1. No warnings for this chapter. Also, yes, this story complete.

2. Title from Matthiew 25:13. Moto, as usual, from the Lord's Prayer.

3. Thanks: to Camille and Mara, friends and beta readers.

3. Neither the Day nor the Hour

"As we forgive those who trespass against us"

Tori had to have let herself in. He hadn't heard her, and his parents weren't home. She hesitated for a moment at the door to his room without turning on the light, perhaps giving him a moment to acknowledge her, and then stepped in and sat down on the carpet beside him, leaning against the bed.

"Hi," she said softly.

He said nothing.

"There are all kinds of prisons," she said, "Plenty of kinds of hell. We deal with it best we can. None of us are perfect – or gods – so when it's over, it feels like everything's messed up and nothing will ever be all right. I know. I had my night of hell after Cam broke us out. Dustin had, too. You just didn't break out then, is all."

He turned his head towards her.

"There are all kinds of hell," she repeated. "I guess you carried yours within you for the last forty days. I'm sorry!" The words burst out of her.

He looked away.

"These past couple of weeks, it's like you weren't even there, and I kept trying – we're all going through different things but the rest of us, we just clung to each other but you just kept – " She was breathing hard. "Slipping, just slipping – no, it was like you keep disappearing right in front of my eyes only you're still there and it's like – do you know what that's like? And sometimes, the other times, I'd feel ashamed for doubting you and I'd feel ashamed for being this messed up because you were just perfect. The more the middle ground disappeared the more I figured you were probably fine and I was just projecting. This is what I get for wanting to believe, huh?"

There was a sting to her words that said there was more to them, but he was too tired to follow.

She shifted, then stilled. Shifted, moved her arm, then stilled again. Finally, as if moving cost pain or as if she was terrified, she reached out and placed her palm flat against his heart, a strange and not quite Tori-like gesture. "Please, Shane, just say something. Anything."

She was crying, he realized. Had he missed that in the darkness?

But he had no words. He tried to find some for her, opened his mouth in hope it would help to gouge some out, but there were just none. He shook his head.

"I know," she whispered. "It's like not being, isn't it?"

He started. "You said that." The words tumbled out of the emptiness. "You said we're already dead. In…" he stumbled on the word. "Hallucinations."

She didn't even flinch. "I guess we kind of did."

"Don't say that."

He had no idea how she'd react but he couldn't see her hurting, so he pulled her in. She clutched at his shirt like he might disappear.

Maybe he had.

Tori put herself between him and everyone else for the first night and day. He hadn't kicked her out at first because he was too damn tired, then because it would've made her miserable, and later because it was easier to have her talk to his parents or Miss Ellison from the school. It had taken him longer to say "Thanks," and mean it, to realize that she somehow made him feel less alone in a way that had nothing to do with her skipping school with him for a day and hanging around.

It felt weird, working that one out; kind of like turning his neck after being fixed at a single angle for a long time.

He wasn't sure if Sensei kicked everyone out for three days or if it just happened that way. Later Cam said that with the exception of Dustin – who dropped by to keep Marah company, for which Cam was grateful – none of the others initiated contact beyond the mandatory daily "Still alive" calls. Dustin was also the one who suggested they all meet for pizza the evening before training resumed, but nobody took him up on it.

The first training session didn't go too badly. They were all recovering faster than any normal doctor would've expected – thank goodness for morphers – nobody went even close to having a panic attack and nobody lost their temper. That right there said a lot for how far from any perceived edge they were. If things stayed that way they'd be out of remedial and back to progress in a couple of weeks; and if Lothor attacked before then, well, they'd just have to morph right away and they'd probably be fine. They could trust each other to watch their backs in a fight and that was the only important thing that morphing alone couldn't give them.

