.

"Jen Scotts."

Again, confusion. "How did you . . . ?"

Eric growled quietly. "What'd you mean how?" he demanded, "we used to know each other! Sort of. For what . . . six months?" But to his surprise, she shook her head slowly.

"I don't know who you are."

"How could you not know?" he spat, then gestured angrily at the headstone: "Do you know who he is? You should! You killed him!"

Jen took a tentative step forward, but she glared at him slightly . . . she wasn't afraid, he realized, but she was cautious. And still . . . very confused. Now she stood next to him, and her eyes fell to the name engraved on the stone, a gasp escaped from deep in her throat, her hands flew up to cover her mouth, for a moment, Eric wondered if she was going to faint right there in the cemetery; but somehow, she managed to regain her composure and balance, but her eyes were still wide, her face pale.

"Wes . . . "

"Yeah, Wes."

"I-I don't understand." She whirled on him now, her tone bordering on accusing: "Who are you? Who was this Wes? I don't know you, but you seem to think you know me, and I'd like to know why!"

"I don't owe you any sort of explanation, Jen," Eric snapped, "as for whatever's gone wrong wit that rain of yours, I couldn't care less. I only wish it were as easy for the rest of us to forget as it has been for you!" He turned, determined to walk away from the woman who stirred up so many painful memories . . . he strode out of the cemetery, fighting down the urge to run back and knock some sense into Jen. How could she forget him? People don't just forget things like that! And not in a year! He wiped his eyes furiously, closing them for a moment to collect his thoughts before snapping them open . . .

. . . only to come face-to-face with the mirror image of Wes.

TBC

[Blue Shadow]

way cool, can't wait to read more.

[Sierra]

CHAPTER FIVE

***

The rational part of his mind told him it was impossible, that Wes was dead for over a year, he'd seen the battered body with his own eyes and knew that it couldn't be him standing there; but then another part of him took over, and he couldn't restrain a strangled gasp as he stared into the face of the man only a few steps ahead of him, and into those same eyes . . . the only difference between the two men was the black hair this one bore, and the blond locks Wes had.

No, Eric told himself, there's more to it than that. The man before him now was older, and not just physically, his eyes were the same blue but not the cheerful ones Wes had, but hardened by life's struggles . . . much like his own, Eric knew. The mouth was pressed into a thin line, forming a grim expression on the handsome face, so unlike the ready grin Wes always had. No, this wasn't Wes at all.

"Who . . . are . . . you?"

The man exchanged glances with Jen behind Eric, then took a slight breath, and spoke, sending shivers up Eric's spine with his voice: "My name is Alex Drake." He held out a hand, raising one eyebrow slowly.

And reluctantly, Eric grasped the hand. "Myers. Eric."

"Since you seem to know who I am already," Jen spoke, walking past Eric to stand beside Alex, "I guess there's no point in introducing myself." She crossed her arms, frowning and raising her own eyebrows, challenging him. "Seems to me that we need to have a talk."

Eric stayed silent for a moment, pondering the two people before him, dressed in white-clad uniforms bearing the symbol of Time Force . . . he remembered Wes telling him about that, how his friends were police officers in the future. They had done a lot of talking in the twenty-fours they'd spent together, after the other Rangers had left and before Eric was injured; stumbling through a destroyed city and finally collapsing in the abandoned Clock Tower. He shivered, shaking himself back to the present and meeting Jen's eyes:

"Looks like it."

"First of all," Alex said, "how do you know who we are?"

They really don't know. He slowly shook his head, then pointed back to the grave: "Because of him. I don't know how you can't remember him but . . . " He growled, then started for his SUV, saying gruffly: "Get in. I've got something to show you."

--------------------------------

Adam sat back against the cliff and pulled his knees up to his chest, it was late, he knew, but he was equally aware that he wasn't going to be able to fall asleep; he had only slept for about a half hour before rising to find that Jen hadn't come back inside after going out for air, and then seeing that she wasn't outside either. And neither was Alex. So now he sat in the sand, hating himself for not trusting her, but unable to force himself to . . . is it so unreasonable to be concerned? My girlfriend is out there somewhere, wandering around at night, with her ex-fiance!

It didn't that the ex-fiance had to be so goddamn good-looking.

