Greetings!

This isn't my first fanfiction story - I used to dabble in other archives under a different penname - but this is the first story I've published in a long while, and it's certainly my first attempt at a Power Rangers fanfic.

I've taken a few liberties with the SPD canon, tweaking the characters here and there as I please. I wouldn't go as far as to label it AU, but it's certainly not strictly canon. Although how many stories on this site are?

For those who take the time to read it - thank you! I hope you enjoy.

Disclaimer: I hold no claim over the rights to the Power Rangers. But if Bridge is for sale, I'm game.

It all started with a headache.

Just the tiniest twinge of pain behind his eyes as he slid into the passenger seat of the Delta Cruiser, so mild that it was hardly even worth acknowledging. After the agonising, biting-your-pillow-to-keep-quiet type headaches that he'd suffered in the past, this was nothing. Well, nearly nothing...he supposed it had to be something, otherwise he wouldn't have noticed it at all. Although, come to think of it, he had noticed nothings before. Like that time when Boom had worked the nightshift and there had been nothing in the tech room refrigerator the next morning. That had been a dark day. Figuratively speaking, of course. The weather had actually been rather pleasant...

Darn it, he was going off topic again. He struggled to concentrate at the best of times, so there was little hope of him doing so now that he had to deal with this niggling headache. Although far from debilitating, it was persistent enough to stir a tingling apprehension in the pit of his stomach. He had come to learn that even the smallest twinge of pain had the potential to develop into a full-blown migraine. And like most things in life, he had learnt it the hard way.

Those first few weeks at S.P.D. headquarters had been brutal. Having been tutored at a small private school designed for children with advanced learning capabilities - and due, in part, to the socially isolating nature of his powers - big crowds had never really been an issue that he had been forced to deal with prior to enrolling at the academy. Commander Cruger, in that all-knowing way of his, had allocated him a single room so that he could be miserable in peace. He had spent his first night slumped on the bathroom floor, half-draped over the toilet seat as he dry-heaved for hours on end, the feelings and emotions of a thousand strangers driving knives through his skull.

It was almost dawn before he had summoned the strength to crawl over to the computer terminal and comm. the infirmary. Then there had been bright, piercing light and loud voices and even louder feelings of concern, confusion, panic, panic, panic!, and finally the prick of a needle in his arm and the blissful embrace of oblivion. It had been three weeks before he'd regained enough control over his abilities to attend classes with his peers: another two months before he could sleep at night without the aid of analgesics. And a year later, when his new roommate had taken him to see the first hoverball game of the season, the overcrowded stadium had hardly fazed him at all. Well, okay...perhaps that was a teensy lie; but at least he had made it to the halftime klaxon before upchucking his hotdog and soda into the nearest trashcan.

"Bridge?"

He jumped, startled, blinking rapidly to expel the heaviness of fatigue from his eyes. "Huh?"

Jack was watching him closely from the driver's seat, a shallow crease marring his brow. "Hey, man, you okay? You seriously spaced out on me there."

His voice was soft, probing, radiating concern in warm, pulsing waves that Bridge found both comforting and mildly embarrassing. The green ranger sat up a little straighter and glanced around. Delta Cruiser One had reclaimed her usual parking spot in the sub-level bay of S.P.D's central base, right alongside her twin. The second patrol vehicle was empty, its occupants having departed elsewhere; no doubt to the command deck, where Cruger would be ready to debrief them. God, how long had Jack been sitting here waiting for him? For that matter, how the hell had they gotten here so fast? They had left the shipyard only moments ago. It was a fifteen minute journey back to basr, surely they couldn't have...

Ow. My head. Just...ow.

The throbbing behind his eyes had grown far worse; now a deep, sharp ache that pulsed steadily with each heartbeat. He furrowed his brow, trying to loosen the tensed muscles.

"Hey, you still in there?"

"Huh?" Oh, right. Jack. He shook his head to clear the fog and turned an apologetic smile on his team leader. "Yeah, sorry. My bad. I'm just tired, I guess."

The concern in Jack's gaze receded a little as he returned the smile. "That makes two of us. C'mon," he gestured in the vague direction of the elevator. "We'd better catch up with the others before Cruger sends out a search and rescue squad."