Hunter wouldn't talk to anyone but Blake, except for Sensei asking a direct question. Cam considered him with distrust, Tori ignored him and Marah had made a few feeble attempts to be friendly, which Hunter flinched back from. Dustin kept sneaking looks, as if he wanted to follow Marah's example but didn't quite dare, yet. Hunter was cold and distant and removed, and more than anything he reminded Shane of the proverbial elephant in the china shop, trying to make it to the door.

Hunter hadn't so much as looked at Shane; not that Shane was so great about eye contact. He knew exactly when he started to try and make nice because Tori gave him a Look. Shane's first instinct was to snap at her and return his attention to Hunter.

He almost had. He'd already frowned at her and turned his head. Hunter was flatly ignoring him, though, and that had given Shane the few seconds he needed to catch up.

Forcing himself to not focus on Hunter was ridiculously difficult and he felt drained for hours after, but it was worth it just to know that he could.

Life was beginning to feel a lot more normal. Four weeks after the return they were getting a lot less weird looks, and people were beginning to treat them more regularly. It probably helped that they looked a lot more normal, too. Sometimes he even acted on old routines without conscious thought, and moments when he actually felt present were becoming the norm rather than the exception.

Things weren't exactly the same. The lot of them still hung out at Storm Chargers but, with the exception of Dustin and Blake, stuck to the alcove and to themselves. Dustin, Tori and he also hardly ever shared lunches with others at school. Non-Rangers were a bit like butterflies: colourful and fun and important to protect, even if you didn't have a lot in common with them other than breathing air.

He was still keeping later hours at the skate ramp. It wasn't because it was less crowded. He just got to like it better in the late afternoon, deep gold light turning into purple-grey shadows. He would've stayed longer after dark, but his parents got worried if he wasn't home when they returned from work. It wasn't that he had a problem with full daylight, like Tori tried to claim a few times. He handled full daylight just fine at school and practice. It was just that the semi-darkness still felt safer, somehow.

Then one night he woke up from a nightmare and he couldn't breathe in the darkness. It took him several gulping breaths to remember that the reading light was just there, and then a few more seconds to be able to reach for it. The small lamp didn't flood the room with light, but it was enough to allow him to calm down enough to get up and turn on the main light.

It had to be the surprise on top of the post-nightmare adrenaline surge that put him in a combat-like assessing mode as he walked back to the bed. The nightmare was one of the usual – confusion and aching and the haze that was true hunger. The high alertness was – no, not the same at all, he realized as he sat down on the bed cross-legged and gathered the blanket at his knees. He always woke up terrified and then the dim streetlight through the blinds soothed him enough he could sleep again. This time he only got scared when he woke up somewhere dark.

The back of his hands were tingling with phantom bruises.

He remembered. Shane folded into himself, nails digging into his palms as he held back from hitting or throwing things. The first days of captivity, when he still hadn't known what to expect; he'd been so full of rage all of the time, and he had no idea that he had needed to conserve strength. He'd hit the walls, then, until he could barely move his fingers; he'd hated the constant darkness, had felt that it was pressing down on him; he could barely see and he couldn't stand it.

He'd forgotten since.

It took almost an hour until he calmed down enough to consider trying to fall asleep again. The night light his mom had dug out right after the return was still on his desk. He plugged it in first.

The yo-yo motion of it just made him snap more. There were times he couldn't stand the sight of Hunter and had to remind himself that the person who angered him so was effectively dead, and there were times he wanted to reach for Hunter so much that the effort to do anything else gave him tension headaches. Dustin and Marah were lifesavers: Dustin by providing a social link between the Thunders and the Winds and Marah simply by being her peppy self.

They shouldn't have been able to function as a team like that but, a few scuffles later, it turned out that they could. The guys trusted each other to watch their backs, and that turned out to be the only substantial thing. It was just kelzacks, anyway, nothing that demanded a full team effort.