He let out a frustrated groan and swore softly, his imagination running wild . . . you're being ridiculous, he scolded himself, Jen's never done anything to you! She deserves your trust, she's earned it. He punched the sand with his clenched fist. She's also never disappeared in the middle of the night with an old flame! He brought his fist up to his face and pressed his forehead against it, pounding it a few times before letting it fall again with a heavy sigh . . .

. . . she caught his eye immediately, despite the fact that she wasn't even the prettiest girl in the room, sitting over there in a dark corner sipping on a steaming cup of something, her eyes burning holes into the notepad she was pouring over, her finger running down the scribbled words. Her dark hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail, and she didn't wear any makeup to conceal the freckles across her cheeks and nose, beneath her the sheer sleeves of her jacket, Adam saw toned arms and muscular shoulders, and grinned.

"Hey," he said, cheerfully.

She shot a glare in his direction. "Yes?"

Not exactly what I was hoping for. He cleared his throat. "All right, I guess I might as well be open---" now she looked up, intrigued "---my name is Adam, and I came over here 'cause I think you're cute."

To his surprise, she actually laughed: "Well, at least you're honest!"

He grinned. "So . . . do you have a name?"

Her delicately plucked eyebrows knotted slightly, the old-fashioned pen she held in her hand twiddled across the tops of her fingers as she studied him with keen eyes: "What do you do? You have a job . . . ?"

"Oh, uh . . . I'm in Time Force, actually."

Instantly, her interest went up. "Oh? So am I."

"Really?" His smile widened. "Well in that case . . . I'm Lieutenant Phillips."

"And I'm Lieutenant Scotts . . . " she smiled, cautiously, "Jen."

From that point on, it was love for him, and he could tell right away that she'd felt an attraction almost just as strong for him, though neither one knew why; by all means, they were complete opposites, he was a rich city boy who loved his job but loved to play even more, and she was a hard-working country girl. Opposites really do attract, he reflected. She always managed to keep him in line, while he somehow managed to get her off work on the weekends, to spend relaxing days down at the beach or the park . . . days when the 'real Jen' would find her way out.

At one time, he'd actually considered himself fortunate, that perhaps he was the only one who knew the real Jen . . . until Alex Drake was brought into their lives, and he remembered the short stories she had told him when they spoke of past relationships. It was all unclear, even to her, even now . . .

"I met Alex when I was at the Academy," she began, softly, curling up beside him on their beige couch. "You see, I wasn't really cut out for Time Force back then . . . I wanted to quit, and Alex convinced me to stay." At Adam's mischievous grin, she elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "He helped me with my studies, you pervert! And taught me how to shoot . . . he basically made me who I am today. And I loved him because of it."

"So . . . this little partnership went onto something more then?"

She blushed slightly. "Something a lot more." She was quiet for a moment, then cleared her throat nervously and spoke again: "I, uh, didn't tell you before . . . but I was engaged once. To Alex."

Adam barely blinked. "How long ago?"

"Two months."

Now he was surprised. "Two months? That's . . . recent."

"I know," she sighed, "but it's not like we were even serious for very long after we got engaged . . . I mean, things fell apart pretty quickly." A flicker pain went through her brown eyes. "I don't know why, and I don't think he does either---but we grew apart, and fast. Too many things came between us."

"Do you . . . still love him?"

"No." Jen shook her head, vigorously. "I don't . . . but I don't know why, or when, I fell out of love with him, either . . . "

"Maybe she didn't," Adam breathed, "they were engaged . . . you don't love someone that much and then just lose it all for no reason. They could've just hit a rough patch . . . and now realize . . . " his voice trailed off. He was despairing and he knew it, self-pity was not his way but somehow he couldn't erase it, couldn't get the images out of his mind . . . Alex and Jen together . . .

------------------------------------------------

"And that's that," Eric finished abruptly as he took a sharp turn into his narrow driveway, glancing back to see the astonished faces of his two passengers. He had just given them a quick rundown of the previous year, mainly detailing his first meeting with all of them and the brief encounters thereafter . . . he hadn't been able to finish.

"I'm guessing you don't believe a word I just said---if I were you, I wouldn't either." He inhaled deeply, then opened his door and got out. "But maybe what you're about to see will change your mind."

