Disclaimer: Still someone else's sandbox … still play here because its fun.

Author's Note: Hey I'm still writing. If you're still reading that makes you one of my favorite people.

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Swaying a little as her feet once again connected with ground, Kat struggled to regain her equilibrium, disconcerted by the sudden shift from the cold solid floor of the Command Center to the soft warm carpet of her room. Reaching out blindly, her hand closed around her chair back, and she slumped against the desk.

It had been a long damn night. Even though she and Alpha had moved from repairs to upgrades, which were far less pressing, she seemed to have inherited Billy's never put off until tomorrow what you can do tonight if you sacrifice a few more hours of sleep mentality. Unfortunately once an upgrade got to a certain point there was no turning back, it had to be completed or the Zord would be left unprotected. Even more unfortunately she hadn't realized how complicated the upgrade they were attempting was until well past that point. By the time they were done, she felt like the walking dead.

She had stayed perched on her desk for a long time, and the relief of simply having some kind of support was being to fade. Every bruise stood out in sharp relief, and her muscles had taken on the shaky, bone-deep ache that came with too little sleep. All she wanted was to manage the few steps from her desk to the edge of her bed and tumble face down onto her pillow. Giving her body a little pep-talk and praying that it was once again under her control, she stood and opened her eyes.

And promptly stumbled back against the desk, slamming her lower back into the edge. Exclaiming in pain, she laughed nervously, "God! Tan-? wha-?"

The Yellow Ranger sat, unlaughing, on the edge of the bed, looking thoroughly nonplussed. Even at Kat's yelp of pain, she made no move, gave no indication of concern. Calming down a little Kat looked at her expectantly, but still Tanya said nothing, simply continued to look forward, her gaze steady, unwavering.

Finally after an awkward, too long, silence, she spoke. "We don't live together anymore."

Well, that demonstrated a mastery of the obvious, but Kat bit her tongue. Tanya didn't look ready to laugh at much of anything, and the way her own temper was going one little misplaced comment might be like throwing a match on gasoline. So instead she simply perched on the desk and stared right back, waiting.

Apparently satisfied she had her counterpart's attention, Tanya continued, "So it would be a lot easier for me to cover for you with your parents if you'd give me a little heads up when you decide to go work yourself to death in the Zord bay."

Kat started to protest, "I wasn't--"

But Tanya cut her off sharply. "Oh come on. What are you going to tell me? That you've found a great grunge rock club and you just can't stay away?" She gestured scornfully at Kat's work clothes. "Don't insult me. You've been working every night for weeks."

"So what if I am?" Kat muttered, her eyes shifting to the floor.

"So wha-? So wha-?" Tanya repeated the words as though trying to convince herself that she hadn't just heard them. "You're running yourself into the ground is so what!"

God, she didn't need this. She didn't need someone coming in to her life, with no concept of what that was anymore, and tell her how it should be lived, particularly when she didn't know how herself. All she wanted was to get rid of Tanya as quickly as possible, so she could sleep. Already a part of her was back in the Zord bay surveying schematics and making to do lists for tomorrow, and the rest of her wanted to be in bed.

"Look Tan," She sighed, rubbing her temples, "You're right. I've been working pretty hard, so if you don't mind all I really wanted to do right now is get some rest. We can talk about this later, okay?"

"Are you going tomorrow?" Okay this was getting irritating. It felt too much like a parent asking if she intended to keep seeing a boy they didn't approve of.

"There's still a lot of work to do." She replied, and hoping to cut this conversation off once and for all, moved towards the bathroom beginning to undress.

"No there isn't."

The words froze her in the doorway to the bathroom, her tank top already off and her jeans unbuttoned. Oblivious to her state of undress, Kat spun on her heal to stare at her friend, convinced she couldn't have just heard correctly. It was too much of a confirmation that Billy had truly been as unappreciated as he'd feared. How many times had she told him that what he did was important, necessary, that the team knew the sacrifices he'd made. Now here sat her best friend placidly staring back at her, seemingly unaware that with the blasphemy she had just uttered, she proved Kat the liar. It was too much.

"What?" She wanted to roar, but the words came out as a breathy, disbelieving, croak. Tanya's words had knocked all the air out and she still couldn't catch her breath.

"I said—no there isn't a lot of work to do." Tanya enunciated each word slowly, carefully as though speaking to a small child, it rankled.

"I know what you said," Kat snapped, "I just can't believe you said it."

"Why not? It's true. You've been working yourself into the ground, as though your holding everything together by the barest of threads, but you're not . . ."

"What the hell do you know! When was the last time you picked up a micro-welder, or pliers, or even a wrench? When was the last time you laid a hand on those Zords that wasn't in battle?"

Tanya said nothing. Usually talkative to fault, the Yellow Ranger seemed strangely determined to remain quiet. Kat missed the set of her friend's jaw, the clenching of her hands on the comforter as she struggled not to say things that couldn't be taken back, instead her silence only served to inflame Kat further.