The first time he had an actual battle on this hands – Kapri and some kelzacks here, Zurgane there, more kelzacks in the middle – he only realized he should've freaked out after they were all safely back in Ops. He had to send everyone out on the field this time, even Cam, he had next to no live intel to work with and most of his team on different scenes than himself. He'd done it effectively blind and it worked. Training, Ranger instinct and adrenaline response had all been contributing factors but, he realized as Sensei waited for them to cool off so they could start the debriefing, there was no way they could've done it – that he could've done it – unless he could predict his team.

It made sense with Tori whom he'd known since fourth grade and with Dustin with whom he'd been friends since freshman year, with rabidly dependable Cam and even somehow with Blake, who was awkwardly trying to be Shane's right hand.

And then there was Hunter, who Shane did not know at all.

Two days later he and Tori picked up Dustin and the Bradleys from the track on the way to the daily practice. They were early, and got to watch Dustin's last few laps. Hunter was holding the stopwatch but he wasn't watching it. Instead he was observing Dustin with only the slightest frown of concentration and an eerily familiar intensity.

It made Shane's stomach turn. Dustin had been Blake's and Hunter's first target, back when the two were bent on killing Sensei and tried to worm their way into the confidence of the Winds. They were faster and better and had heavier bikes, and Dustin adored them from the first moment. He'd been halfway to hero-worshipping Hunter even before Hunter started offering advice.

Last lap over. Cloud of dust. Blake turned Hunter's hand to check the stopwatch and let out a whoop of joy. It wasn't Blake Dustin's smile went to –

Shane could tell the exact second and the exact angle of Hunter's return smile.

It was still Hunter.

Dustin was talking a mile a minute as he walked his bike. Blake ended up taking the bike from him, as Dustin kept gesturing with his hands. Hunter was taller than either of them and much more sedate. The sight of the three of them should have been something to be glad about – Dustin unafraid, Blake off guard, Hunter attempting to engage.

Shane focused on breathing, trying to narrow things down to that, because it was still Hunter, and now that Shane had realized it he couldn't make it go away.

"Shane?"

He looked down at Tori. Her eyes were wide.

"You're doing it again," she told him. "What's wrong?"

He wanted to say, If he hurts Dustin I'll kill him, but that was not an option for a number of reasons, one of them being that Hunter was not the only thing that did not change.

Shane shook his head.

He ignored Hunter through the car ride. He ignored Hunter through practice. He completely failed to ignore Hunter the next day at Storm Chargers, but each time Hunter just froze up momentarily and then went on as Shane did not lash out at him.

Blake pulled him aside so smoothly that Shane didn't get what was going on until they were at the back of Tori's van and instead of digging through for the jacket he claimed to have lost, Blake turned to him and asked: "Okay, what's going on?"

"What do you mean, what's going on?"

Blake crossed his arms and then let them down again self-consciously. "You're pissed off," he said.

Shane was going to deny it, but. "Of course I am! He's pulling the same shit all over again."

"You mean Hunter."

"Yes!" Shane looked aside, trying to get his breath under control. Good thing they had the van's doors for a cover – which Blake probably had planned. Damn Thunders. "He's doing it on purpose," he spat out: "Coaching Dustin, being polite to Cam – he's playing them."

"He's fitting in on the team, Shane. It's a good thing."

"It's fake through and through and you know it same as I do. One big calculated show."

Blake's expression barely twisted, but his eyes were burning. "He's not going to turn on us again."

"I didn't say that."

Blake eyed him warily. "Sure didn't sound like it."

"There's a world of difference between – " Shane struggled, trying to get it to make sense outside of his head. "Do I think he's going to turn right around and sell us all to Lothor? No. Do I think that – jeez, Blake." Shane refused the instinct to swallow, refused to display any sign of discomfort besides what his voice had already betrayed. "The only difference is that he doesn't think he has a reason to."

Blake's expression changed subtly, not so much relaxing as – lightening, perhaps, or maybe just becoming more withdrawn. "Oh," he said quietly, looking away.

"'Oh,' what?" asked Shane.

