Author's note: This is originally posted on AO3 under "hearden" but I decided to bring it over to just for the fun of it. Obviously the tags won't let me be as elaborate as AO3, but this fic contains polyamory so if that's not your thing, just letting you know right off the bat. And I'll be adding in chapter-specific warnings as they come. You can view the original here: archiveofourown org works/10586886/chapters/23399523

September 2016 - Reefside, California

Kimberly wakes up to the dull beeping of her alarm clock, sighing softly and pressing her face deeper into her pillow. Without looking, she reaches out and fumbles around blindly for the clock, jabbing it silent with the palm of her hand. Waking up on a high school schedule makes her feel like she's in… high school again. Of course, she's had to train through worse, but still. It's never going to get old.

"Tommy," she mumbles into her pillow, "Get up." Kimberly rolls over and unceremoniously smacks her husband in the chest, shaking him for good measure. "The children of Reefside High need you, and I need my coffee." Untangling herself from the sheets (and from Tommy's arm), she gets out of bed and stretches, breathing in the new morning air.

She wakes on Tommy's schedule but usually copes with it better than he does. It's a mixture of having to deal with practice, Ranger duties, and an early job throughout her life; Tommy's had the same, but somehow, he's always the one late, even when she sets his alarm earlier just to avoid a problem.

They both get dressed in the slow silence of the early morning, save for the occasional yawn and "excuse me" as they brush past each other in front of the closet and in the bathroom. Kimberly likes to hog the sink first - and Tommy lets her, even if that means she spends the most time in the bathroom doing her make-up and fussing with her hair - while her husband leans against the doorframe and watches her, a fond smile on his face.

"Your hair looks nice," he comments, and she laughs, a beautiful, musical sound to his ears.

"Please, I just woke up," she says, rolling her eyes as she grabs her toothbrush from the counter. And, then, softer, slightly blushing, "You always say that."

Tommy wraps his arms around her waist from behind and presses a kiss to her neck, making her giggle, "And I always mean it."

They find out the news over breakfast and coffee. As a rule of thumb, to savor the soft, gentle moments they have together before starting their days, there's no cell phone usage (save for emergencies) under the Oliver roof until after they've started eating breakfast, which means a good hour-and-a-half of showering, getting ready, making coffee, and actually sitting down in the kitchen passed before Tommy checked his phone and saw all the messages he'd missed since he woke up.

"Must be important," Kimberly says, raising her eyebrows as she bites a piece of pancake off of her fork, "It was going off like crazy while you were showering."

"Yeah… Ethan texted me a couple dozen times," Tommy replies, frowning at his phone, "Out of nowhere. We haven't really talked in awhile."

"Yeah? What'd he say?"

Kimberly goes back to poking pieces of her pancakes with her fork, expecting Tommy to respond eventually, but when he doesn't, she looks up with growing concern.

"Tommy? Is everything okay?" Maybe it was an emergency - she couldn't remember if she'd met any of Ethan's family at the wedding, but he had brought Angela. An emergency would've meant Ethan would've called, though.

Her husband says nothing, still frowning at his phone, and just places it on the table between them to where Kimberly can see the screen. On it is an article from the AG Times, and in big, bold letters as the title: "POWER RANGERS SAVE ANGEL GROVE COASTAL SUBURBS."

Interest vaguely piqued, she glances at the blurry picture underneath the title, slightly nodding in appreciation of what she sees. A Megazord - presumably, although it looks way more alien than anything she's ever seen, and she's seen some things - fighting… what looks like a giant monster made of gold? It looks vaguely, oddly enough, familiar, but… She can't tell if it's solid or liquid or an odd mix of the two from the picture alone, but there's no face. Which still makes it pretty ugly.

"Okay, so, Power Rangers and a giant, ugly monster with no face a mother could love in Angel Grove," Kimberly shrugs, unsure of why Tommy's acting like it's a big deal, "It's Monday, and we're married. What else?"

