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

Author's Note: Well, one thing you can say for me. When I have a chance I do write.

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

Tanya grimaced inwardly as Kat's features crumpled at her words. Damn this sucked! She didn't want to be here, didn't want to be the one saying these things, but she'd been watching her best friend over these past few weeks, and she didn't like what she saw. The Kat she knew was disappearing, fading away. It was slow, so slow in fact that she wasn't surprised Tommy had made no mention of it. If she'd been around she probably wouldn't have noticed it either; it was the kind of change that crept over you. But she'd been gone most of the summer, busy with her own life, wading in her own good fortune. And when she'd shown up for school on the first day, still floating on the waves of her parent's presence and Adam's love, the changes in her friend had hit like a sack of cement, sinking her with its weight.

Kat looked like hell. Not outwardly, not on the surface, she'd been very careful to ensure that all the superficial pieces were in place. She was still pretty, still smiled at all the right moments, but that smile never reached her eyes, the meticulous care in her appearance was worn like a shelter like the real Kat hid beneath it. She no longer sparkled, no longer shone.

It had been that moment when Tanya knew that she had to intervene. She'd known it instinctively, known that nothing short of an emotional punch to the gut would pull her best friend off this self-destructive downslide. Known it in the same way she knew that this had something to do with Billy.

What she didn't know was what to do about it, so she'd waited, stupidly and selfishly. She'd waited because she was scared. She'd waited until it was obvious she couldn't wait any longer.

But she still didn't know what to do. Sitting here in this room, listening to her friend lash out with so much anger, so much desperate pain . . . she'd had no idea what to do. So she did the only thing she could think of and laid all her cards on the table.

And questioned the wisdom of that choice the moment the words out of her mouth. It wasn't a punch to the gut; it was a gunshot.

Kat crumpled, that was the only word for it. Whatever had been keeping her going left in a great rush, leaving her weak and defeatedin its wake.

"Oh God." She caught hold of the door frame supporting herself against it. Her voice cracked as another explosive little cry left her and she sank to the ground. "Oh God, Tan . . ."

As horrible as it was to witness, Tanya found herself grateful for Kat's reaction because it gave her something to do. Coming off the bed, she knelt down beside her friend's defeated form and gently gathered the Pink Ranger into her arms.

"Hey . . ."

Kat clung to her, her breath coming in desperate little gasps. "I miss him so much Tan."

"I know sweetie. I know." And the crazy thing was, she did. The day Billy had called to say that he was staying, and everyonehad beenfalling over themselves to congratulate him, Tanya had ventured a glance over at her friend . . . and that vague undefined notion she'd had in the mall suddenly stood out in sharp relief, given contours by how Kat eyes desperately clung to viewing globe searching for any sign, any acknowledgement, given depth by the strange quality in Billy's voice, as though reciting from memory, by the way his gaze remained unfocused never coming to rest on any particular team member.

Yes, she'd known in that instant, and her strangeintuition had been just as depressingly right as it always was—she desperately wished she didn't. And maybe it had been selfish and maybe it had been weak, but it had also been easy to convince herself that she didn't know. After all, she was the unperceptive one, the one who bulldozed over people's feelings with all the subtlety of a mack truck, and no one else knew, so why should she?

Except she had. She had and she'd turned a blind eye. So this was her responsibility now. This was her mess to clean up.

It would of course help to know how.

"Do you . . . do you want to talk about it?"

"No." Kat hiccupped.

No of course she didn't want to talk about it. That was a stupid question. In fact all the other questions that occurred to her seemed stupid. So she simply rocked her friend a little, just trying to offer what comfort she could.

"This wasn't what was supposed to happen." Kat started again. "Not after . . ." She trailed off her words devolving into sobs.

"Shh, shh."

"And he left! He just left! Because he finally found someone he relates to? What about us? What about me? Didn't he relate to me!"

"Oh, honey . . ."

"Well, I don't care! I don't care why he left. Whether it was because of me or her . . ." Her voice went hard at the last word and she sat up. "I don't care. He left without saying goodbye. He couldn't be bothered so . . . that's it I'm done hurting. I am done hurting."

"Good for you." Tanya murmured brushing away a few of the errant strands that hung in her friend's face. It was a poor lie and Kat knew it as well as she did, but she liked the way it squared her friend's shoulders, and perhaps if it was told often enough sooner or later it might be true.

The pink ranger smiled wanly and laid her head down on her counterpart's shoulder, "So how do I do that?"

"Well . . ." Kissing her lightly on the forehead, Tanya thought for a moment. "You start by going to bed and getting some rest. Tomorrow the sun will rise and you'll get up and you'll go to school . . ."

"Like that's worked so far."

"But tomorrow when things get bad or you start to hurt, you'll come interrupt my softball practice or my voice lessons or if I get really really lucky pre-cal." That earned her a small laugh. "And I'll be there, so you're not doing this alone. Then eventually you won't come as often because it won't hurt as much, and I'll stop having to make up so many lame stories to cover with your parents."