"If you're worried about Hunter baiting any of the guys," said Blake carefully, still looking sideways. "I don't think he will. He's trying to make it easier to work as a team, to get along." He returned his gaze, meeting Shane's eyes. "Give him time. It'll become real; it just takes time to learn. Come on, Shane," he added. "You used to know this."

Shane shook his head. "I didn't – damn it, Blake – " He closed his eyes.

"Yeah," Blake said quietly. "Okay."

Things were a mess after that, but it took Shane a while to realize it. There were the times he ignored Hunter and Hunter ignored him right back; they managed to exchange full sentences if they were in battle, and the situation was getting under Shane's skin a little less than it used to. And then were times, when Shane couldn't keep his mouth shut and kept prodding and snapping and – though he denied it to Tori – trying to push Hunter into blowing up. The muscles of Hunter's jaw would twitch and he'd turn away, and most of the time that was all. Except for the other times, when Hunter would talk right back – not with the same intensity, not with the same venom – and Shane returned the serve every single time. Shane could predict neither his own nor Hunter's reactions, and it was getting impossible to tell when they'd be able to get through training or just the afternoon safely.

At first Hunter had only sparred against Cam, who was the fastest and most experienced of them, though he'd given in to Blake's insistence once he'd been medically cleared. Dustin volunteered at about the same time Shane started making a point, and Sensei started insisting on pitting Shane and Hunter against each other after Hunter started dishing the attitude back.

The first time was a disaster. Hunter was visibly tense and shrinking back, Shane had his heart in his throat and when he finally managed to throw a punch Hunter practically walked into it. Rather than doing something reasonable like saying they'd try again tomorrow – Shane knew Sensei too well to expect him to call the experiment off altogether – Sensei just calmly told them to try again. They didn't break any bones that day, but for the first three days they didn't get past the level of first-quarter students either.

More than anything it was like reacting to memory. Something jagged shifted, hurting or terrifying, and Shane took the kick and turned the energy around, throwing it back at Hunter, right behind the knee, stepped behind him and pulled down, hard.

Hunter didn't roll with it, didn't dodge: the same trained instinct that had Shane aim for the spine also had him pause, drag himself into being present again –

"Again," said Sensei.

"You've gotta be kidding – "

"You may take a few seconds to recover. Then again."

"Enough with the goddamn show," he hurled at Hunter, after Sensei had released them to the showers.

"Now what are you going on about?" said Hunter.

Shane turned to face him. "Oh, please," he snarled deliberately. "The not hitting back thing? The deliberately getting hit? Who do you think you're playing?"

Hunter's expression was hard. His eyes were the usual storm. "Go get a clue, Shane."

"What do you think you're going to gain from this, huh, Hunter? What kind of fascinating experiment is it now?"

"You're – " Hunter shook his head and half-turned. "I'm not having this discussion."

"If you think you get to – "

"Damn it, Shane, this is not all one big game!"

"Look who's talking."

Hunter turned towards him again. "What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"You're really lousy at playing meek, Hunter."

Hunter just stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head and walked to the shower stool.

Shane let him get out of sight.

Hunter made an effort to defend himself after that. Five days later, he initiated an offensive. A turning kick like a Mack truck at point-blank, the same damn maneuver that had been Hunter's winning token all along and that none of them could properly deflect, yet. Except that Shane somehow did – only barely, only just, but it was the longest he'd ever lasted against Hunter in full steam. The first few minutes it was all he could do to stay on his feet, and then maybe he started making sense of the pattern because one or two of his return blows almost connected.

They were being too violent, not nearly restrained enough. It wasn't so much a spar as a barely controlled brawl, but Sensei hadn't called them off.

It was Hunter who did, in a way: Shane managed to get through and grab a hold on Hunter's shirt, but Hunter forced his hand off and turned them both around and a few steps sideways, and it was a good thing there was a lot of distance between them and the wall –

And then Hunter let go and turned around, and the second it took Shane to recover from the near-stumble and look up was enough that he only caught sight of Hunter's back as he walked out.

