Sanctuary (Power Rangers in Space/Jungle Fury Crossover, K)
rosabelle: Challon says you should write RJ/Andros
rosabelle: Okay, so she didn't actually say that, but you should!
Akume: /:-)
Akume: Random.
rosabelle: They'd kill each other. It'd be fun!
rosabelle: Blood and stuff
challon86: I told her that if I ever went and told someone to write me something, I'd pick the most outlandish and non-sensical thing I could find, like "Yeah, so I want Andros with RJ and I want it to take place in RPM! Thanks!"
challon86: And Rosa was all "I wanna see this now..."
Akume: Well, now I'm committed to R.J./Andros. I just made it a pretty shiny banner. -_-;;;
challon86: Yay!
Author/: Tsukino Akume
Fandom/: Power Rangers in Space/Jungle Fury Crossover (takes place during RPM)
Characters/: Andros, R.J.
Pairings/: R.J./Andros
Rating/: K
Disclaimer/: They're not mine, but I wish they were. Then I could spend all day playing with their pretty hair! -Sighs dreamily-
Summary/: Andros has been fighting for a long time. There's only one place left where he feels safe enough to relax.
Warnings/: Andros being angsty? That's about it, really.
Author's Notes/: This takes place in a half-assed attempt at Corinth, which is namely because that was the request. Seeing as I have only watched vids and read fanfics instead of actually watching RPM itself (I still refuse to do so until one of my Epic Chapter fics is finished), all mistakes are my own. All characters involved are due to multiple viewings of QuinnBeckett's RPM: The Fallen and catt021's RPM || The Road to Corinth - Casey's tale REUPLOADED. Excluding Merrick, who is there because psyco_chick32 requested someone super-serious or grouchy, and he was the only person I could think of who is grouchier than Eric.
This is all rosabelle's fault. And somewhat challon86, but mostly rosabelle.
I love you both. You're evil. ♥
"What do you want, Andros? What are you searching for?"
He stumbled through the dark, trying to force one foot in front of the other. He was dimly aware of the fact that just walking was taking this much concentration was a bad sign, but he couldn't find the will to care. All he could think about was the door at the end of the alley, and the person on the other side of it. There, he would be safe. He could relax as soon as he was on the other side of that door.
He was less than ten feet away when the door spontaneously opened, light spilling out into the dark alleyway. He staggered three more steps before collapsing, trusting that he would be caught before he could hit the ground. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was right.
****
He awoke to the smell of herbs and incense, and something furry under his hand. He inhaled deeply without thinking about it, wincing as pain flared across his chest. But the smell was soothing to his senses, and he found himself relaxing slowly, something he hadn't been able to convince himself to do in some time.
The furry thing under his hand shifted, whimpering softly, and something cold pressed against his palm. His fingers flexed automatically, curling to stroke the rough fur gently. There was another whimper, and he smiled without opening his eyes, rubbing one of the ears reassuringly. He wasn't okay yet, but he would be.
The approaching footsteps would have made him tense in any other situation, but not here. Instead he waited, resisting the urge to lean into the gentle hand on his forehead. Not for lack of gratitude or affection, but because he knew what was coming next.
The hands remained gentle as they lifted his shirt, checking his bandages and reapplying salves. His body however, did not appreciate the attention, and he grit his teeth as pain flared. The cuts across his torso were the most painful, but his sprained ankle and dislocated shoulder weren't casual injuries, either.
But this was normal for him, wasn't it? He must be getting soft, whining about a simple sprain. He'd been in worse shape before, would be again. There would always be more rogue criminals to track down, more fights to find. This was what he did. What he *had* to do. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't.
The hands finally pulled his shirt down again, brushing almost absently against his hand before disappearing. After a few minutes there was a scraping sound, and someone resettled beside him.
He smirked faintly. "You and that chair," he rasped.
The hands caught one of his, wrapping around it securely. "We all have our quirks," the other man answered mildly, one of the hands moving to brush his hair back from his forehead.
*Now* he turned his head to lean into the touch, sighing quietly. After nearly two months of being constantly on the move, it was nice to feel something besides sand or blood against his skin. "True enough," he murmured, thinking distantly of the various quirks the other had that he'd discovered over the years. He stifled a yawn.
The hand stroked his forehead again. "Sleep, Andros."
"f'you ... insist ... " he mumbled, drifting off again.
"What do you want, Andros? What are you searching for?"
****
When he woke again, he was alone except for the return of the fur under his hand. After a moment he finally found the will to open his eyes and blink blearily into the bright light of the loft. Why had R.J. insisted on a building with so many windows? Wasn't Corinth freakishly bright enough on its own?