Warily, Alex and Jen followed the limping Silver Guardian into the rundown house, stepping over fallen debris and failing to notice the man slumped over in one of the hard wooden chairs in the kitchen area; but at the sound of footsteps, no matter how quiet, Alan Collins' eyes shot up and he sat up, squinting in the dark to see the backs of three people heading down the hallway and into Eric's room. His alerts suddenly went off, and he shot out of the chair faster than many would have expected him to have the ability to do, opening his mouth to shout when Eric stopped him with his cool voice:

"Easy, Collins. It's all right."

He paused. "Who do you have with you?"

Now Eric paused. "Just two of the Guardians, that's all," he finally replied, "go back to sleep. On the couch this time, for god's sake."

As Collins relented, down the hall Eric flipped on the light switch to his bedroom, revealing a lumpy mattress set upon an old wire frame in the middle of room with hard wood floors and clothes tossed carelessly on it; hardly glancing around, Eric said softly: "That was Wes' father. Alan Collins."

"Alan Collins?" Jen said, incredulously, "the founder of Bio-Lab? The Silver Guardians?"

Eric rolled his eyes, gesturing to his uniform as he walked over to a battered trunk beneath the blown out window.

"But wait," Alex said, his voice dry, "Alan Collins' only son, Wesley, was killed in a car accident---" he paused, thinking "---last year. Some drunk driving incident."

Eric froze, his gaze slowly lifting from the box and coming to rest on Alex, his eyes now wide: "A car accident? Bullshit! Wes Collins was killed last year when you four left to go safely home to the year three thousand! Leaving him as the only person to defend the city from a mutant who you were responsible for letting escape!" He let out an annoyed growl, finally opening up the trunk and rummaging through his clothes till he found what he was looking for, and slowly lifted it out.

Alex was the first to recognize it, with a startled gasp he ripped the Chrono Morpher from Eric's hands and stared at it: "Th-this is my morpher! The one that I . . . when Ransik and I fought . . . "

"It was Wes' morpher," Eric corrected him, "the one he wore the entire year you---" he nodded to Jen "---were here."

"All right," Alex sighed, "let's take this from the beginning."

Eric nodded, reluctantly. "Fine," he said, softly, "from the beginning . . . "

-----------------------------------------------------------

"You can't be serious," Lucas said.

"We all know what we've been doing for the past year!" Katie burst out, standing up from where she'd been leaning against the computer for the past ten minutes, listening to Alex relay Eric's story.

"This is ridiculous," Adam stated.

"I know it sounds like it," Alex said, "but take a look at these---" he reached into his jacket and pulled out the newspaper clipping Eric had given him. The other Rangers crowded around to read it, their doubt turning into astonishment as the words written on the tattered piece of paper registered in their minds:

SON OF BIO-LAB FOUNDER IS KILLED IN ATTACKS

"Wesley Collins . . . " Trip read off, "the son of millionaire business tycoon Alan Collins, was killed during the recent attacks on the city of Silver Hills!"

"He was the well-known as the Red Ranger," Lucas continued, "in the newest team of Power Rangers . . . the four others are presumed dead, as well, though their identities are unknown."

"Those other four," Alex cut in, "would be you. Katie, Jen, and Trip." He ran his fingers through his hair, letting out a sigh. "I don't know how it's all possible, either. But I'm going to find out, believe me." He glanced at the time, scowling. "First thing in the morning, I'll contact Time Force and ask them . . . I don't know what exactly, but I'll figure it out. Right now, all of you need to get some sleep." He looked around the group, frowning. "Where's Jen?"

"She's outside," Adam said, quickly, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I'll get her."

As Alex spoke a few more words, Adam turned and left the timeship to walk out onto the sands, shivering as the night breeze swept under his snug shirt; he scanned the beach for a moment, before finally seeing her lone figure crouched near the calming tides. Silently, he walked up and sat down next to Jen, gingerly placing his hand on the small of her back and beginning to rub circles into it, immediately feeling the tension in her relax, she leaned against him, her head on his shoulder.

"How're you handling it, babe?" he asked, softly.

Jen closed her eyes, a shudder running through her body . . .