"God! You're just like all the others! No wonder Billy thought none of you appreciated him. You think the Zords repair themselves, all their systems just update naturally. He's been gone three months, and all of you just carry on. Not one of you has stopped to think to wonder why everything just keeps going on the same as it was. We didn't even try to figure out how we were going to fill Billy's shoes. Did we? Did we!"

She didn't wait for Tanya's response, which wouldn't have come anyway. Words were pouring out of her beyond her control. All the resentment she felt at everyone for continuing to go on with their lives, when hers had stopped; at herself for not being brave enough to call out to Billy when she had the chance, at Billy for leaving her alone here, it flowed through her, honing her words, sharpening them into weapons. She liked the way they cut in her throat as she hurled them at her friend. It had been so long it seemed. So long since there was any kind of real emotion, and whatever this pain was, it was true.

"We were all so happy for him when he left, weren't we?"

"That's not …" Tanya began to interject, but Kat cut her off.

"Of course we were. He's happy with Cestria, so that makes it easy. Easy for us to be relieved that he won't be around anymore, won't be making us uncomfortable with his refusal to be cheery. Won't keep reminding us what he's sacrificed."

"Stop it." The Yellow Ranger's voice was hard, tight, strained against emotions that were fighting for release.

"Stop what?" Kat scoffed, half taunting half accusing. "Stop remembering him? Stop caring that he's gone? Just what am I supposed to stop, Tan?"

She was planning to go on, to keep pushing, but at that moment her friend looked over at her, not with anger or guilt, but with pity, and all her words died in her throat.

Finally Tanya spoke, far more softly, but with no less conviction than before.

"Stop pretending that you weren't the reason he left."

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"Man, we should have done this a long time ago." Tommy breathed with a sigh of relief as he hopped up on the hood of Jason's old convertible. God it was beautiful out here. The great black of the sky stretched out along the expanse of desert and it seemed to go on forever, like if they got into the car and drove they could just go on driving, just keep driving until … well until they felt like stopping.

"Yeah," Jason agreed coming around to lean against the front grill. "Here."

"Thanks." Tommy took the proffered bottle instinctively, and then registering its strange contours stared down at it and then back up at Jason.

Feeling his scrutiny the Gold Ranger, who was just putting the bottle opener on his Swiss Army knife to the cap, looked up in concern. "I've got other stuff in the trunk . . . There's soda and I think some water . . ." He pushed away from the hood.

"No." Tommy found himself saying the word before he had even realized he'd made a decision. "No, this is fine."

"You sure?" Jason asked again. "I didn't think, you know. It's legal over in Europe . . ."

The cool glass rested against his hand. This was what normal teenagers did. They sat around with their friends, and they had a beer or maybe ten. They didn't think about being clear headed for a fight or setting an example. And who the hell was he setting an example for anyway? All the way out here, there was nobody. Nobody to follow him, to look to him for guidance. Nobody blaming him for all their problems or counting on him to solve their difficulties because that was a leader did. Out here, there was just the black the dirt, and Jason, and none of them needed him to lead them to a better way. Out here he was just a guy.

And dammit if he wasn't going to just be a guy having a beer with his friend!

"Yeah, no, it's fine . . . Hey gimme that." Reaching out he took the bottle-opener from Jason and popped off the top. The little metal cap clinked lightly against the front bumper as it fell. It was a satisfying little clink, like freedom, like cell doors opening or chains falling away. Leaning forward, he took a swig and stared out over the desert.

"I should have done this a long time ago."

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Billy was aware of the figure behind him, trying to stand so quietly and failing so miserably. In fact he had heard her coming up the path. Despite having amazing perceptions in the water due vibrations and tiny differences in movement that he'd never be able to discern, Aquatians were not naturally quiet on land, being unable to judge for themselves the amount of noise they were making. Even now as she stood behind him trying so hard not to move a muscle, she made a low humming noise in the back of her throat, no doubt trying to suppress one of her many burning questions. Finally, it did not seem it could be contained any longer.

"You come up here every Tashal Novara."

He turned towards the soft, lilting voice with a smile enjoying the multi-layered harmony her voice gave to the word's full pronunciation. Cestria stood just at the point were the path flattened out into the ledge; her body still hidden in the shadows, she waited for permission to enter his world.

"Yes." He responded, gesturing with his hand by way of invitation.

After a pause, she came up to stand beside him and looked down. "It is a pattern."

"Yes it is." He sighed despondently.

"But it does not bring you joy."

Billy shifted his gaze back to the sky, back to the trio of diamond-like stars he could now find on instinct. If he looked just past them, into the black open space between them, he could see her, the way she had peered so intently at where his hand directed her eyes, the soft breath of satisfaction she released at knowing this about him. He used to wonder if, to dream that, she looked for those same stars now, but long ago he stopped wondering.

"No," he shook his head sadly, ". . . it does not bring me joy."

Cestria lowered herself to kneel beside him, tucking her feet beneath her in a way that was reminiscent of Trini's yoga poses. "Yet, you continue to come."