He stretched tentatively, winced, and decided the pain had dulled enough to be tolerable. Years of practice had taught him the correct way to get out of a hammock without falling on his face, and he climbed to his feet silently with only another faint wince as his ankle twinged in protest. He tested it briefly, and concluded that it was walkable.
There was a low growl when he moved to take a step forward, and he looked down at the wolf spirit that had been guarding him while he slept. "I'm fine," he informed it, resisting the urge to glare. "Stop fussing."
There was another growl and the wolf tried to press closer, but he dodged it to head toward the kitchen area. "Don't," he added without looking back. "I'm fine. I'll *be* fine. You don't need to come check on me again."
Breakfast was already waiting in the fridge, which insinuated that the other man had known better than to expect him to stay in bed anyway. It *could* have been for someone else, but he found he was still too tired to really care. It was food, it was there, and he was hungry. If Merrick wanted to argue over a sandwich, he was welcome to. Merrick didn't seem like the type to be that territorial over food, but then, he had believed the same thing of Carlos once.
He froze at the thought, closing his eyes in pain. It wasn't always so painful to think of them; it was getting better, and it hurt to think that the raw pain of losing his team was fading. But it was, slowly. He no longer found himself sobbing silently when he was alone for too long, or reaching for someone who wasn't there before he remembered. It was only once in awhile, when some random thought or memory would slip in before he consciously realized it, that he found himself fighting tears. Only when he wasn't prepared to think of them, and remember what he'd lost.
What honestly, he'd lost a long time ago.
"What do you want, Andros? What are you searching for?"
"You were supposed to stay in bed."
He ignored the mild reprimand, recognizing it for what it actually was. "Thanks for the sandwich."
There was a noise of acknowledgment, and arms slipping into place around his waist as he leaned his head back with a sigh. He couldn't remember anymore when this had started, when it had stopped surprising him to be touched, when R.J. had stopped needing to ask for permission to do so; if he ever had. When it stopped being strange and uncomfortable, and started making him wonder why he ever left that gentle touch to begin with.
"You seem rather introspective today."
It was an observation, not a question, and he appreciated the difference. It meant he could choose to answer or let it pass without comment. He didn't have to share anything he wasn't willing to.
It hadn't always been that way. The others had always pushed him to talk when he didn't want to, trying to drawn him out of his shell. It had been both annoying and wonderful, and he closed his eyes again, swallowing hard.
"I'm sorry."
The apology was genuine, and he shook his head. "It's - " He swallowed again, trying to force his throat to cooperate. "It's not you," he managed at last. "I was just ... The sandwich. It made me think of ... of Carlos."
It sounded stupid when he said it out loud.
But the arms around him squeezed gently in understanding. "Ah," the other murmured in his ear. "Yes. These things tend to surprise us in the moments when we're least prepared for them. Waiting tables does it to me," he added, sounding almost thoughtful despite the hint of melancholy to his tone. "I expect to catch Theo out of the corner of my eye, or see Fran walking in." He sighed, very quietly, and Andros felt guilty for mentioning it at all.
He wasn't the only one in mourning.
"Sky will be glad to see you," he continued abruptly, and Andros blinked at the sudden change of subject, but went with it. R.J. was like that, and he found that sometimes it actually helped when he couldn't stop himself from thinking about something. "He's been asking about you."
He frowned, not quite sure what to say to that. He never really knew how to deal with Sky. With any of them, really. Some of them - like Merrick - were easier than others. Eric didn't seem to know how to act around him more than he did around them. He couldn't even look Casey in the eye anymore, and being around Lily was just painful. She reminded him too much of -
It wasn't so hard with R.J. R.J. never seemed to expect anything of him, and always accepted exactly as much as he was willing to give.
He wasn't sure he'd keep coming back if it wasn't for him. There were times when he seriously considered staying in the outlands permanently, hunting the outer reaches of Venjix's army and searching for survivors. But he always ended up returning, slipping past Corinth's shield and finding his way to Jungle Karma Pizza. To R.J., and the feeling of safety he provided.
"What do you want, Andros? What are you searching for?"
R.J. had asked him once, not long after they first met. He'd been so angry about the question he'd stormed out and refused to come back until he was forced to by a deep cut into his leg that required serious medical attention. R.J. hadn't asked again, but the question had haunted him ever since.
Because Ashley had asked him that same question once, when she'd tearfully demanded to know why he wouldn't stay with her. Why he *couldn't* stay.
"I don't know," he'd tried to insist. "I'm not looking for anything. I just ... I just need to do this."
