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?

A/N: I'm absolutely crazy for starting this right now! But inspiration struck, and would not be denied! Now that Jennifer is coming along nicely, I'll be able to handle this all right, updates will be slow but sure, so please be patient. I hope your enjoy!

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