A Preference for Rare Pairs

Sam stepped through the time portal into 2040, took a deep breath, and fell over.

“Sam?” Nova asked, leaning over him. “What happened?”

A gloved hand landed on her shoulder, and Bridge appeared behind her. “Some people don’t react well to time travel,” Bridge said, bright and sympathetic and clearly older than the nineteen year old Sam had just left behind in 2025. Sam stared. “When I did it I had a migraine for a week.”

“I didn’t know you’d time traveled,” Sam blurted, except he did know. He could remember the panic when Bridge – the red ranger he never would have called that – disappeared mid-battle only to reappear three months later in the company of Mac Hartford.

He would swear he hadn’t had that memory two minutes ago.

“Rachel, go let the other Rangers know you two are back,” came Sky’s voice – Commander Tate that was less of a surprise – from somewhere beyond Sam’s view.

Rachel – Nova – sent the commander a dubious look but still stood up, punching Sam lightly on the shoulder as she did. “Good to have you back, Sam.”

“Good to be back,” Sam said, honestly, even though he was pretty sure he’d never been in this room before. At least, not in this time period. His memory doubled, presenting him with a parade of time spent in the room – the lab – over the past few years. “Is this how you feel all the time?” he asked Bridge plaintively.

Bridge’s smile widened and he offered Sam a hand up. “Not really.”

Same wavered for a moment once back on his feet. “Yeah, that was a stupid question.” He shook his head to clear it, letting the memories sort themselves out, and stopped to actually look at the older – former – Rangers. Looked at Bridge’s labcoat with the rolled-up sleeves and his crow’s-feet and the more controlled way he held himself. At the gray at Sky’s temples and how relaxed his shoulders were under the command coat and how he was laughing with Bridge as the two of them gave Sam time to collect himself. Saw the wedding ring on Sky’s finger, and he knew there was a matching one hidden under Bridge’s glove.

Sam felt his throat tighten. Each detail brought a wave of memories that forced back the old, dark ones, but he remembered enough to know this was exactly what he’d been sent back for. 

“Commander.” Sam saluted. “I’m reporting a successful mission.”

It perhaps spoke of Walter’s growing ease with the changes in his life that he was still awake and unphased when Miss Sciacca walked into his rooms unannounced, her black curls in disarray, at two in the morning, muttering curses under her breath.

“Miss Sciacca, always a pleasure.” He stood quickly, offering her the more comfortable of his shabby chairs.

“Mr. Thorne.” She settled in the chair with a sigh. “I apologize for the late hour, but I needed a rest before I made my way home.”

“You know you’re always welcome.” Walter checked the teapot, frowning at the tepidness of the drink. “Tea will just be a minute. What brings you out at this hour?”

“Idioti,” was the flat reply. “Some smugglers lost control of the hellhounds they’d summoned to protect their warehouse. There wasn’t much left of them by the time I arrived, but at least I kept the hounds from getting out.”

“Good show.” Fresh cup of tea in hand, Walter turned back to his guest only to stop short. Miss Sciacca had her skirts hitched up and was examining a long scrape down her calf; Walter felt his face flushing and focused on the tired annoyance on her face rather than the exposed length of olive skin. “Ah, Miss Sciacca? Are you all right?”

She made a small noise and dropped her skirts back down. “It’s nothing. Thank you for asking, Mr. Thorne.”

Walter pressed the cup into her hands. “I, ah, I have bandages, if you…”

“You are a dear. Thank you.” She breathed in the steam from the tea, some tension melting from her body even as she fixed him with a fond look. “You don’t need to do all this, you know.”

“All what?”

A smile quirked her lips. “Dolce,” she murmured, then, at a normal volume, “The bandages, Mr. Thorne. And please, call me Clarissa.”

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Within seconds of demorphing, Bridge was attacked.

He normally wouldn’t think of it that way, but he’d just spent the better part of the day in a deathtrap; saying his nerves were a little frayed was an understatement. He doesn’t think he can be blamed for not expecting Sky to appear in front of him and pull him into a tight hug. He stiffened, brief alarm mixing with surprise that Sky, of all people, was publicly initiating affectionate contact. Then Sky shifted, brushing a feather-soft kiss across Bridge’s temple; all the adrenaline drained from Bridge’s body, and he dropped his forehead to Sky’s shoulder.