He found Hunter down the tunnel of a hallway, palms flat against the wall and elbows locked straight.

"You need to get better than that," said Hunter, looking firmly at the wall and getting the words in a fraction of second before Shane. "You're the one I'm counting on, damn it."

He pushed himself sharply, turned away. "I'll shower at home."

Shane would've tried to stop him, if he could make anything add up.

He threw up later.

Sensei still tried to get them to spar together. Their vehement refusal was not rehearsed.

It took a week to get Hunter away from their fellow Rangers, Cam's cameras and random civilians. Shane closed the back room's door softly, but Hunter heard it and turned around anyway.

"What the hell does that mean, 'the one you're counting on'?" demanded Shane.

"You know exactly what that means," shot back Hunter.

He radiated tension, which was reasonable considering that Shane was advancing on him, he hasn't started retreating yet, and there were a couple dozen civilians and two Rangers just down the hall.

"No, actually I don't. So why don't you enlighten me?"

A muscle in Hunter's jaw spasmed. "Dustin and Tori aren't going to get that good, at least not fast enough. And Blake's never gonna be able to."

Shane raised his eyebrows deliberately. "Should I be on the lookout? The airlock room is still there. You can move in anytime you want."

Hunter shook his head once, sharply. "No."

"So what the hell are you playing at now?"

Hunter took half a step forward. "I'm not playing!" He looked aside, breathing heavily. "Well, excuse me if I'm – I'm just worried, okay? If anything ever happens again – "

"Why sh…"

"No, there is nothing concrete, okay? Just me freaking out over knowing that I can take the team out before you know it, because – I don't know, maybe because I've done it before?"

Hunter was still breathing heavily, pupils distinctly dilated. Shane's anger was fast turning into something else, so he clung to it.

"It's just fear and you know it. Move on instead of spinning it into a new game."

Hunter's expression twisted, still too complex to read. "Was that advice? Practical and involved team leader checking up on his team? God damn it, Shane!" And Hunter spun around, nearly trapping Shane against the shelves. "That's it, something scares me so I'm not the Big Bad Wolf anymore?"

Hunter. Close. In his face. Shane's pulse raced, two or three beats per second. "Step back."

"Just making a point," said Hunter through gritted teeth.

"I said, step back."

And Hunter did, stepping away and turning back sharply, leaning against the shelves on the other side of the aisle, shoulders hunched. "Damn it," he whispered, barely audible. "Fuck."

"And if you're gonna try and be supportive and understanding again," he added after a few seconds, "I'm gonna knock a few teeth out, just as a reminder that you don't get to pull this protective act with me. Not with me."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, please. Because everyone but Dustin isn't doing it on purpose whenever they think you need cheering up, just look small and miserable and you're pulling right up."

Shane swallowed back six or eight scathing retorts in the first four and a half seconds, and then took ten more to come up with something that hopefully wouldn't start a fight.

"Why not Cam?"

Hunter's breathing relaxed slowly, though it probably wouldn't return to normal anytime soon. "Yeah, Cam's paranoid, all right" he said. "But he's too obviously dangerous: too smart, too good at this. He's the first person to take out if taking out this team."

"Or the one person who can keep track of everyone and everything and call the shots simultaneously," said Shane. His mouth was dry. "Especially if…"

"I'm trying to believe you'll…" Hunter's lips twisted. "Not quite there yet. Betting on my pride, I guess."

Shane couldn't move. He remembered – only too well – what it had felt like, the way this ended the previous time.

The way it would've ended if Hunter had not remembered.