His laugh was dry and humorless. "Yet, I continue to come."

She looked at him for a long moment, not asking him to return her gaze, not daring him to do anything, simply . . . looking. Finally, she let her eyes slide out to the night. Tracking the direction of his gaze, she murmured, "Novara is becoming stronger, she no longer needs so long a Tashal."

"I don't stay up here the whole time any way."

"Billy . . ." His name always sounded like music in her voice, so many layered harmonies, but today the strains were sad.

Her fingers were cool against the nape of his neck, stroking lightly in that way that caused him so much confusion. This gesture, so intimate in human culture, had too many meanings on her world, depending on the pressure, the rhythms, or the tempo. It was for strangers, and siblings, and lovers all at once, and he was never sure which it was with her.

"Billy," She started again, softly, regretfully, "Novara will no longer take her Tashal at all in a few more cycles."

He whipped his head around to stare at her, sitting there so quietly after dropping that little bombshell, her fingers still as she measure his reaction. Even as he willed it to be some cruel joke Cestria would never play, his mind was already scanning through its database of information to confirm what she said. Novara would cease to take her first set, and this time, this opportunity to imagine home, to be near her in his own way, would cease to exist. God, how could he have been so stupid as to forget!

Cestria's hand dropped to her lap. "So this does bring you something."

The words were ones of confirmation. She had the answer to a question she never really needed to ask.

"Yes."

"What?" She whispered, her gaze traveling back to the stars as though she might be able to see it too. "What does this bring you Billy?"

He paused, realizing that this was actually Cestria's first question of the night. Up until now everything had been a statement, a declaration that she knew what was going on inside him. Now, as he looked at her in the soft purple-blue light, he could see the tension on her features as she waited to learn something new.

Trailing his eyes across the stars, he searched for an answer and found none. "I don't know."

"But you will not be able to find it when Novara ceases to rest?"

"No." The word was strangled, choking him a little with its truth.

"I see." Cestria dropped her head to stare at her hands spread flat across her knees. She stayed that way for a long time, and Billy found his eyes drawn to those long elegant fingers. Aquatian hands were longer, with webbing coming up to the first knuckle and the rest of the finger left free to provide them all the dexterity of a human hand. These hands had bathed him, feed him, steadied him. They had played yamawah to pass the time and built a breathing apparatus so they could explore the oceans together. So why didn't he find these hands beautiful?

"Kantro is angry with me."

The words were so soft after such a long silence, that Billy almost didn't catch them.

"Wha-? Why?" He sputtered, trying to navigate his mind along this hairpin turn of thought.

"Because I am . . ." She muttered something foreign and unintelligible he didn't recognize. "I have not changed, and I have not tried to change anything else because I cannot . . ." A little keen of frustration escaped her as she struggled to express herself. "I am . . . stuck."

"No." Billy shook his head in rejection of the idea. "No, you brainstormed all today about where to take your research next. There are about seventeen good ideas up on that board back there."

"Not here." She murmured, touching fingertips to temple. "But here," she thumped fist just below her breast. Turning to look at him she repeated the gesture, harder this time, "I am stuck here."

It was the closest he had ever come to seeing her cry, and all he wanted to do was make it stop. She was his rock in this, calm and unflappable. Reaching out blindly, he closed his hand around her fist, desperate to make her stop. The gesture seemed to calm her a little, and he let her bring his hand in to cradle it lightly against her body. But even as he did so, Billy's eyes widened at the realization that the spot she seemed so intent on abusing was the resting place of her Acquatian heart.

How had this happened? How had he let this happen?

"Oh God, Cestria I never . . ." He fumbled for words, but she cut him off.

"I know."

"I've always been completely honest with you, about why I wanted to stay, about Kat, about everything."

"Yes you have."

"But you still . . ."

"I had . . ." Her lips pressed together in a sad little smile as she cast about for the right word, "hoped."

She shrugged slightly and Billy found himself drawn to the resigned tilt of her head. Yes he knew something about hope. Reaching out with his other hand he traced the curve of her face. "I am so sorry."

"So am I." Cestria mirrored his gesture, trailing thin ephemeral fingers along the lines of his mouth. "Are you sure you will not be able to find what you are looking for when Novara ceases to rest?"

"I . . ." Billy's voice trailed off as her fingers brushed against his newly acquired crow's-feet. Maybe it was the feeling of her touch on features Kat had never known, maybe it was the earnestness of her question, the recognition of his own pain in her eyes, maybe it was a desire to simply find out if his pain could end for just a moment. He didn't know what compelled him to do what he did next. All he knew was he didn't know the answer to her question, and he owed it to both of them to find out.

Fingers came to rest on the nape of her neck, as he returned her familiar gesture for the first time. With his other hand still clasped around hers he tilted her mouth up to his, whispering the answer against her lips.

"I don't know."

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Yes, I know its short, but it seemed such a great place to end this part.

Panache