. . . she sat alone on the rooftop of the Clock Tower, pondering the long day's events while fingering the diamond ring on her finger, she never heard his footsteps, never knew he was behind her till she heard his gentle voice: "I know I'm not Alex." Her heart went out to him, he did try awfully hard to please her . . . was it really his fault he wasn't anything like the man he so closely resembled? No, of course it isn't. And was he really such a bad guy on his own?

She turned to look at him, then allowed him to help her up and climb down, saying as she jumped from the window: "But I don't want you to be like him."
Not anymore, at least. "In fact . . . I like you just the way you are."

"You do?" his surprised cry was enough to bring an awkward smile to her face.

"Yeah, I do."

"Yes!" Wes laughed, "yes!" He let out a yell and brought his arms around her, pulling her to his broad chest in a tight hug . . . she forced an annoyed expression on her face, but couldn't help but admit to herself, she didn't want him to let go . . .

"Jen? Jen, are you all right?"

She sat up quickly, letting out a small, startled cry as she was brought back to real time . . . the real world; the Clock Tower had faded away, Wes had faded away, and now she was sitting on the beach again, with Adam still beside her. Now she turned to him, for the first time finally seeing what she had never seen before . . . oh my god, her mind screamed, blond hair and blue eyes . . . carefree and playful . . . Wes . . . Adam . . . Wes . . .

"Jen, you're kinda' scaring me," Adam was saying, "what's wrong?"

. . . the room was dark, the only lights casting an eerie blue glow over them as Alex led Jen in by her arm, speaking into her ear, no doubt in hopes that his voice would calm her; she tried to hide the fact that she was trembling, but was certain he could tell, her arm was shaking so badly beneath his. She forced the lump down her throat as he opened the door to one of the chambers and she stepped inside, her arms hanging loosely at her sides, her eyes now closing . . .

. . . and there was Wes, smiling at her in that cocky way moments after saving her from crashing into a car when Ransik threw her twenty feet away . . . and again, his indignant face as she scolded him after a botched attempt to capture Nadira . . . her waking up to find him fast asleep, his hand still protectively covering her own . . . his surprise when she first admitted to liking him . . . and their almost kiss downstairs by the phones . . . so close . . .

I'll never forget you, Wes, she vowed, silently, and I'm proud to have been your friend. I'm only sad that you never knew how much you mean to me.

"I'll never forget . . . "

. . . "I remember!" she gasped, harshly.

Adam opened his mouth to try to speak, but stopped as she jumped to her feet, raking her fingers through her hair as tears spilled out over her cheeks; a sob escaped and shook her shoulders as she fell to her knees, now covering her tear-stained face with her trembling hands.

"Oh god . . . oh my god . . . I remember!"

"Jen, what? Remember what?" Adam prodded, anxiously, taking her by her shoulders and forcing her to meet his eyes.

"Wes!" Jen cried, tearing herself away from him. "Oh god, how could I forget? And now he's dead . . . dead . . . because of me." She was crying now, oblivious to Adam, and to the others who had come outside at the sound. "Wes, I'm so sorry . . . sorry . . . I loved you . . . god, Wes, I love you . . . "

[Blue Shadow]

Oh wow, I'm glad Jen finally remembered Wes, I can't wait to read the next chapter.

[Sierra]

CHAPTER SIX

***

Adam and Alex stood side-by-side, protectively watching Jen as she slept curled up on the floor of the timeship, hours had passed since her breakdown on the beach, and she had only just know fallen asleep; they exchanged concerned glances, then returned their attention to her, Alex's voice soft when he spoke:

"She's been having dreams about this Wes for over a year now."

Adam sighed. "I know . . . she told me." He stuffed his hands deep within his snug pockets. "It doesn't make any sense. You remember what's been happening for the past year, of course. So how could she remember something different?"

One of us is wrong. Alex shuddered, the thought of someone tampering with his own memories, his own mind, was more frightening than any of the battles he'd been in. And what if she's right? What if all my memories are somehow faked? He crossed his arms, his frown deepening. And if she's wrong . . . she's insane.

"Maybe it's just . . . the stress," Adam suggested, "she feels like she should remember Wes because of everything Myers' has said . . . so she subconsciously came up with this story."

"No. She's stronger than that." Alex paused for a long time, then looked nervously at Adam: "Besides, she isn't the only one who had dreams before this all happened." At Adam's confused stare, he continued slowly: "That's why we broke up. I kept having these dreams about her cheating on me . . . it got to the point where I was certain it was true; and all this time she kept dreaming about this Wes, and even though she told me she didn't know who he was . . . well, it just became too much." And she left you. Because you didn't trust her, and she didn't love you anymore.