"Better bet on yourself," he said. His voice was gruff. "You didn't go too far the first time, I don't think – "

Hunter's head snapped up. "Didn't go too far? What the – "

Shane cut him off. "Yeah, you didn't. You didn't kill Blake. You didn't maim Tori. In three weeks you didn't even come close. And you didn't – " Shane itched to look away. He forgot what it was like to have all of Hunter's focus on him; had forgotten how much intensity Hunter was truly capable of; and he had thought that it had been long enough, that it wouldn't be such a struggle to not have his words scatter like birds before a raptor. "You didn't break anything that isn't mending. You pulled back when it counted."

"It counted a lot before that," said Hunter just as quietly. "It counted all along."

"If you hadn't remembered then – " And Shane stopped, because suddenly the particular shade of darkness on Hunter's face – the sudden tension in his body – made sense. Pain.

It disappeared just as fast: almost.

"Don't you dare feel sorry for me," snarled Hunter. "This is how you lose."

"This is how I stayed alive."

Hunter was in Shane's face again in a single step, though his arms hung next to his body this time. "Don't you fucking dare," he said, voice low, halfway between rough and dangerous. "Let me in and I'll take you apart."

Shane didn't mistake that feeling for calm as he said: "You didn't last time."

"The hell – "

"Blake and Cam were at the door, Hunter. What do you think I'd have done then if you attacked them?"

Hunter flinched. Shane continued, having barely paused for a beat.

"Yeah, exactly. You'd been pushing for that moment for weeks and when it finally happened? You turned right around and came back. You couldn't do it. So next time – if there's a next time, which I really hope there won't be – then my bet's on you."

Hunter was still in his space; Hunter's eyes were still on his. He'd already nearly forgotten what the shelves and boxes at his back meant, that Tori or Kelly might get worried or suspicious or both and might go looking for them.

"Or maybe," he continued, "The next time there might actually be someone who'll notice that something's wrong. Lothor didn't make up the anger, or the rest of it." Hatred was the word, but Shane wasn't going to say it out loud: it was likely to make Hunter turn away. "He just made up a better reason for it."

Now that he knew that expression for pain, it was hard to mistake it for anger or disdain any more.

"You're making up excuses," whispered Hunter. "Don't – "

Shane had no idea he was going to do it until he already had, finger right by Hunter's lips.

"So the game is making sure I hate you?" he answered. "I'm not playing."

Hunter swallowed, blinked rapidly. "You should. It's not like I can believe it that you don't."

"I'm fucking mad with you. There isn't a day where I don't need to remind myself that I'm not supposed to bash your head against the wall or when I don't want to tell you to get away from anyone who's naïve enough to trust you."

"But you're standing right here. And if I…" Slowly, almost gently, Hunter raised his hand and rested his palm against Shane's cheek. "You're not punching me in the face. You're not even trying to walk away."

His breath was shallow and quick, but Shane got the words through somehow. "What good will that do?"

"Making yourself an offering?" Hunter removed Shane's hand and leaned forward, close enough that Shane could feel his breath. "Not a good idea."

"You're freaking me out on purpose." It was an effort to not break away. "I'm not letting you damn yourself."

"Can't trust you when you're saying that."

"Is there anything you trust in other than hatred and blind loyalty?"

Hunter breathing was laboured: that was good, in a way. "What the hell kind of question is that?"

"Guess so," murmured Shane. Raising his arms to hold Hunter was deliberate, and he was fast enough about it that he managed to trap him before he got what was going on. Hunter struggled for a moment – violently, wildly – and then stopped and laid his forehead on the cardboard next to Shane's head.

"That's the game plan?" he asked, voice raw and barely audible. "Make sure I'll feel even worse if I ever hurt you again?"

Shane forced his eyes to stay open. "I'm not much for games," he said. He didn't sound any better.

"Don't let me hurt you."

Shane did close his eyes at that. "I'm not going to let you hurt me. But what you choose to believe, and what you do about it, those are your choices."

"I'm sorry." The words were choked, barely comprehensible. "God, Shane, I'm so sorry."

Shane turned his head, rested his forehead against Hunter's cheekbone. "Yeah," he spoke against his skin. "I know."