They stood like that for barely a moment before there was a shout and Syd careened around the side of the Zord, nearly trampling a technician as she threw herself at her teammates. Bridge got one arm up just in time to catch her and pull her in against his side. He wasn’t quite fast enough to catch Z as well, and the entire group stumbled as she slammed into his back. Then Jack hit as well – and it had to be intentional at that point, he’d had enough time to slow down if he’d wanted to – and they all fell.

Bridge’s nose smashed against Sky’s shoulder when they landed, accompanied by Sky’s wheezing as the entire team landed on top of him. Someone’s arm was trapped under his stomach and half-hearted squabbling was starting above his head as Syd, Jack, and Z realized just how tangled together they all were.

And in the middle of it all, wrapped in a cocoon of joyloverelief, Bridge couldn’t help but start giggling. The others quieted for a moment, and then all five of them broke into hysteria-tinged laughter. They stayed there, clinging to each other on the floor of the Zord bay, crying with laughter, until Commander Cruger came to find them.

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Nami studied her wine suspiciously, wondering who had spiked her drink and what, exactly, it had been spiked with. It was the only explanation for what she was seeing. Luffy was not staring at his plate, which had only moments before been piled with steaks rather than celery, and whimpering dejectedly. Chopper was not alternating between listening to Usopp’s story about an entire island of flying rabbits who had declared him their leader and sparkling at the new arrival. Sanji was not muttering a recipe for hasenpfeffer under his breath. Zoro was not ignoring his crewmates and the… thing in their midst to take a nap—no, wait, he was doing that. No imagination could produce snoring that loud.

Nami closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. “There is not a rabbit in a superhero costume. It is not real. It is a hallucination.”

“Do I look like a hallucination?” the creature demanded, straightening to its full height and ignoring Nami’s nod. “It is I, Captain Vegetable!”

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Cobra ran his hand over the rim of the stone ring. It seemed like an obvious question, since he’d never seen it before, but he hadn’t been in the condition to notice any extra statuary when Crocodile and Ms. All Sunday brought him down here. “And it was sealed off until this morning?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” The foreman motioned to where a support beam held up a crumbling section of ceiling. “We’d never have found the room if the ceiling hadn’t brought part of the wall down.”

Behind them, Igaram cleared his throat. “To that end, Your Majesty, is it safe for you to be down here?”

Cobra glanced back at him, then through the open wall to the bustling activity in the tomb proper. It had seemed pointless to hide its existence after Crocodile’s defeat, particularly given the gaping hole leading up to the Square. Now a miniature army of workers scurried through the space, clearing rubble and adding supports to keep the tomb from collapsing any further. Announcing the tomb’s existence was a small price to pay to keep it from bringing the city down in a slow collapse. “If it weren’t safe, these men would not be down here, Igaram.” He turned back to study the towering structure, walking through the ring to look over the other side. “Have you any idea what it is?”

“No, Your Majesty. Strange thing, though. There’s no way they could have brought this down after the tomb was built; they must have built around it.”

“Hmm.” He ran his fingers over the closest symbol one more time, a circle hovering above a bottomless triangle, before dropping his hand and stepping away.

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“Are you sure you’re up for this?”

“Yes, Chaka,” Pell said, studying his face in the mirror. He rarely bothered to cover his markings, but the effect was usually worth it. Somehow, no one ever recognized him without the black lines. “It’s been two months. I can handle a patrol through the marketplace.”

“I’d still feel better if one of the other officers went instead,” Chaka said, meeting Pell’s eyes in the mirror. “They need the experience.”

“And I need the exercise.” He did not say that they’d had experience; this wasn’t the first time since the revolution they’d heard rumors of Baroque Works members within Alubarna. It was just the first time Pell had volunteered to blend with the crowds while the royal family was outside the palace. With at least three pairs of Frontier agents still unaccounted for along with the remaining Millions and Billions, some paranoia was warranted.

Giving his reflection a satisfied nod, Pell turned around. “How do I look?”

Chaka stared at him for a second, taking in the pants, jacket, and makeup before giving an aggravated sigh. “Unrecognizable.”

“Good. And I don’t know why you’re grumbling so much.” He wrapped his arms around Chaka’s waist, pushing onto his toes to kiss the taller man’s jaw. “After all, you’re the one touring Yuba with Vivi-sama, with barely healed stab wounds I might add, while I’m here under Dr. Ooh’s watchful eyes.” He dropped another kiss at the corner of Chaka’s mouth. “I’ll be worried.”

“You’ll be careful.” It wasn’t a question.

“Swear on my grave.”

Chaka shot him a dark look but turned towards the door. “I’ll let Igaram-san know we’re ready then.”