"You were dreaming about her cheating on you," Adam said, slowly, "was it . . . with Wes?"

Alex let out a long breath. "Yes."

"Oh . . . "

"So this can't just be her imagination," Alex concluded, "unless we're both imagining the same thing."

"Hardly likely."

"Not at all." Alex shook his head. "Go to sleep . . . I'm not going to contact Time Force till the morning anyway, I'll let you all know as soon as I figure something out."

He watched as Adam went over to Jen and sat down by her side, not daring to lay down next to her as much as he obviously wanted to, he couldn't, not when she'd professed her love for another man hardly three hours before; so he leaned his back against the computer and let his chin drop to his chest, and before long was snoring softly, leaving Alex the only one awake. He stood and observed each officer sleeping peacefully, Katie and Trip together, her arm draped over him . . . Lucas away from everyone else . . . then Jen and Adam; he rubbed his arms, feeling chilled during the coldest hour of the night.

Shit, it's almost morning already. Slowly, he sank down to the floor and stretched out uncomfortably, wincing when his body screamed at him in protest of the cold, hard floor; but he adjusted quickly, soon discovering just how exhausted he was as his eyelids drooped closed and the world around him disappeared . . .

. . . he tossed aside the uninteresting book and reached for the black box sitting on the table, opening it up to find a stack of old-fashioned polaroids, he frowned as he flipped through them and saw the light-hearted moments Wes had shared with his team. He never heard Jen approach, so looked up, startled, when she spoke:

"Look, Alex. It's not like we're playing around here!" She shouldered into her uniform jacket, zipping it up angrily. "We've been working really hard to capture Ransik."

And then he found it. Jen smiling with delight, her eyes scrunched closed as Wes planted a kiss on her cheek, his hands cupping her face . . . "I can see that," he said, coldly, throwing down the photo. "Looks like you've been working really hard." His temper was at the point of snapping, so he rose abruptly and stormed away, going over to the window where he leaned out, taking in the fresh air slowly.

So that's what's was going on while I was gone! he seethed, while I was in the hospital, she was moving on! Another voice scolded him that she'd thought he was dead for six months, but even that did little to calm his nerves. She was falling in love with someone else . . .

. . . "Now it's not going to hurt at all," he said, softly as he led Jen into the memory adaptation room. "You may experience a headache afterwards, but it won't be so bad---"

"Alex," she cut him off, "why are you even telling me this?"

He blinked. "Well, I don't want you to be nervous."

She shot him a resentful look. "Not like I'll remember anything you say."

Alex cringed as he shut the glass door over the cubicle Jen was now standing in, ignoring him and closing her eyes, he sighed, walking over to the computer and holding his finger over the button; he glanced at her, still looking the other way, her hands now clenched at her sides. This has to be done, he tried to convince himself, it's the Time Force way. But did it being the rules make it right? Who am I to decide? He hesitated even longer, working his fingers as if they were cramped, his eyes seeming to burn holes into the computer . . .

Then he pressed it.

--------------------------------------------------------------

"I-I have no idea what I'm doing," Wes stammered, the sweat beads on his forehead now dripping down his face as he looked down at Eric's bloodied arm. "So bear with me here, okay? Not all of us are the hardcore Army Rangers."

Eric snorted, then winced when he felt Wes' touch on the open wound, he was trying so hard to be gentle---and to not let him see how disgusted he was by the blood; but Wes' sickly pale face and trembling hands gave it all away, no matter how hard he tried. Working as quickly as possible, he dabbed some alcohol on the wound and bandaged it with what little he had found in the Clock Tower's cabinets; still, by the end, even Eric was light-headed.

He hid it well.

"Thanks," he said, gruffly, slapping Wes' shoulder as he stood---hoping the other man didn't notice he did it more for support than for the meaning of the gesture.

"You know, Eric," Wes spoke up, "you were hurt pretty bad. Maybe you should take it easy for awhile---"

"It doesn't matter about how bad it is, does it?" Eric cut him off, sharply, looking over his shoulder. "I still have to fight."