"There's more." He motions for her to scroll down and actually read the article.

Setting her fork down, Kimberly scrolls through the article with her thumb, leaning forward to catch all the words.

Masked superheroes… "Power Rangers"... Rita…

"Wait, hold on." She scrolls back up the page and reads aloud a quote, a shiver running through her shoulders and her heart slightly jumping, "Witnesses say the woman terrorizing the town called herself 'Rita,' and that she called her monster…"

"Goldar," Tommy finishes for her.

"Shit." Kimberly leans back in her chair, the color draining out of her face. "Did- what else did Ethan say?"

Tommy picks his phone up and glances over his messages again, "Just that he didn't think it was off for 'Power Rangers' until he saw the bit about Rita and Goldar. He remembered me mentioning them in my video diary."

She snorts at that, forcing a smile, "At least something good came out of you keeping a diary." It's a small tease, one she wouldn't really be making, but she's trying to break the tension before it crushes them both.

Across from her, her husband reluctantly chuckles.

It's not their problem; they're in a different town, hours away from Angel Grove, and it's a life they've been away from for a good few years since fighting the Armada. That was because they were needed - they aren't needed now. Everything's been handled.

Except, they got rid of Rita once, and now she was back.

Kimberly reaches across the table and takes Tommy's hand.

"What are we gonna do?"

She asks because she can, but she already sees the answer in his eyes. If Kimberly had a mirror to look at then, she knows she'd see the same answer in her eyes as well.

They're going to Angel Grove.

The drive to Angel Grove only takes a few hours. They pack their luggage - enough for two weeks but they say it's for one - into Tommy's Jeep and hit the road with Tommy behind the wheel and Kimberly in the passenger seat, her laptop open and her phone acting as a hotspot.

They're not moving, but for some reason, it feels like they are.

Kimberly's Googling all she can on Angel Grove, on the town it's become since they've left. It doesn't take too much digging, surprisingly, after she searches 'Angel Grove High School' to find something substantial. Substantially weird, that is.

"Hey, babe… have you talked to Jason recently?"

She glances over at her husband, who shrugs in response. "No, not really. Last time was… Christmas, I think."

"Did he, uh, say anything about being with someone new? Starting a family, having kids?"

"No… you know how he feels about that, after Trini."

Oh, Kimberly knows. But, she just wants verbal confirmation because the words on her laptop screen make no fucking sense. She clicks on the picture at the top of the article she's reading - a courtroom photo of a young, handsome boy with disheveled, light brown hair and soft but tired blue eyes. There's something off about him… something she can't put her finger on, that tickles the tip of her tongue.

"Yeah," she says, quietly, "So… we would've noticed if he had a son who'd be in high school by now, right?"

Tommy's face scrunches into confusion, and he sneaks a glance over at her laptop, hastily, but Kimberly smacks his arm. "Eyes on the road, sweetie. I'll read it aloud to you.

"Jason Scott, 17, former star quarterback of the Angel Grove Tigers, appeared in court on Monday and was put on probation for six months with a mandatory fifty hours of community service after pleading guilty to one charge of criminal trespass in the second-degree on school property and one charge of evading arrest from the police officers who showed up on the scene afterwards. Scott led officers on a brief chase through town before causing an accident on Barker Street. From security footage evidence, it was concluded that Scott did not act alone, but he refused to list any accomplices during his courtroom appearance."

Tommy whistles lowly, his eyebrows raising in interest, "Doesn't sound like the Jason we know. It's a common name, though, I guess."

"Yeah, it is." Her response is noncommittal, just as his excuse. Kimberly clicks around on her laptop a few more times, holding her breath. There's something here, something she doesn't want to see, but she knows it's coming. She passes by articles about Founder's Day, Angel Grove's first Krispy Kreme ("Tommy, they have a Krispy Kreme now," she says with a pout - even Reefside doesn't have one yet, unfortunately, and it's 2016 for God's sake), about how the Tigers are doing in regionals (which is, frankly, poorly since Jason Scott - but not her Jason Scott - busted his leg in that car accident).