"Why?" she demanded, and she was hurt and furious at him all at once, and it hurt to see. "For fame? Money? Because you have to be the best? What is it? There's no reason for you to keep fighting, Andros! The war is *over*. We won our battle. Who are you still fighting against?!"
" ... Andros?" R.J. sounded concerned, and he realized suddenly that he hadn't said anything in awhile.
"How do you stay?" he asked abruptly. How can you stay in one place and not want to tear something apart?
There was a moment of silence.
"I suppose ... because everything I want in my life is here, or will be at some point in the future," R.J. answered eventually, and he didn't miss the subtle hint. "What do you find yourself lacking in your life that you must continually search for it?"
Purpose.
To feel alive.
To feel like my life has meaning.
Forgiveness.
He didn't answer, and he knew R.J. wasn't really asking him to. If there was one thing he could count on R.J. for - and really, there were actually many things he counted on him for - it was his ability to let things go.
Instead he turned around, ignoring the flare of pain in his ankle it caused and the pointed frown R.J. gave him, to lean forward and kiss him. There was a pause, and honestly, R.J. was the only person he had ever known who could sigh without ever opening his mouth. Then they were kissing, softly, sweetly, full of silent assurances and subtle promises. Never demanding, never questioning. And this, *this* was why he kept coming back. This was what he had to return to.
What he would always return to.
And that ... was enough. It had to be.
rosabelle: Okay, so she didn't actually say that, but you should!
Akume: /:-)
Akume: Random.
rosabelle: They'd kill each other. It'd be fun!
rosabelle: Blood and stuff
challon86: I told her that if I ever went and told someone to write me something, I'd pick the most outlandish and non-sensical thing I could find, like "Yeah, so I want Andros with RJ and I want it to take place in RPM! Thanks!"
challon86: And Rosa was all "I wanna see this now..."
Akume: Well, now I'm committed to R.J./Andros. I just made it a pretty shiny banner. -_-;;;
challon86: Yay!
Author/: Tsukino Akume
Fandom/: Power Rangers in Space/Jungle Fury Crossover (takes place during RPM)
Characters/: Andros, R.J.
Pairings/: R.J./Andros
Rating/: K
Disclaimer/: They're not mine, but I wish they were. Then I could spend all day playing with their pretty hair! -Sighs dreamily-
Summary/: Andros has been fighting for a long time. There's only one place left where he feels safe enough to relax.
Warnings/: Andros being angsty? That's about it, really.
Author's Notes/: This takes place in a half-assed attempt at Corinth, which is namely because that was the request. Seeing as I have only watched vids and read fanfics instead of actually watching RPM itself (I still refuse to do so until one of my Epic Chapter fics is finished), all mistakes are my own. All characters involved are due to multiple viewings of QuinnBeckett's RPM: The Fallen and catt021's RPM || The Road to Corinth - Casey's tale REUPLOADED. Excluding Merrick, who is there because psyco_chick32 requested someone super-serious or grouchy, and he was the only person I could think of who is grouchier than Eric.
This is all rosabelle's fault. And somewhat challon86, but mostly rosabelle.
I love you both. You're evil. ♥
"What do you want, Andros? What are you searching for?"
He stumbled through the dark, trying to force one foot in front of the other. He was dimly aware of the fact that just walking was taking this much concentration was a bad sign, but he couldn't find the will to care. All he could think about was the door at the end of the alley, and the person on the other side of it. There, he would be safe. He could relax as soon as he was on the other side of that door.
He was less than ten feet away when the door spontaneously opened, light spilling out into the dark alleyway. He staggered three more steps before collapsing, trusting that he would be caught before he could hit the ground. He didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was right.
****
He awoke to the smell of herbs and incense, and something furry under his hand. He inhaled deeply without thinking about it, wincing as pain flared across his chest. But the smell was soothing to his senses, and he found himself relaxing slowly, something he hadn't been able to convince himself to do in some time.
The furry thing under his hand shifted, whimpering softly, and something cold pressed against his palm. His fingers flexed automatically, curling to stroke the rough fur gently. There was another whimper, and he smiled without opening his eyes, rubbing one of the ears reassuringly. He wasn't okay yet, but he would be.
The approaching footsteps would have made him tense in any other situation, but not here. Instead he waited, resisting the urge to lean into the gentle hand on his forehead. Not for lack of gratitude or affection, but because he knew what was coming next.
The hands remained gentle as they lifted his shirt, checking his bandages and reapplying salves. His body however, did not appreciate the attention, and he grit his teeth as pain flared. The cuts across his torso were the most painful, but his sprained ankle and dislocated shoulder weren't casual injuries, either.