There was a long pause, then Wes gave a resigning sigh: "Yeah." More silence. "I'm glad I've got you to cover me, Eric. Least I know I won't be alone out there tomorrow." As Eric turned around and faced him, he shuddered slightly, sitting back down at the picnic table. "I'm glad the others aren't here but . . . I don't know, I guess I just didn't realize what it'd be like to be the only one left."

A twinge of sympathy caused Eric to scowl, more at himself than Wes. "You're not," he said, quickly, "there's the two of us. And we were the best ones out of your team anyway, you know that. We still have a chance."

Wes forced a smile. "Didn't figure you'd be the one trying to cheer me up."

"I'm not," Eric countered, "it's called 'keeping the morale'." He smirked. "If the troops are happy, they'll get the job done. Moral of the story."

"Ahh . . . I see." He shook his head, chuckling. "Well, thanks anyway . . . and not just for the 'moral support'."

Eric frowned. "Yeah . . . sure."

He opened his eyes quickly, to find that the Clock Tower was gone and replaced by the leather interior of his SUV, where he had apparently fallen asleep the night before . . . since sunlight was now streaming through the windows and the voice on the radio was speaking enthusiastically about the day's weather.

"Bright and sunny," Eric muttered, sitting up stiffly to fliip off the radio, then reach up and rub his eyes, yawning loudly. "What a night . . . shit. Just when you think you've seen it all . . . mutants from a different millenium . . . Power Rangers . . . " he stifled another yawn " . . . goddamnit."

Groaning more out of frustration than pain, he opened up the door and slid out, annoyed again when he found the weather had finally taken a turn for it's wintery worst, and the cold air bit at him mercilessly; he swore softly and slammed the door shut behind him, headed for his house when he heard the heart-wrenching sobbing from the yard over . . . oh god, no. Forcing himself to look, he saw a young blonde-haired beauty down on her knees in her front yard, her face stained with tears, her shoulders shaking.

Alice's mom.

"Mommy?"

He felt certain his heart leapt into his throat when he saw the pigtailed girl come running out from behind the rubble that was once her home, Alice hurried to her mother's side, at first oblivious to her despair, but then the child's face fell and she sat down on the ground as well, folding her tiny hands in her lap.

Don't go over there, it's none of your business, there's nothing you can do anyway. Eric gritted his teeth. But maybe there is! You're a Silver Guardian, aren't you? This is your job! And then there was Wes' voice, always in the back of his mind. It's the right thing to do. He knew Wes would have.

"Eric!"

In a flash, little Alice had enveloped him in her arms and pressed her face against his firm stomach, he could feel her hot tears soaking through his thin T-shirt; swallowing hard, he reached down and stroked her blonde head tenderly as her mother struggled to compose herself and walked over slowly.

They had met once before, only briefly, during one of Alice's many visits to see his pet birds over a year ago, and now Eric realized how different she was from the woman back then---perhaps only in her late-twenties, her eyes bore dark circles beneath them, her hair was now stringy and flat, her face sunken and pale.

"Commander Myers," she acknowledged, in a weak voice, " . . . Alice, come on. Leave him alone."

"She's all right," Eric assured her, surprising himself with his care. He looked down at Alice again: "What's wrong?"

A muffled sob was his only reply. He heard her mother's soft voice again: "My husband . . . Alice's father . . . " her voice broke, and she brought her hand up to cover her tear-filled eyes once again.

Eric clenched his fist, taking in deep, slow breaths in an effort to calm himself, hesitantly, he reached out to touch Alice's mother's shoulder comfortingly. "We'll finish this," he said, "for good this time. Ransik won't be coming back."

"Well, it's a little too late now!" Frustration and pain poured out from her words as she tore her hand away and snatched Alice back. "My house is destroyed, my husband is dead! Getting rid of Ransik won't do a damn thing about bringing all that back!"

She whirled away, half-dragging Alice with her as Eric watched their retreating backs, hating himself for the guilt he felt in the pit of his stomach. She's right . . . I could get them all, make sure Ransk never show his face here again, and it still won't bring back her husband. Her home. And young Alice would be forced to grow up without a father, as he had so many years ago . . . he winced, bringing his hand to his forehead and running it down his face, sighing quietly.