Bridge unbuckled his safety restraints and fumbled for the door handle, massaging a bruise on his shoulder. "Maybe I should just stay here and wait. They can carry me up to the command deck on a stretcher."

He heard Jack chuckle, all warmth and yellowy-gold fondness. "If you don't hurry it up, I'll carry you."

"M'coming." The ache in his skull blossomed with even the smallest movement, creeping along his temples and beginning a familiar trajectory across his forehead. "Eventually."

He didn't exit the vehicle so much as topple out of it sideways. He flailed in the air for a moment, suddenly very much awake, before strong arms were catching him securely about the waist and steadying him as he regained his footing.

"I wasn't actually being serious," Jack chuckled, but the humour in his tone belied the concern in his gaze. Then his lips twitched and he reached for his communicator. "Although if you want someone to carry you, I'm pretty sure the guys from Combat T4 would be willing to-"

"No!" Bridge put his hand over Jack's, preventing him from pulling the device from his belt. His cry echoed resoundingly in the cavernous room, ringing in his ears and oh, sweet Zordon it hurt. "No," he said, more quietly this time, and turned quickly towards the elevator to hide a grimace. "I'm good. Let's go."

He was halfway across the vehicle bay before Jack could say another word, determined to reach the command deck and get the debriefing over and done with as soon as possible so that he could collapse into bed where it was quiet and dark, with a warm glass of milk and one of Kat's fast-working analgesics. And maybe some toast.

Jack stepped up beside him, still frowning, and Bridge reached out to press the button for the top floor. Even the soft 'ding' was enough to drive a skewer through his temples, and he turned his head to the side to close his eyes and mouth a silent but heartfelt 'ow'. He ran gloved fingers through his short, spiky fringe, digging the heel of his hand into his forehead in an attempt to alleviate the pressure building up behind it.

With an ominous thunk, the elevator came to a sudden halt. Not a 'you-have-reached-your-destination' halt, but a jarring 'something-is-wrong-why-the-hell-have-we-stopped-here' kind of halt. Jack was in front of him a moment later, arms crossed over his chest and eyes firm. He was red now. No, not red; that's a colour. Angry. He was angry. Well...perhaps grouchy would be a better way to describe it. And concerned, and tired, and quickly running out of patience.

Bridge tightened his hold on the rail, leather gloves squeaking against the smooth metal.

Jack's eyes narrowed. "Bridge? What aren't you telling me?"

He tried to feign innocence, but it was a poor attempt. In truth, all he wanted to do was sit down on the floor and bury his head in his hands. Although first and foremost, "What did you do to the elevator?"

"Flipped the emergency switch," Jack replied with a blasé wave of his hand, "but you're avoiding the question. What's goin' on with you, man?"

Bridge had grown pretty adept at weaving tall tales. He'd been doing it as long as he could remember. 'My hands are sensitive to a lot of allergens...I just really like gloves...I have poor circulation, my fingers get cold...I have this phobia of touching metal with my bare hands...Childhood accident involving a blender; the scars make me self-conscious so I keep them covered'.

And then he'd moved to the Academy, where suddenly his secret wasn't quite so secret anymore. The S.P.D. instructors had been both fully aware and completely, wonderfully unfazed by the extent of his abilities. He'd had weekly training exercises with Cruger to strengthen his psychic control and explore his limitations, and monthly diagnostic sessions with Dr. Manx to study the physiological effects of using his powers. After a while the other cadets, tentatively at first, had begun to drop not-so-subtle hints about the possibility of him giving them a demonstration. And before long, everyone from junior cadets to senior ranger trainees wanted him to read their aura. The resultant headaches had been totally worth it. For the first time in his life, his socially isolating genetic mutation had made him into a social attraction.

Still, he had never lost the ability to lie. Only now it was about little things, like losing Sky's training manuals and no, no, definitely not having a headache.

"Bridge?"

Jack moved closer to grip the younger ranger's arm. The anger was gone, replaced instead by a silver-blue ripple of uncertainty that made Bridge's stomach clench. God, everything was so loud. He was tired and achy and miserable and desperately wanted to get away. Against his will, his felt eyes begin to burn. He clenched one hand into a fist and ducked his head so that the other man couldn't see. Except the other man was Jack, so who was he kidding?

