Disclaimer: I do not own any characters related to Power Rangers they are owned by Saban/Disney et. al

I do however own all things Tanzetti and reserve the right to reuse them as I please.

She said yes!

Marcy had agreed to meet Billy to work on the car at eleven o'clock on Saturday.

Billy flew through the garage on Saturday morning as if possessed. He cleared the junk off workbenches and hid it in buckets and bins underneath. He started by actually organizing it, categorizing articles and projects, but as the time of Marcy's arrival drew near he began to panic and started throwing things around haphazardly, without even stopping to see what it was.

It's a garage, he told himself. It's supposed to be messy.

But not this messy, he argued. This is disastrous.

Great, now I'm talking to myself and answering. Yeah, real sane.

Finally the workbenches looked like they may actually be organized and he realized that half the tools he needed were scattered through the bins. He spent the next half hour sorting through each of them in turn, fishing out the necessary tools and cursing himself for not keeping track of things better.

When he finally had all the car tools laid out next to the Rad Bug it was ten till eleven. He decided he may as well get started. The plan was to make modifications to the transmission and the fuel pump. And possibly update the electronics to the engine. The entire system was almost fully computerized, but it had been over a year since he'd updated the software. The capabilities of the car with new computer components were limitless.

He looked at his watch. Five after eleven. There was no sign of Marcy. What if she changed he mind? What if she forgot? No, he told himself. She'll be here. He decided he might as well start the repairs to keep himself busy.

He's just worked his way under the car to loosen some bolts when he heard the sound of an engine revving nearby. The sound got closer until it was almost deafening. He pulled himself out from under the car and saw a large black motorcycle sitting in the driveway. The driver was covered from head to toe in black leather. The engine cut out as the driver parked and set the bike, then removed the helmet. Marcy stood before him, long hair braided tight down her back.

"Hey," she said.

"I thought you drove a Cadillac," Billy said.

"Only on workdays," Marcy replied. "Weekends I drive the bike."

"Did you build that too?"

She smiled as he admired the smooth chrome piping and black highlights. "You wanna go for a ride?"

He did. He really did. But then a wave or responsibility hit him. The Rad Bug was lying in pieces all over the garage. It was dangerous to have it out of commission like this. The Rad Bug wasn't just a car, it was a backup system. If they ever lost communication with the Command Center the Rad Bug was the best and fastest way to get to Zordon and Alpha.

"Maybe later," he said. "I really need to finish the car today if I can."

Marcy shrugged. "That's cool." She put the helmet on top of the bike and stripped off her jacket. Billy had to take a step back at what she was wearing underneath. A tight-fitting maroon tank top that accentuated nearly ever curve of her body. She didn't notice his reaction and stepped past him to the car.

"Holy shit!" she exclaimed. "What the hell did you do to it?"

Billy came up and stood next to her. "I made a few modifications."

"A few? It's nothing but wires and circuits. Is there even a real engine in there?"

"Yes," Billy laughed. She was right, the Rad Bug didn't look like a typical engine under the hood. "Of course there is. I just installed a typical computer interface."

"Typical?" Marcy replied. "What are you trying to do reach light speed? It's a Volkswagen, not the Millennium Falcon."

Billy stepped around the car and gathered up his tools. "When I'm done with this, Han Solo will gladly trade in the Falcon for it."

He started to work on the valves he'd been removing before she arrived. When he looked up Marcy was still standing there, hands on her hips, just staring.

"What are you some kind of evil genius?" she asked.

Billy shrugged. "Well, maybe not the evil part."

She laughed at that, a full laugh that made her sway forward a bit and she stepped for the car, sorting through the tools. She selected one carefully and started working on the other side of the car, removing the matching valves for that side without any instruction.

"So, seriously," she said. "You obviously know your way around a computer, and car maintenance doesn't elude you so you're a decent mechanic, what else do you do?"

Billy shrugged and concentrated on not dropping the grease covered bolts in his hand. "I've always been interested in science. Computers, technology, physics…"

"What's your I.Q.?"

"173."

"You're kidding."

Billy shook his head. "It's been awhile since I tested it. That could be wrong."

"Uh-huh," was all she said. "Okay then genius, pi, go."

"3.1415926535…I can go on."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her look up and smile. "How many places do you know?"

"Fifty-three."

"Fifty-three? Not fifty, not fifty-five?"

Billy just shrugged and tried not to look up. He knew if he did his face would turn beet read the instant he met her eyes.

"You read binary?"

"You ask a lot of questions."

She laughed again and he risked a look up. She was standing straight up, a half a dozen black and grimy bolts in her hand. She placed them in a cup on the workbench and started walking around the car, the wrench she'd taken from the tool kit still in her hand.

"Just trying to unravel the mystery," she said.

"Yes, I can read binary," he said.

"Java?"

"Of course."

"HTML?"

"Yes."

She was all the way around the car now, less than an arm's length away. She played with the small wrench, twisting it between her palms.

"You speak Klingon?"

"No!"

"Awww," she exclaimed in mock disappointment. "So close. You were almost perfect."