“Chaka?” Pell gave him a bright smile when he turned. “You might want to wipe the kiss marks off your face first.”

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It has been far too long, Chaka realized, nuzzling Pell’s neck as he eased his partner back onto the makeshift blanket of their robes on the sand. Hands clawed at his back, teeth sunk into his shoulder, and Chaka reached for their pack, fingers groping to find something, anything, to make this go smoother.

—only to bump into a package he knew for certain hadn’t been there when they left their rooms.

“Someone’s been into the pack.”

Pell pulled away instantly, eyeing the pack warily. If something was planted by a rogue Baroque Works member or a stubborn rebel, it certainly wouldn’t be the first nor the best hidden. Strangely certain that anyone trying to kill them would be slightly smarter than to hide something within their… personal effects like this, Chaka pulled the paper-wrapped package out.

It wasn’t lightweight, or particularly large; tucked into one end was note, which Pell plucked off. He blanched, coughed uncomfortably, and read, “‘For the occasions I missed.—Vivi’.”

“Ah.” Both stared at the package for another moment before the paper was tossed aside and the box opened. There was a horrified silence, then it was Chaka’s turn to cough.

“She is certainly… practical.”

“Yes…. Oh, look, a book.” Paper rustled, and Pell placed it down carefully. “With pictures.”

They studiously looked past each other.

“She was being thoughtful.”

“Yes.”

“But it would probably be best to dissuade her from giving us another gift like this.”

“Yes.”

“Or at least,” and here Chaka glanced over, catching the faint twitching at the corner of Pell’s mouth, “keep her from buying books we already own.”

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He’d been on the wall, inspecting both the rebuilding and the soldiers with Igaram, when the messenger came. He remembered a glimpse of Igaram’s shocked face before the city was a blur, splashing through puddles and wind making his eyes water was he ran through Alubarna at full speed.

That was hours ago. Now, he sat by the bed in his—their—room, patiently reading a book he’d been meaning to finish for some time now. It was a little difficult to turn the pages at times, between the constant ache in his chest and shoulder where his stitches had pulled and the necessity of using only his left hand.

The pulse beating slow and steady in the hand grasped in his right hand was too important to let go of for even a second. So Chaka sat and read and listened to the rain, only looking up when he felt eyes upon him. He set the book aside and looked into tired copper eyes.

“Sleep well?” Chaka asked, reaching forward to brush a stray lock of hair from Pell’s face. Pell made a small sound of affirmation, turning his head to nuzzle Chaka’s fingers.

“Come t’ bed,” he mumbled, eyes already drooping shut again.

Chaka blew out the reading lamp, performed the stretches needed to reach the other side of the bed without letting go of Pell’s hand, and wrapped his arms around his friend. He buried his face in Pell’s hair, tenseness washing away with the smell of feathers and medicine.

“I’m home,” Pell said through a yawn, shifting closer to the jackal.

“Welcome back,” Chaka answered.

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I can't believe I'm admitting to this one and reposting it...

I used to be in the Channel Awesome fandom way back when. There was a kinkmeme. I began to write fic for it until I realized I never watched romcoms and therefore my knowledge of matchmaking tropes was pretty much zilch. So this fic will forever be unfinished, but I enjoyed the part that I did write.

 

( The weird intersection of RPF and Internet Personas )

Breathe in. Step. Turn. Breathe out.

The movements were second nature, something every child from his planet learned as soon as their wings held true. On their own, they helped with coordination and balance; in the wider forms, they formed the basis of almost every dance and martial art in his culture.

For J, they were a meditation.

He stretched his arms over his head, arched his back, and let his mind drift back.

The faces of the other Soldatos passed behind his eyes with the initial steps, acceptance and regret acknowledged and set aside with each movement; they’d all volunteered knowing they likely wouldn’t survive.

He brushed thoughts of Abel away with a sweep of his foot. Last he’d known she had boarded the last refugee ship. She could still be alive; he’d done his best to ensure that. And if she was alive, then maybe…

He shook his head, catching himself in a misstep. He stilled, centered himself again, and breathed before restarting the slow pattern.

His spouses. His steps stuttered again, and he broke the pattern to throw himself into a spin. Old pain teased his mind – he’d felt them die – only to be shoved back. He knew it was there; he could deal with it in time.

Which left thoughts of his children.

He stopped. His muscles ached – Tomoro would not be happy with him, putting this strain on his body this soon after healing – and he couldn’t think any more, not without…

He took a deep breath and reset his stance. Back to basics. He would deal with the complicated steps again when he was able to.

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