I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury.

Fran and Dom are adorbs.

Places in Books

Tilt-A-Whir


Amsterdam. Is. Awesome.

The gingerbread buildings are so colorful.

"Wow! What's this place?"

The shops are amazing.

Oh my gosh, look at this cute little candleholder! Where does the candle go?"

"It doesn't, Frannie. It's a bong."

"A what?"

The food is to die for.

"Oh my gosh, Dom, this cookie is the size of my face! And it's soooooo good! What's it called again?"

"Stroopwafels."

"Strapenssafels?"

And Frannie Faye Fugleman feels fabulous.

"Stroopwafels."

"Struffenkafels."

It might be the amazing trip so far, her first one of anything ever out of Ocean Bluff.

It might be the great nap she'd taken on the two and a half hour train trip from Brussels.

Or it might be the contact high she had gotten from the punk-aesthetic guy they'd just shared a train ride with into the city.

He was rolling his own, . . .

"Rook?"

. . . little pot stick three feet away from her.

"Oh, no, no, no, I, uh, no-"

Offered her some..

"Uh, Dom?"

Dom, pose and face casual and unperturbed.

"It's alright, Fran. It's legal here."

"Oh, okay then."

And she had tried to relax, calm down.

Casually study the landscape out the smudged train window.

That looks pretty, I wonder what that is?

And not worry about the thin tendrils of smoke wafting around her general . . .

Gee, I hope I don't get sick-

. . . airspace.

But now she is feeling fine and this is the best trip ever and-

"Ooooh, Dom, look! A tattoo parlor! Oooh, I should get a tattoo to commemorate our trip!"

And she's already envisioning the graceful little butterfly or the leaping dolphin or the delicately placed daisy-

"Uh, no, Frannie, I don't think now is the time for you to be getting a tattoo."

His arm is around her, and isn't his body warm-

"Why? You've got those tiger stripes things! I should have something cool too!"

And he's gently guiding her away from the display window, chuckle warm close to her-

"Okay, come on, Frannie, you're just, well, anyway, come on-"

"Whyyyeee, come on, I'm totally positive this is a good idea-"


Ohhh . . . oh my gosh-"

That's it.

"Ohhh-"

She's dying.

"Oh my head-"

She's dying and she's only just begun her European backpacking adventure with Dom.

"I'm so lightheaded."

She still hasn't seen Paris or Munich or Zurich or . . .

Dom-

And worse of all . . .

". . . heart . . racing . . ."

. . . she's making a fool of herself in front of him.

"Oh . . .

Right there in the middle of the narrow walkway between the garish, looming buildings that are going to fall on her.

". . . my gosh-"

And the waters of the Grimburgwal.

Where she would surely drown her stupid sick head.

If she were to keel over too far in her sudden bout of she doesn't even know what-

And the whole entire stupid world knows just how ridiculous Frances Faye Fugleman is once again.

"Ohhh-"

Except they don't.

Not really.

She was overexcited, loud, brassy, and clearly tripping her brains out along the row of shops along the Red Light District.

But with the atmosphere of legalized prostitution, the multitude of marijuana coffee shops, and the aforementioned tattoo parlor Dom has just decisively escorted her from . . .

". . . gosshh . . ."

. . . she's really not as much of a freakshow attraction as her overstimulated anxious brain assures her she is.

"What's wrong with me??"

And besides, Don has taken her away from it all.

Found a bench in a cut in the endless brick wall of foreverness that mocks her.

"It's okay, Fran. Just breathe."

And she's sitting, just sitting.

Trying to breathe.

But the sun is too bright; it's too dazzling.

And her mouth is parched and her stomach is in knots and-

"Here, drink this."

She fumbles for whatever he's just passed to her-

Rat poison -

-and she doesn't know where that thought came from or where it will go-

But he's Dom and he saved her once from a falling sign using-

-sword of light from his arm because he's a Powder Ranfer, no, ugh, that's not right-

And it's just . . .

"Water, Fran. Here, eat this."

And an energy bar.

And she just knows . . .

"Oh, ugh, it tastes like protein-flavored taffy . . ."

Suddenly she wants to smack him.

Just smack his handsome face with her shaking hand.

Because he was supposed to take care of her, supposed to protect her.

And now look at her.

Her rage instantly cycles over to tears.

Look at her.

High as the sky and sick as seaweed.

And she sniffles pitifully.

"I'm sorry, Dom. I've ruined the whole trip."

Her tears are disgusting and pitiful.

"You must be so disappointed and embarrassed-"

And laced with regret and chemicals.

And Dom . . .

"Hey, no, Frannie, you're going to feel better in a little while and we're going to continue our European backpacking adventure, okay? Don't you worry about it."

. . . puts a firm, calming arm around her.

"Okay?"

And Fran, trying to breathe deep and rejuvenating . . .

"Okay."

. . . nods bravely to the gentle-faced man beside her.

And promptly puts her head between her knees.

"Hurgh-"

And throws up.


"Hey, feeling better?"

They're on a grassy knoll.

Fran Fugleman.

And Dom Hargan.

In the shade of some tall, thick-trunk tree.

Throwing just enough shade to cover her completely.

Fran.

Who has awoken on her side. Curled upon the fresh, green grass.

Khaki pantsed legs . . .

"Oh. Hey."

. . . stretched out next to her.

"Yeah. I think."

They belong to Dom.

Dom, who has been partially reclined.

And now is sitting up, placing Of Mice and Men back down in the grass by his side.

"Good. I thought you might."

She starts to rise, feels him gently help her up.

"How's your head?"

He lightly brushes fingertips across her sweat-cooled forehead.

"Better. I have a little headache but it's nothing much."

"Ah, hang on."

And she watches as he digs into his backpack.

Brings out a white bottle.

And transfers . . .

"Here. Aspirin."

. . . two small, white pills into her hand.

She drinks them carefully down with a swig from the water bottle he hands her.

"Thank you."

And tries to clear her head.

"I'm sorry you got sick, Frannie. I had no idea you would have such a strong reaction."

His chiseled face exudes concern and regret.

And she tries . . .

"It's okay. I didn't know either."

. . . to reassure him.

"I'm just so sorry I acted like such an idiot."

Dom chuckles.

"Oh, you were fine. Much better than my first time."

And she goggles.

"You?"

Her voice is a practically a disbelieving squeak.

"You were . . . high?"

Dom grins.

"Yes. And that . . ."

He smirks secretively.

". . . is a story for another time. Now, . . ."

And Fran can tell he's deflecting.

". . . when you're feeling better, why don't we sightsee Amsterdam . . ."

And decides to let him.

". . . in a little bit more mellow groove?"

Just . . .

"Okay.'

. . . this . . .

"But you are one day going to tell me that story."

. . . once.

"Deal."


Before you mock, I was that high girl.

And yeah, I got sick on the way back down.

*facepalm of past embarrassment*

Anyway, thanks to Seth A. Mincberg for previously reviewing.More good, less sick Netherlands coming up soon! :)