He swallowed forcefully, trying to ease the ache in his throat. "S'just a headache," he managed, but the nonchalant shrug that accompanied it was rendered wholly unconvincing when his voice broke hoarsely on the last word.

He heard the click of a switch being flipped and suddenly the elevator was moving again. Jack pressed another floor number and turned back around to face him, his dark eyes watchful. His hand hadn't moved from Bridge's forearm.

"Do you need me to call Kat?"

Bridge shook his head ever so slightly, biting the inside of his cheek when the movement tightened the invisible band across his forehead. Jack squeezed his arm again.

"Bed then," he murmured, and it was an order and a request at the same time - how very Jack. "I'll give the guys the heads up."

Bridge found himself frowning at the bizarre mental image that conjured. "Why's it even called that?" he pondered aloud, swiping the back of his gloved hand over his traitorously wet eyes. "It's not like you have...actual heads popping up everywhere. Although that'd be an awesome idea for an alarm system."

"Dude..." Jack shook his head in fond exasperation, lips twitching. He nudged the younger ranger towards the open doors. "Go to bed."

Bridge forced a smile, raising a hand in farewell as the elevator doors slid closed. Then he sighed, reaching out to lean against the nearby wall, dragging a hand slowly down his face. Bedroom. Pills. Sleep. I'm almost there.

o~O~o

Sky Tate crept into the darkened room on tiptoe and felt along the wall for the door controls. The light from the corridor cast a murky orange glow over their shared living quarters, but did little more than distinguish the two standard-issue beds from the sea of shadows. It was nearing twenty-three-hundred hours and the lights had already dimmed to their night-time setting. All the academy corridors would be similarly lit to promote sleep – not that it did the nightshift team any favours. A number of those who were unfortunate enough to work or train with the tech team or security patrol would have to stay awake and alert despite the sleep-inducing lighting. Sky didn't really see the logic in dimming them at all. It wasn't as though they were a drain on power.

Finding the control panel at last, he pressed the button and grimaced as the door closed with an overly loud 'hiss'. He heard the tell-tale rustle of bed sheets and his grimace turned into a wince.

"Bridge?" he whispered, trying to edge his way towards the right side of the room in the inky darkness, paying careful attention to his footing in case his roommate had neglected to put away his boots – again. "Bridge, you awake?"

His only answer was a hoarse sound caught somewhere between a groan, a sigh and a sob. Sky frowned, concern building up within him. Padding softly over to his own bed on the left-hand side of the room, he felt for the dimmer switch on his bedside lamp and turned it down to its lowest setting, before flicking the light on. A faint blue glow flooded the room and the shadows retreated a little. The pale glow wasn't much, but it would suffice. And with Bridge clearly having an off-day, Sky was hesitant to use a higher setting.

The younger ranger lay slumped across his bed, face-down and unmoving. His gloved hands were clenched into fists either side of his head, gripping the pillow tightly. On the bedside table, an open bottle of prescription analgesics had toppled onto its side and the small white pills lay scattered across the cream-coloured polythene surface, casting tiny shadows of their own. Sky eyed the medication worriedly, praying that Bridge hadn't gone and overdosed himself in his lethargic state. Having witnessed a number of these episodes over the past eight months, he knew what to expect. And it looked as though tonight's ordeal would be one of the bad ones. God, Bridge hadn't even managed to take off his uniform.

Right. That bad.

"Bridge?" He crouched down at the bedside, keeping his voice to a whisper as he carefully brushed the pills back into their container and screwed the lid on tight. "How many of these did you take?"

The green ranger raised an arm long enough to hold up three fingers, the limb trembling with the effort, before his hand dropped back down to fist the pillow. Sky released the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding in a single, sharp puff, and placed the pill bottle on the floor. Three was the maximum recommended dose, which meant that this wasn't just bad, it was bad. And what was worse, the medication didn't seem to be working. It had been over an hour since Jack had shown up without Bridge and relayed the concerning news to his worried teammates. Sky didn't understand why Cruger hadn't dismissed him then and there – it wasn't as though he had paid any attention to what was said thereafter. But that wasn't the point; an hour was more than enough time for the analgesics to kick in and lessen the severity of the migraine. The fact that three of them hadn't nipped this thing in the bud was somewhat concerning.