"Not the Zords, Tan. I meant what I said. They don't repair themselves." There was a warning in Kat's voice.

"No. I guess they don't." Tanya exhaled in preparation for diving head long back into this. "But I meant what I said, too. Eventually, you'll stop needing to be there, so you won't create as much work for yourself. And someday, maybe, you'll stop needing to keep this private vigil that won't bring him back, and when you do you'll pick up the phone or hit your communicator and I'll come and I'll pick up that wrench I've never touched and you'll show me what I can do to help."

"You're already doing it."

"Well, I should have done it a long time ago."

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Tommy spat out his beer and looked over at Jason in disbelief. "She danced on a bar!"

Jason laughed enjoying Tommy's reaction. "Oh yeah she danced."

"Trini!"

"Well, Trini after a couple of beers, three shots of tequila, and Zack betting her fifty bucks. I swear that man can get her to do anything."

"So . . . um . . ." He could see Tommy was experiencing a moral dilemma, but finally the damn burst and the Red Ranger blurted out, "How was it?"

"Zack still calls it the best damn fifty bucks he ever spent. He's offered her a hundred if she'll do it again and let him bring a camera."

Tommy let out a low whistle. "I think I'd help him out with that."

"You and me both man. You and me both . . ."

Something must have crept into his voice because look Tommy cast him was penetrating. "You and Trini . . ."

Reading the question in his friend's eyes, Jason shook his head. "No . . . never happened."

"But you wish it had."

It wasn't a question, so Jason didn't answer it. Instead he simply took another swig of beer and stared out over the desert. He did not come out here to have his own non-existent personal life dissected. Truth was he didn't know anymore what he wished. All through his time in Europe he'd been thinking of Trini as Billy's, except apparently nobody had bothered to inform the Blue Ranger of that. Nor, the more he thought about it, had anyone informed Trini because she certainly hadn't acted claimed, in fact he could count at least three guys she'd demonstrated her unclaimed status with since they'd been in Europe.

So why hadn't one of them been him?

No. Jason shook his head. He was not going down this road. He had Emily. He was back where he belonged and Trini was where she belonged. He was not going down this road.

"Wishes and horses." Jason muttered under his breath continuing to ignore the overly appraising look he was getting from Tommy.

"Sure," Tommy nodded with a smile, "horses . . ."

They lapsed into what started out as a rather awkward silence, but as the minutes ticked by, Tommy's whole body started to shake with laughter, and Jason felt himself begin to chuckle as well.

"Dancing . . ."

"On a bar . . ."

"There's gotta be pictures . . ." Tommy pleaded.

"Believe me I asked everyone . . ."

"Damn."

"Yeah."

Their laughter finally died down to the occasional chuckle, and Tommy smiled over at him, tipping his bottle in salute, "To dancing."

Jason held up his in response. "To tequila."

"You know we should really give credit where credit is due." Raising his bottle high above his head Tommy yelled at the top his lungs. "To Zack!"

"To Zack!" Jason shouted, following suit, and as one they knocked back what was left of their drinks.

"Damn that felt good." Tommy leaned back on the hood, "You know we should do this again soon."

Shit. Jason mentally cursed. He couldn't do this. He'd come out here with a plan. He'd come out here with beer, all the courage he'd been building up over the summer, and every intention of getting Tommy to talk about what was going on with Kat or talking at him about it. But there was such an open and carefree light to his friend's face. He hadn't seen the Ranger's leader look so relaxed since, well since he was the leader. He couldn't ruin this for Tommy, not tonight.

Sighing, Jason reached behind him and grabbed another bottle. "Yeah, we definitely need to do this again."

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Cestria pressed her lips together trying to keep the feel of him with her. She wanted to remember this, wanted to be able recall every exquisite detail, the scent of him, the feel his hands on her skin, the weight of his forehead as it rested against hers. If she kept her eyes closed, if she didn't move hands, she could freeze this moment.

But this would be her only moment. There were none beyond this, and she could not stay in this one forever, because whether he knew it or not he had answered her question with his kiss.

Inhaling softly, she pulled away just far enough to meet his eyes desperately searching for some sign that she was wrong. "That was not . . . right, was it?"

The corners of Billy's mouth turned up in a small sad smile, that she was certain mirrored her own and his thumb flicked along her bottom lip. "No."

The word was soft, apologetic,and though expected it fell like a slap all the same. Dropping her hands, she turned her eyes to stars, trying to stifle the little wail in the back of her throat. "Because I am not her?"

"I'm sorry."

"Is she beautiful?"

Billy's hands, which had never left her face, tensed almost imperceptibly, "Cestria, please don't do this."

"Is she beautiful?" She pressed, her voice turning the question to a demand.