First, she finds an article about a mining accident ("We didn't have a gold mine in Angel Grove, did we?" "You're asking me ? You lived there way longer than I did, honey.") and among the people who died, one Mr. Michael Cranston.

"Cranston." The name sounds foreign on her tongue, now; she hasn't said it in years and hasn't heard it being said by its owner in even longer.

Wedged between the two articles she finds (the mining accident being long ago and Jason's courtroom appearance being within the past month), not years ago and still fairly recent, Kimberly finds the last piece of the puzzle. The edges catch on the inside of her throat as she swallows.

"Tommy," her voice is urgent, and she almost chokes on her words - or maybe it's that puzzle piece, "Stop the car - please." Her husband responds quickly, calmly, even with the strain in her voice, and pulls the car over to the shoulder, activating his hazard lights.

With the car stopped, Kimberly grips her laptop tighter, knuckles turning white as she lets out a hard breath, before letting go. She turns it to where Tommy can read the article, but, more importantly, so he can see the yearbook photo used under the title.

The girl in the photo is stunningly beautiful. Like the other Jason Scott, Kimberly finds something naggingly familiar, almost like home, in the girl's long, black hair that's been done into curls for the yearbook photo. Something familiar in her brown eyes, in the ease and radiance of her smile. There's something sharper there, too, that Kimberly doesn't quite relate to, but it still sends chills down her spine at how close she feels to the girl in the picture.

Tommy voices what she hasn't had the courage to say yet, "She… kinda looks like you."

She nods in mute agreement. Her husband's eyes move up to the other big detail on her screen.

The headline: "ANGEL GROVE TEEN MAY FACE CHARGES FOR DISTRIBUTION OF PORNOGRAPHY."

Well, Kimberly definitely can't relate to that.

She skims the article and makes up a summary for Tommy as she goes. "Kim- um… Kimberly Hart…" She pauses, trying to get ahold of her thoughts. It's… hard, to say the least, to be reading something that she knows she didn't do but that someone she shares a name with did. "17, former cheerleader for the Angel Grove Tigers, has come under fire after she sent out a naked photo of a fellow classmate - whose name has been withheld for privacy - to other students at Angel Grove High. The victim's family has not decided whether or not to press charges as of now, but regardless, Hart could possibly face being put on probation. The Angel Grove Sheriff's Department is conducting an investigation to determine if Hart acted alone."

The air is quiet after she speaks, save for the whoosh as cars pass them on the road. The wind generated from the road activity blows through Kimberly's hair, sending it flying into her vision. Everything is utterly normal. The world is still turning.

"Once is an accident, twice is a coincidence…"

"Thrice is an trend," Tommy finishes for her.

"Okay." Kimberly closes her laptop, deeming all of that enough weirdness for the next couple of hours - the rest of her life would be better, but the direction they're heading in, there's no chance of that. She sighs and slightly shakes her head, trying to get rid of this feeling on her shoulders, like something is hovering over her, ready to drop down on her body. Quickly, she glances up at the soft, blue sky. No pianos suspended by ropes up there. Only just the vast expanse of what is and ever could be. "Should we… should we still go?"

Beside her, Tommy reaches over and grabs her hand, fingers intertwining.

Maybe they're meant to just leave it alone.

Tommy can see the doubt on her face, as he's always been able to, and leans over as far as his seat belt will let him, pressing a brief kiss to the side of her head.

"How 'bout this," he says, settling back into his seat, "We go to Angel Grove, and if there's nothing weird going on, then we'll leave."

It's another excuse he's making up because she knows the result, anyway. Angel Grove has always - always - been weird, and no matter what, they were and always will be its watchful guardians.

"Yeah, that sounds good," she nods, shifting and sticking her laptop back into the backpack at her feet. Kimberly looks back up at the sky one more time, sighing softly. "Let's go home."