"The meds aren't helping, are they?" he said softly, moving so that he was sitting on the edge of the mattress near Bridge's hip.

The younger man's grip tightened on the pillow, but he said nothing - to be fair, Sky hadn't really meant it as a question. The answer was fairly obvious. He studied Bride silently, a hand hovering over the small of his back, torn between the desire to comfort his roommate and the need to preserve his own masculine pride. He curled his hand into a fist and pulled back, angry at himself. It wasn't like anybody else could see him. What was he trying to prove?

He and Bridge...well, it was hard for two guys to eat, sleep and work together in close proximity for eight months straight without forming some sort of attachment. Not the romantic kind; Bridge was a nice enough looking guy, but Sky just didn't swing that way. Still, there was no denying that a bond of some sort existed between them.

There had once been a time when Sky had loathed the energetic, childlike S.P.D. cadet. Bridge had been this stupid, irresponsible, geeky, downright weird kid who'd somehow always managed to wangle his way into first place in every theory exam. Sky, who had prided himself on being the best at everything, had given him the cold shoulder for three years simply out of spite. Until the day that Cruger had made them roommates. He had awoken that first night to the sound of retching and to the faint glow of the bathroom light illuminating their bedroom ceiling. Now, Sky may have once been a rather unsympathetic individual, but he had never been that much of a cold-hearted bastard that he could simply ignore the needs of someone who was suffering. So he had gotten up to investigate and found Bridge slumped on the bathroom floor, holding himself up over the rim of the toilet with trembling arms. The concern had been instinctual – it was his job to help people, after all; even if that usually entailed beating the crap out of bad guys.

"What's wrong with you?"

The younger cadet glanced up at him, eyes unfocused and glassy. "You're loud," he murmured, his voice wavering. And he promptly turned back around to empty his stomach into the toilet.

Sky was caught between being offended at what he thought was a jab at his snoring habit, disgusted at the nauseating stench of bile and half-digested cafeteria food, concerned at the sight Bridge's violent heaving, and genuinely surprised at the abject misery in the younger man's eyes. Sure, the kid was a scrawny thing who looked no older than seventeen, but they had been working together in the same squad for months now – Carson was a tough nut to crack. Nothing ever seemed to faze him; he always had that stupid smile on his face, like the imaginary world he lived in was made of unicorns and rainbows or something. Knowing Bridge, it probably was.

"And how does that explain why you're currently heaving your guts up in the middle of the night?" he asked, his tone more snappish than he had intended.

Bridge whimpered – yes, honest-to-God whimpered – and pressed a shaking hand to his head. "You had a nightmare about...something." He let out a choked gasp and curled in on himself, eyes brimming. "You were angry and scared and upset and I couldn't...I'm not used to you yet, I couldn't block it. I...I'm sorry."

Sky stared at him, dumbfounded. He knew about Bridge's ability, of course – nothing could ever be kept secret at S.P.D., the gossip simply spread too fast. He knew the kid wore gloves to help control his psychic senses, and that he could tell a good guy from a bad guy just by standing next to him – one of the reasons why Sky tolerated his presence out on squad patrol; his powers came in handy. But the cadet had assured him that he couldn't read thoughts. So how the hell had he known about Sky's nightmare? And why was it making him sick?

"Sensing people's feelings...makes you vomit?" he surmised cautiously.

Bridge shook his head, no – then he buried it in his hands. "Hurts," he managed to get out. "Oh God, please."

Something in Sky crumbled at the hoarse plea. Dropping into a crouch beside his roommate, he placed a tentative hand on the nearest bony shoulder. "What do you need?"

"Kat."

"Who?"

Bridge raised his sweaty face from his palms and sucked in a breath. "Kat Manx," he clarified shakily. "Doctor...Doctor Manx."

"All right," Sky agreed softly, surprised at how gently it came out and more importantly at how right it felt. "I'll let her know what's happening. Stay here."

Bridge smiled up at him tremulously, before twisting around again to spew bile into the toilet bowl.