Alan Collins emerged from the house, wiping his hands on a stained cloth. "Breakfast is on the table," he offered, "it isn't much, but you haven't eaten in over a day." He smiled sadly. "Pancakes anyway."

Eric sniffed the air as he walked through the front door. "A little burnt?"

Collins nodded. "Just a little."

The blackened pancakes certainly didn't taste good, but they managed to fill the hunger Eric hadn't realized he'd been suffering from till he sat down at the kitchen table; he ate quickly, then poured himself a cup of coffee and tried to relax on the couch while Collins went about washing the dishes. Eric smirked at the sound of glass crashing on the floor and Collins' soft curse, taking another sip and blinking quickly, hoping to get rid of the fatigue that still lingered from the night he spent in his vehicle.

As if reading his thoughts, Collins asked: "Where the hell were you last night? You never came back after dropping off those Guardians that were over here."

Eric shifted positions on the couch, trying in vain to find a comfortable spot. "Um, actually . . . " he cleared his throat, "they weren't Guardians, Collins."

"Oh no?"

"No . . . they were Rangers."

An abrupt silence alerted him to the fact that Collins had stopped all movement and was now staring at him with icy, blue eyes, knowing there was no need to speak, to ask for more; Eric stood slowly, turning to face him. "From Wes' team," he admitted, "I went to the cemetery last night . . . and Jen was there."

"At Wesley's grave?" Even after a year, Collins' voice still shook at the words.

Eric nodded. "Yeah," he said, "but she still claims not to remember him . . . none of them know who he was. Or I am."

"That's ridiculous!" Collins exclaimed, "you don't just . . . forget."

"That's what I thought, too," Eric went on, "at first. But I brought them back here, showed them newspaper clippings from the battle, Wes' morpher and mine, and even a . . . picture of Wes. Believe me, they had no idea who he was."

He jumped at the sudden knocking on his door, exchanging quick glances with Collins, who proceeded to go into the other room and retrieve the blaster hidden there as Eric went to the door; he opened it swiftly, weapon in hand---only to see Jen and Alex standing side-by-side, and behind them, Katie, Trip and Lucas. And a blond man Eric didn't recognize.

"What do you want?" he demanded, coldly.

"Eric," Jen said, "we know what happened now . . . well, I do anyway."

"And so do I," Alex announced, stepping forward slightly. "I---" he glanced at Jen "---we remember everything."

By then, Collins had walked down the hall and now stood at Eric's side, his expression fierce as he gazed upon the team he had seen his son with so many times; now he spoke: "You remember? Everything?"

"Well, they do," Trip spoke up, "I don't. And neither does Katie . . . or Lucas."

"But Alex filled us in on what you told him," Katie said to Eric.

"All right . . . " Eric muttered, "come inside. Maybe you can fill me in on something now that you remember! How did you forget in the first place?"

"And why the hell did you leave Wes here alone?" Collins snapped, "perhaps you could explain that . . . "

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"Wes! I-I want to tell you something," she said, desperately, clinging to the glass window as if it could keep her on the beach. With him. She tried to speak again, but Wes stopped her now, his voice gentle but firm:

"Jen, don't worry. Everything you've always wanted, is waiting for you in the future."

"No, Wes, please!" she begged, "I wanted to tell you that . . . "

" . . . I loved him," Jen said, quietly, staring down at her folded hands. "I knew there was no way I could do what Alex asked me to and leave him, especially knowing that leaving would mean his death. So we---" she looked around at her team, but they stared at her with blank faces "---we went to Wes one night, and told him. We were going to stay. To fight."

"I remember when Jennifer told me the same thing," Alex said, "I tried to convince her it would be pointless, that they'd all just be killed in the end. But she wouldn't leave him." He pressed his lips together. "And that's when I knew she loved him."

"So . . . ?" Eric prompted, impatiently.

But Jen held up her hand to silence him, continuing on slowly: "Wes didn't want us to have to die for him. So when we weren't looking he read one of the manuals on the timeship and figured out how to put it on autodrive . . . then locked us inside." She closed her eyes, memories playing before her. "We couldn't get out. There was no way to stop him. He knew what he was doing, and what it meant, and he wanted it that way."

Collins squeezed his eyelids together, then opened them to reveal without shame the tears that had gathered. "That same day," he said, hoarsely, "Wesley came to my house . . . "

"No, Dad," Wes insisted, as his father offered the orange juice resting on the table. "I don't have much time."