She took another step closer and he looked up at her again. "That's too bad," she said. "I have a rule about not being friends with men who don't speak Klingon."

"Cause it's such a beautiful language," Billy countered.

Her smile widened.

Billy looked down, he hadn't even finished the second bolt. Marcy hadn't moved. He looked up at her again and she was still smiling.

"What?" he asked.

"You have some grease on your face," she said pointing to his cheek.

He pulled a rag from his pocket. "Where?"

She touched a finger to his face and could feel the trail of grime it left behind. "Right there."

"Oh!" He moved toward her, his own dirty fingers aiming for her face. She ducked under his arm and ran behind him. He turned and lunged for her, pinning her against the back of the car and swiping his fingers across her neck. She squealed and swatted at his face open handed, covering his other cheek with grime. She squirmed to get away and he tried to block, but their feet got tangled and he lost his balance.

He hit the garage floor hard, sprawled flat on his back.

"Ow."

Marcy was leaning over him. She'd fallen too, but managed to catch herself before hitting the concrete. She was still laughing and he heard her gasp to try and stifle the giggles.

"Are you alright?" she asked. Her face was inches from his, her green eyes bearing down on him.

He reached up and rubbed the back of his head. It was tender, but no blood. He hadn't really hit it that hard. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Good."

Her lips came down on his before he could even move. Gentle at first, testing, gauging his reaction. He arched his neck up and kissed her back and she kissed him harder. It was slow and deep, and pushed him back into the cold cement of the floor.

"Hey Billy, I-oh, shit!"

Marcy sat bolt upright at the intrusion and Billy turned to the noise, knowing before he looked what he'd see. Tommy was standing in front of the motorcycle, gym bag in hand, white bandana holding back his long hair, looking around the driveway for anything to see other than the scene he'd just walked in on.

"Tommy!"

"I-I'm sorry, man. I didn't… I'll go."

"No, it's okay," Marcy spoke up. She stood up and dusted off her clothes

Billy stood up and there was a moment of awkward silence between the three. No one was sure who should go first. Eventually, Tommy decided to try.

He stepped forward and put his hand out to Marcy with a weak smile. "I'm Tommy."

"Marcy," she said. She reached out and shook his hand, realizing too late that it was covered in engine grease. She apologized and Billy grabbed some clean rags from a shelf and handed them to his friend.

Tommy looked from Marcy to Billy not sure who to address. "I, uh, I was just coming to see if Billy wanted to practice with me. We didn't have time yesterday and…"

"It's alright, man," Billy said helpfully.

"What are you practicing?"

"Judo," Tommy said. "Billy's almost ready for his brown belt test."

Marcy raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Computers, cars and martial arts? Geez, is there anything you can't do?"

"Cooking," both he and Tommy said at once. Billy looked over at his friend and leader and Tommy shot him a knowing smile. He had witnessed far too many of Billy's failed cooking attempts.

When he looked back at Marcy she was smiling too and he felt the heat of a flush creep up from his neck. Her smile widened, she was enjoying his embarrassment a lot more than she should have been.

"Brown belt," she said watching the rag in her hands. "That's pretty high, where do you train."

"We teach him privately," Tommy said. "Me and my other friend Rocky. We work at the Angel Grove Youth Center."

"The Youth Center? I thought that was only for high school students."

An alarm went off in Billy's mind, but Tommy apparently didn't notice. "Yeah," he said. "That's why we go there."

Marcy's expression went from cheery, to stunned, to something much darker. Something Billy didn't want to put a name to.

"High school," she said her voice ringing with a tone usually reserved for people being attacked by monsters in horror movies.

"Yeah," Tommy said evenly, obviously not catching the change in tone Billy was seeing. He knew something was wrong, and he had never wished more than now that Tommy would just stop talking. "Of course."

Marcy nodded, "Of course. How old are you?"

It was kind of an odd question at the moment but Billy answered automatically. "Seventeen."

She straightened up, her face suddenly hard, covering emotion she didn't want to express. "You know, Brown belt's a big milestone. You two should practice. I have other work I need to get done anyway."

"Oh," Tommy said quickly, the realization that he'd just walked into something that was going to destroy his friend's day hitting him. "No, that's fine. We can do it another time. I don't want to interrupt your plans."

But Marcy was already at the bike. Tommy took a step forward to try making another apology.

Say something you idiot, he told himself. Don't let her leave.

He stepped around Tommy and put his hand on the chrome handlebars. "You don't have to go."

She looked up at him. That look was there again, that fear, distress, something deeper. What could possibly have spooked her that way he didn't know, all he knew was that if she went roaring down the driveway, he'd never see her again.

"Yeah, Billy," she said evenly. "I really think I do."

"Marcy!"

But the helmet was on and the bike roared to life under her. Then she was gone.

Billy felt a strong hand on his shoulder and dropped the wrench he had been unconsciously clutching in his hand.

"Billy," Tommy said from behind him. "I'm so sorry man, I had no idea. I don't even know what I said."

"It's okay, Tommy," Billy said. "I don't think it was you."