I do not own Power Rangers: Jungle Fury

Dom and Fran are adorbs.

Places in Books

What I Like About You


"Do you miss Maryl?"

She doesn't know why she said it really.

She wasn't even really thinking of it, of her.

The dark-haired, highly intelligent, gorgeous, sophisticated, genetic engineer.

"What?"

Whom Dom had first rescued from the Rinshi.

"Maryl."

Then driven away with his cocky, mouthy stupidity.

"I bet she would have really liked this trip. It's so amazing."

Begged forgiveness of.

"Oh. Yeah. I guess."

And not received . . .

"I mean, she probably would have been too busy to come on this trip in the first place."

. . . quite the forgiveness he'd been hoping for.

Too busy. Right. Because I was just wasting my life in a pizza shop.

Which is true.

I guess.

"I'm sorry you couldn't bring her."

And that part's true too, she never could have competed with Maryl.

"I know you liked her."

She never could have competed with anyone, frankly.

"Yeah, I did."

Not her.

"But some people just aren't meant for each other, you know?"

Not plain old Fran.

"Well, not when you get caught bragging about milking them for information."

Whose own mouth has just weirdly run off on her.

And Dom's face flinches.

Oh, I'm sorry.

Recovers.

But it's true.

And he nods.

"Yeah. That's true."

And is quiet for a second.

And Fran wonders if that's the end of them, him and her.

If there ever was a beginning.

Some people, men, don't like being corrected.

Called out.

Owned.

"But I don't think it would have worked anyway. She was nice and intelligent and beautiful and all-"

Yep.

Yep yep yep.

"But her life was very, you know, ordered and structured and driven."

So you invited me because I'm an unaccomplished mess?

"And I like to be spontaneous and impulsive."

He shrugs, gestures out the window.

"Like this trip. I mean, Frannie, I can't imagine being on this trip with anyone but you."

And she just cannot shut up.

"Why did you invite me on this trip anyway?"

Blushingly, timidly so.

But challenging anyway.

Dom shrugs.

"I thought you might like to see the world outside of the pizza parlor, you know?"

She nods.

Ah, yes. Pity.

Goody.

Then he smiles.

Open and sincere.

Friendly.

"Plus, I like you, Frannie."

And she can't quite believe it.

"Really?"

He seems to try to squint through her self-doubt, lopsided smile on his strong face.

"Yeah, Fran. You're great."

And he glances away.

"And as far as Maryl goes, well, you can't make someone like you or forgive you. I screwed up and I guess she didn't forgive me. Maybe she was never going to be interested. I don't know."

And back to her again.

"Anyway, I'm here with you because I want to be here with you. I wish you'd believe that."

And all of her random irritation and discomfort and self consciousness she suddenly decides to allow to melt away . . .

"Because I'm really enjoying being with you."

. . . and just be okay.

"Thank you for coming with me on this trip, Fran.'

He takes her hand across the table.

Squeezes warmly.

"I really mean that."

And she . . .

Oh, Dom -

. . . simply smiles at him, her friend.

"I'm really enjoying being on this trip with you too."


Caricature artists have a unique ability.

They, like many artists, study their subjects closely.

They take note of their physical qualities, their uniqueness.

The things that make them 'them'.

They take the entire picture and they shift it.

Only slightly.

Just enough to allow those without . . .

What the . . .

. . . to see from within.

The artist's within.

They slant it, skew it, exaggerate it.

Sometimes they make it better.

And the really good ones, . . .

"Oh my gosh, Dom-"

. . . they make their subjects into . . .

"Hey, it looks just like us!"

. . . real works of art.

"It . . . it does?"

All in thirty minutes . . .

"Yeah! It's perfect."

. . . or less.


She can't stop staring at it, she really can't.

All her little flaws, all the things she sees every day, the caricature artist made them . . .

Oh gosh-

. . . better.

Her eyes, always too small and close together for her taste, simply seem a lovely hazel that perfectly compliment her straight, pert nose.

Eyebrows, not thin and sparse as she has fretted over. But delicate and slightly arched in hopeful positivity.

Her thin mouth, hardly more than a straight line below her nose, not plump or inviting at all, is now artfully curved into an open, welcoming, rosebud smile.

Her hair, instead of mousy and stringy as she has always seen it, now presents as playfully pigtailed and whimsically wispy.

And though she tries to tell herself she's just making it up, there's Dom.

Dom.

Blond hair, textured and just the right amount upswept in the front.

Eyebrows arched in good-hearted mischief.

Cheekbones in stark relief, pug nose perfect.

The slightest of dimples to his chin, the long, thin, vertical groove between that pug nose and his upper lip.

And his lips, curved and upturned in a Puckish, fond smile.

Directed, as are his bright blue eyes, in a sideways glance.

At her.

Me.

He's looking at me.

He's looking at me like that.

If she weren't one of the two objects of the picture, she'd immediately notice the male in the picture is fondly side-eying the female.

The female who is cute and pert and open and friendly.

And completely adored by her male counterpart in the frame.

"Like the picture?"

She's almost startled.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, I guess. I almost don't recognize myself."

Crinkling the paper just a little, heart skipping a beat in protest.

As Dom slides over next to her to study their shared caricature a little closer.

"What? It looks just like you."

And she laughs, nervously, anxiously.

Well, I mean, he sitting close. He's almost leaning over my shoulder.

He's practically got his arm around me.

Like a boyf-

And she desperately tries to focus.

The picture.

The picture.

"It doesn't, no. I mean, I've never been this cute in my life."

And Dom cuts his eyes at her, as if this statement ridiculous and completely unfounded.

Then his face softens and his voice is gentle as he responds.

"We can never see ourselves as others see us, Fran. Most people are so much more beautiful inside and out than they can ever realize and understand."

He nudges her gently.

"And that includes you, Fran. Especially you."

And she just . . .

'Well, uh, . . ."

. . . doesn't know what to say.

". . . thank you . . ."

But she decides she really, really . . .

"You're welcome, Fran."

. . . likes the picture.


Caricatures can be amazing. And very revealing.

Thanks for reading! :)