The urgent words cut straight to Collins' heart, he sat down slowly, staring at his only child as Wes clasped his hands together and seemed to struggle to find the words. "In case anything happens in the future," he said, "I just want you to know how proud I am to be your son."

"Wesley, that means the world to me but---" Wes was standing now, already turning and walking down the narrow sidewalk; Collins stood, calling after him: "Is everything okay?"

The long silence that followed his question gave him the answer, but Wes still tried, pasting on a smile to reassure his worried father: "Yeah yeah . . . everything's fine. I just . . . gotta go."

Knowing there was no way to pry more out of him, Collins just nodded his acceptance of the lie, and Wes smiled again, more than a hint of sadness behind the gesture. "Bye, Pop . . ."

"Once the Rangers got to the future," Alex explained, "I gave them their initial debriefing . . . standard procedures of Time Force demand that participants in any time travel must undergo memory adaptation to acclimate them back to the present. There are no exceptions. Not even for Power Rangers." He paused. "None of them wanted to go through with it . . . but the alternative---refusal and a subsequent court martial, followed by forced memory adaptation---was even less appealing."

"What about . . . history?" Eric asked, "gods, they can't erase all this!" He gestured out the window, to the city that lay in ruins.

"Yes, they can," Jen replied, "and they have."

"No records remain of the attacks on Silver Hills," Adam put in, "Time Force rewrote history itself, it seems . . . to back up their story."

"But . . . you two regained your memories," Collins pointed out, "why? And why not the others?"

Alex and Jen, seated across from one another, met each other's eyes. Alex spoke: "Our connection with the actual course of history was the strongest than it is with the other three . . . I lost my morpher. My fiancee. And quite nearly my own life."

"And . . . I loved Wes," Jen repeated, "we all did . . . but not the same way."

"At least," Alex said, "that's our hypthothesis. Perhaps the others are just taking longer to regain their memories . . . we don't know anything for certain. Not anymore."

Collins sighed, leaning back in his chair and covering his eyes for a moment. "Wes . . . goddamn it, Wes . . . " he murmured. Then he sat up, surprisingly dry-eyed: "I believe you. Maybe I shouldn't but . . . knowing how Wesley was, and how much he loved you---" he looked at Jen "---especially you. I know he'd do anything to protect you all."

"Even if it meant killing himself," Eric said, quietly.

After Eric's words, the group sat together in an awkward silence, not knowing how to continue or whether they should say their goodbyes, Jen found her voice first, sitting straighter and putting on a determined expression: "First things first, we get Ransik. We make him pay for everything---everyone---he's taken from us."

"Then," Alex said, "we bring this up with Time Force." As Eric and Collins nodded in agreement, he went on: "The descendants of the people of Silver Hills deserve to know what their ancestors really went through."

"And Wes deserves to be remembered for who he really was," Jen said, "and how he really died."

"Not some drunk driving accident," Eric said, bitterly.

"Exactly." Jen looked down, running her finger over the morpher she wore on her wrist. "Let's get to work then . . . it's time to make things right."

[Blue Shadow]

another cool chapter, I hope you update soon

[Joravenel]

This story rocks!! I can not wait to find out what happens next. Does Eric's morpher work again? How will the team make sure history is remember in time force? Thats all for now, sport fans.

[Sierra]

Thanks, guys! More coming soon :)

[Sierra]

CHAPTER SEVEN


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YEAR 3001

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A clap of thunder seemed to shake the tower that stood amidst the city of Silver Hills, and the following flash of lightning caused an eerie glow within the dark hallways; heavy rain beat against the sides of Time Force HQ as an elderly Lieutenant walked briskly toward an Admiral's office, his brow knitted with worry and sweat beads forming on his forehead.

I told him it was a bad idea! But he wouldn't listen . . . I just knew they'd find out the truth! The thoughts racing in his head did nothing to help calm his shattered nerves, and another boom of thunder made him jump, gasping. He shook his head. Calm down. None of this is your fault, nobody can pin it on you . . . he'll take all the blame.

By then he was standing in the doorway of the Admiral's office, when he spoke, his voice shook pathetically: "Sir, we have a problem.&q