Disclaimer: How can you not know this by now?

A/N Yes, I am officially jumping on the 'Five Things' bandwagon! I have nothing better to do, and my muses simply refuse to help me on my other fics. So! Here we go with something totally different. I have never attempted to write anything for this season, but I LOVE Bridge, so I thought I'd give it a go! I hope I did this challenge/thing right. If not, please let me know. :) Now, on with the fic!

"Life throws you curves but you learn to swerve." – Rascal Flatts

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The lights flickered and sparked over his head as he ran down the hallway, blaster drawn and at the ready. He rounded a corner and spotted his target lurking near the back entrance to the theatre. He had enough time to register the sunlight that flooded into the darkened room before he was thrown backwards from the force of an unknown attacker. His back slammed into the wall with a loud thud and he slid, bruised and broken, to the concert floor as the monsters escaped into the relative safety of the alleyway and the door closed with an eerie thud behind them.

"Bridge!"

He heard someone screaming his name, but it sounded like they were a thousand miles away. His hazy mind refused to function in the darkness that surrounded him. He closed his eyes against the dizzying wave of pain that swept across his body; the darkness pressed in from all sides and he welcomed its painless embrace as the world tipped and faded from existence.

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Bridge opened his eyes but quickly shut them again as blinding white light pierced through his head, making it throb remorselessly. He took a deep breath and tried to repress his agitated senses. Chancing a glance at the ceiling through a half cracked eyelid, he immediately regretted the action. The light bounced off the white paint, intensified it and made his eyes water and burn.

"Bridge?" The voice was soft and questioning, and at first he wasn't sure if he had really heard it or if it was a trick of his imagination.

Slowly, without causing himself more pain, he moved his head towards the voice. Its owner smiled brightly at him, the action causing his face to appear less drawn and pale from a long week of incessant fighting. Bridge knew that Sky wasn't one to waste smiles on just anyone so he tried to return the favor, but found that his lips were too dry to move without cracking and bleeding.

"Sky?" The word came out harsh and raspy, nothing at all like Bridge's normal, bubbly voice, but under the circumstances it was the only syllable he could muster enough strength to utter.

"Hey, we were all really worried about you," confessed the blue ranger as he reached forward and gently placed his hand on Bridge's bandaged arm. "I mean, the girls were worried, most especially Z. We thought…" he trailed off, clearly struggling with his next words, "We thought we'd lost you for awhile there, but Kat reminded us that we have some of the best doctor in the galaxy working here. It helped."

He hadn't said anything about how he had felt, but then Sky was a man of few words, and Bridge knew without asking that Sky had been worried too. It showed in the lines on his face and the weariness in his eyes.

"What….happened?"

Sky sighed heavily. "We were surrounded. One minute I was by your side, and the next, you were lying on the ground in a pool of blood. It-it all happened so fast. I just…I just don't know. The monsters escaped into New Tech City and we've been fighting them at the most ungodly hours of the night. There trying to break us by wearing us down…" he looked away, towards the dark window at the end of the infirmary, lost in his own bitter thoughts. "I think its working," he confessed, his voice barely more than a whisper.

As his friend gazed into the distance, trying to unravel his thoughts into something coherent to say, Bridge noticed an angry jagged scar on his right cheek. It ran from the bottom of his ear down to the middle of the soft flesh beneath his cheekbone. A souvenir of battle that he would carry for the rest of his life, but unlike many scars that marred the flesh, this one only seemed to enhance it. Sky wore it with obvious pride, a reminder of why he fought for the side of good against the evil that wished to destroy him and all of those he cared for. Bridge sighed and wondered if he had any scars from the last battle that he would one day wear with pride. For some reason he knew that he would have one or two, but he highly doubted that he would ever look at them as anything but relics of a painful past better left to die quietly in the shadows of time.

"Bridge?"

His friend's voice brought him crashing out of his thoughts and back to the present.

"Huh, what?"

"I asked if you were ok."