Sky sighed at the memory, feeling a familiar guilt begin to eat at him. He hated the way he had acted back then. Syd had once called him an arrogant, uptight prick – and rightly so. Although to be fair, she herself could be a spoilt, self-centred brat when she wanted to be. But she had doted on Bridge from the start. Now that Sky had wizened up to the truth, he could understand her mothering habits. Bridge really had been a kid back in their junior cadet year; barely sixteen years old and as green as they came - no pun intended. Sky had been twenty-one and overconfident, determined to be the best ranger that S.P.D. had ever seen. Their personalities couldn't have been more different.

But two and half years later, after that first night together, things had changed. Once Dr. Manx had settled Bridge comfortably in the darkened infirmary, with a mask to cover his sensitive eyes and enough hydrenozine to take down a Zuruthian minotaur, she had taken him aside and explained the unfortunate truth about living with an ability like Bridge's. Unlike Sky's power, which he could access if and when he needed to, Bridge's psychic senses couldn't be switched off. He could control them to some extent - he had learnt to filter out the background noise and channel the energy away from himself in order to lessen the physiological impact. But he could never escape it.

After that, Sky had seen the younger cadet in a whole new light. Where he had once only seen immaturity, he saw a delicate, childlike naivety and a pure heart. Where he had once seen stupidity, he saw only unparalleled intellect. And he had felt a new-found respect for the teenager who had endured so much without ever appearing to feel an ounce of self-pity. Respect had blossomed into friendship, and friendship into kinship. And thus their bond hand come to be.

"Sky?"

He drew in a sharp breath, startled out of his reverie. Glancing down at the younger man, he placed a hand in the centre of Bridge's back and leaned in closer. "Yeah?"

Bridge gulped in a series of ragged breaths, head turned to one side, skin pale and glistening with sweat in the dim blue glow of Sky's bedside lamp. "M'gonna...I...m'gonna-"

Sky sat up quickly, realising with a surge of dread what was about to happen. "Can you make it to the bathroom?"

"Nuh-uh."

Lurching forwards to grab the plastic trash can beside their shared computer terminal, he thrust it under Bridge's chin just as the green ranger rolled over to the side of the bed and lost the contents of his stomach. Sky grimaced, trying to breathe through his mouth so that the smell wouldn't make him gag.

At long last, the retches subsided. Sky handed him a wad of tissues from a box on the shelf above his bed, pushing the trash can further away from him with the toe of his boot. Bridge wiped his mouth and threw the tissue away, rolling over onto his back so that he was fully on the bed once more. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, lips turned down in an expression of abject misery.

Sky gripped his arm gently. "Bridge, I think we need to call Kat."

Bridge gave the tiniest shake of his head, his breathing fast and shallow as he ground his palms into his eye sockets. Sky winced on his behalf, reaching out to grab the younger ranger's wrists and gently pry his hands away from his face.

"It's only gonna get worse," he cautioned, sighing when Bridge pulled away from him and rolled over onto his front to squish his face into the pillow. "Bridge, if the cordrazine isn't working you'll need something stronger."

The younger man gave another tiny shake of his head and held up one finger.

Sky's frown deepened. "I'm not gonna sit here and wait for another hour while you puke your guts up all over the place."

Bridge folded his arms over his head as his shoulders began to shake. Sky froze, feeling something cold and uncomfortable slide down his chest and into the pit of his stomach. Bridge didn't cry. He'd had the crap beaten out of him by criminals time and time again and still managed to maintain his cheery disposition. When Bridge became truly upset, it was bad. Scarily bad. It had only happened once before to his memory and...God, neither of them could go through that again.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat, already on his feet and moving towards the computer terminal. "That's it. I'm calling Kat."

The green ranger didn't answer; he merely burrowed his head further into the pillow.

~TBC~

I'll no doubt have chapter 2 posted sometime over the next week or so - it'll depend on how busy things are in the real world. I'm working full-time this summer until I go back to uni in September, so that doesn't leave a whole lot of time for recreational activities. *sigh*

If you read this chapter and enjoyed it, I'd be delighted if you dropped me a review or a PM! I do take requests (because I love to be challenged), so if there's anything you'd like to read about in a future story, just let me know. :D

Until then, toodle-pip!