"Yes," his whispered finally releasing her from his touch, "she is very beautiful."

"Tell me about her." She had never heard him speak of her. In fact with the exception of the one desperately brief explanation of why he had to stay, Billy had studiously avoided any mention of his time on earth since they had last parted ways. Maybe listening to his voice paint this woman could kill her hope.

"She's a Ranger. You've seen her."

Cestria waved these superficial details away impatiently. "Not what she is. Who. How she holds you so completely."

Frustrated Billy threw himself back against the rock wall that had been serving as his support. Dropping his head to his knees, he ran his hands through his hair and locked them at back of neck, clearly at a loss. He might have been trying to wait her out the silence extended so long, but Cestria was a patient woman, far more so than this strange man who made her ache so deeply.

"She makes me coffee." He mumbled, his voice muffled by his stubborn refusal to lift his head.

"And?"

"Her patch jobs are prettier than mine."

"And?"

"Dammit, what do you want?"

"I want to understand." Cestria whispered, trailing her fingers along the curve of his neck. "I want to understand how you hold me."

His hand moved like a rafarik, a flash of moment and strong fingers pinned her wrist, tightly, bruising a little. Then whatever her touch had stirred in him seemed to melt, and his grasp softened into a caress. Tracing the length of her fingers, he intertwined them with his own, in a way that she could tell meant something.

"She made me laugh when I didn't feel much like laughing."

Slipping their hands over his head to wrap around his legs, so that Cestria was forced to mimic his posture, he turned his head to look at her. "She's unlike anyone I've ever met, yet she's scared of being a replacement. She shares silence and she forces me to talk. She wants to fight her own battles and mine too, possibly everyone's."

Now that he had started, Billy seemed to warm to the topic, as though he had longed to shout this from the mountain top, but found greater comfort in whispering it in her ear. Leaning back against the rock face, he brought his other arm around her, pulling her close, and strangely as she rested her head in the curve of his shoulder, it was okay that he wasn't talking about her.

"She's been a guinea pig, a bird, and a fish. She looks pretty in torn jeans and grease. She looks amazing in a gauzy pink dress I can't describe, with her hair in curls. She makes me go to the Youth Center and eat something other than chocolate. She makes it okay I'm not a Ranger. She calls me Doctor . . ." His voice trailed off in hesitation.

"And?"

"She makes me want to be Lancelot."

The words were breathed more than spoken, and Cestria found her heart going out to him. She did not know what a Lancelot was, but she could hear in his voice that he found the idea both terrifying and beautiful. It haunted him.

Titling her head up to look at him, she asked, "Does she want you to be a Lancelot?"

"I don't know."

"You do not know much."

Her statement tore a little explosion of laughter from him. Fierce and hollow, it echoed against the spires. "No, I do not know much."

They lapsed into silence again, and as Cestria looked out to the stars, there came a soft breeze, rippling across the ocean, seemingly without reason. Recognizing Kantro's touch, she closed eyes and tried to let him guide her.

"You have to return."

"I ca--" He started to protest, but she cut him off, pressing their intertwined hands against his lips, holding his eyes with her own.

"You are stuck, just as I am. I do not think until you have the answer to your question you can move. And although I have the answer to mine, I know that, as long as you remain, I will be unable to."

She moved to extricate her hand, but he caught her fingers and pressed his lips to her palm. It was intimate in a way that was unfamiliar and consuming all at once. No other male would ever mark her there.

Feeling a slight moisture on his cheeks, she looked at him in alarm.

"You are leaking!"

It was a real laugh that rumbled against her palm this time. "It's okay," he assured her, guiding her fingertips so she could feel how the drops started at the corners of the his eyes and trailed along the curves of his face. "Humans . . . leak sometimes, when we're happy or sad or mixed up."

"Which are you?"

"All of them I think."

"It must be difficult to have emotions that lack definition."

Strangely enough this caused him to laugh again. Holding her hand to his face, he kissed the inside of her wrist, and when he spoke his lips moved against her skin so that they were felt as much as heard. "God help me Cestria, I really think I could have loved you."

Kantro forgive her, but he unraveled her! Her life had been a beautiful tapestry when he came, so many finely interwoven strands of effort, punctuated by the brilliance of success. True there were imperfections, knots, snarls, but always the weaving went forward. Now she wanted to pluck the threads out, take herself back and change the pattern. She wanted to go back to when he had first come and convince him to stay, convince him to love her instead; she wanted to return to the time when she had volunteered to tend him and surrender the task to another. But that was not the way; the pattern could not be unmade. She must simply finish this portion and let the strand drop. Still she knew she would gladly pick it up again if offered.

So she found herself smiling back at his admission, because it was enough. "If you find she does not want you to be a Lancelot . . . I will be here. I will be different, but I will be here."

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Thank you for reading. Comments and Criticisms are greatly appreciated as always.

Panache