"Ok as in I'm alive ok, or ok as in, is there something on my mind that is bothering me and I need to talk about but I don't want to bother you, ok?"

Sky blinked his mouth opening slightly in a silent response. "Umm…"

"I'm ok," said the green ranger with a small sigh. He closed his eyes again, wishing for the first time in a long time that Sky would just go away and leave him alone with his thoughts.

The blue ranger must have gotten the hint because he stood, awkwardly cleared his throat, and, without thinking, reached down to touch Bridge's ungloved hand. Too late he realized his mistake.

A thousand images of times gone by flooded Bridge's mind. Tears, laughter, unbearable pain, and joy melted into one agonizing stream of conciseness until Sky jerked his hand away from the green ranger's unprotected flesh.

"I—I'm so sorry," he stuttered. He cradled his hand against his chest as if it was broken.

Bridge kept his eyes closed as his brain tried in vain to process the wealth of information that had just passed into it. It filed it away into some cabinet in the back where it would collect dust with the rest of the unwanted memories that he acquired when his flesh touch someone else's.

"Goodnight Sky," was all he said, his voice clearly indicating that the conversation was over.

Sky nodded, unsure of what else to do. "Ok, 'night Bridge."

Bridge listened until Sky's footsteps faded away down the hall and didn't take a breath until the light overhead was doused by a concerned night nurse. He slowly opened his eyes to stare out the far window. "It's ok Sky," he whispered to the brightly twinkling stars. "It's not your fault I'm a freak."

He closed his eyes and listened to the gentle sounds of the night, not really hearing them because he was lost in his own thoughts.

It was true. He felt like a freak sometimes, the green clad ranger, imprisoned by his leather gloves and his quirky smile. His friends didn't really understand him, no one did, but then, he had never really needed them too. Their somewhat amused and forgiving smiles when he launched into full fledged Bridge mode complete with long winded questions and handstands, was enough to make him want to scream at times. But that wasn't his way. He would just grin his goofy grin and shrug it off like it didn't matter, but deep down, lock away inside, it did matter. He wanted them to see him for him, the man behind the leather gloves.

He was nothing like his friends. Sure, he was human, but that was where he drew the proverbial line in the sand. They led practically normal lives in a way that he longed for with a hunger that only left him lonely and dejected. He wanted so badly to feel the simple touch of a caring hand on his without the hindrance of his leather glove, or the quick skin to skin contact that accompanied a high five for a job well done, but all of those things were out of his reach. His gift, he had learned early in life, was also his tragic curse, because even the simplest of contact with his skin would cause the full extent of his powers to careen wildly into overdrive. Thoughts, memories, entire lifetimes flashed before his eyes while he was powerless to stop it. Emotions and feelings that were not his tangled with his own; resulting in a very confused and overwhelmed Bridge. That was why he had chosen to wear the gloves, they were his own personal prison and his only escape from the hell only a physic could understand.

He sighed and tried to shake the grim thoughts from his head. They only made him feel more detached and distant. What he wanted above all was someone who understood, someone who saw beyond the facade that he put up whenever others were around, someone who saw beyond the gloves and the happy-go-lucky-attitude. But he would never, ever tell anyone his deepest, most darkness secret. He couldn't bear the empathetic looks that they would give him and the thousands of whispered conversations that would follow about "poor Bridge".

Bridge sighed once more before turning onto his back and stared blankly at the ceiling. Perhaps sleep would offer him a welcome release from his tiring thoughts and the pain of his physical wounds. It wasn't until the darkness began to close in around him and his eyelids began to feel heavy that he came to a sudden realization, the answer to all of his problems. They each had their own crosses to bear, being psychic was his. He would make the best of it, put on his brightest smile for the world because he has no other choice, and because, after all, he was Bridge Carson.

Good or bad? See that shiny little button that says 'go'? Click it and let me know what you think. No flames please. They will be ignored and laughed at, though not necessarily in that order. :)