But this was normal for him, wasn't it? He must be getting soft, whining about a simple sprain. He'd been in worse shape before, would be again. There would always be more rogue criminals to track down, more fights to find. This was what he did. What he *had* to do. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't.
The hands finally pulled his shirt down again, brushing almost absently against his hand before disappearing. After a few minutes there was a scraping sound, and someone resettled beside him.
He smirked faintly. "You and that chair," he rasped.
The hands caught one of his, wrapping around it securely. "We all have our quirks," the other man answered mildly, one of the hands moving to brush his hair back from his forehead.
*Now* he turned his head to lean into the touch, sighing quietly. After nearly two months of being constantly on the move, it was nice to feel something besides sand or blood against his skin. "True enough," he murmured, thinking distantly of the various quirks the other had that he'd discovered over the years. He stifled a yawn.
The hand stroked his forehead again. "Sleep, Andros."
"f'you ... insist ... " he mumbled, drifting off again.
"What do you want, Andros? What are you searching for?"
****
When he woke again, he was alone except for the return of the fur under his hand. After a moment he finally found the will to open his eyes and blink blearily into the bright light of the loft. Why had R.J. insisted on a building with so many windows? Wasn't Corinth freakishly bright enough on its own?
He stretched tentatively, winced, and decided the pain had dulled enough to be tolerable. Years of practice had taught him the correct way to get out of a hammock without falling on his face, and he climbed to his feet silently with only another faint wince as his ankle twinged in protest. He tested it briefly, and concluded that it was walkable.
There was a low growl when he moved to take a step forward, and he looked down at the wolf spirit that had been guarding him while he slept. "I'm fine," he informed it, resisting the urge to glare. "Stop fussing."
There was another growl and the wolf tried to press closer, but he dodged it to head toward the kitchen area. "Don't," he added without looking back. "I'm fine. I'll *be* fine. You don't need to come check on me again."
Breakfast was already waiting in the fridge, which insinuated that the other man had known better than to expect him to stay in bed anyway. It *could* have been for someone else, but he found he was still too tired to really care. It was food, it was there, and he was hungry. If Merrick wanted to argue over a sandwich, he was welcome to. Merrick didn't seem like the type to be that territorial over food, but then, he had believed the same thing of Carlos once.
He froze at the thought, closing his eyes in pain. It wasn't always so painful to think of them; it was getting better, and it hurt to think that the raw pain of losing his team was fading. But it was, slowly. He no longer found himself sobbing silently when he was alone for too long, or reaching for someone who wasn't there before he remembered. It was only once in awhile, when some random thought or memory would slip in before he consciously realized it, that he found himself fighting tears. Only when he wasn't prepared to think of them, and remember what he'd lost.
What honestly, he'd lost a long time ago.
"What do you want, Andros? What are you searching for?"
"You were supposed to stay in bed."
He ignored the mild reprimand, recognizing it for what it actually was. "Thanks for the sandwich."
There was a noise of acknowledgment, and arms slipping into place around his waist as he leaned his head back with a sigh. He couldn't remember anymore when this had started, when it had stopped surprising him to be touched, when R.J. had stopped needing to ask for permission to do so; if he ever had. When it stopped being strange and uncomfortable, and started making him wonder why he ever left that gentle touch to begin with.
"You seem rather introspective today."
It was an observation, not a question, and he appreciated the difference. It meant he could choose to answer or let it pass without comment. He didn't have to share anything he wasn't willing to.
It hadn't always been that way. The others had always pushed him to talk when he didn't want to, trying to drawn him out of his shell. It had been both annoying and wonderful, and he closed his eyes again, swallowing hard.
"I'm sorry."
The apology was genuine, and he shook his head. "It's - " He swallowed again, trying to force his throat to cooperate. "It's not you," he managed at last. "I was just ... The sandwich. It made me think of ... of Carlos."
It sounded stupid when he said it out loud.
But the arms around him squeezed gently in understanding. "Ah," the other murmured in his ear. "Yes. These things tend to surprise us in the moments when we're least prepared for them. Waiting tables does it to me," he added, sounding almost thoughtful despite the hint of melancholy to his tone. "I expect to catch Theo out of the corner of my eye, or see Fran walking in." He sighed, very quietly, and Andros felt guilty for mentioning it at all.
He wasn't the only one in mourning.
"Sky will be glad to see you," he continued abruptly, and Andros blinked at the sudden change of subject, but went with it. R.J. was like that, and he found that sometimes it actually helped when he couldn't stop himself from thinking about something. "He's been asking about you."
He frowned, not quite sure what to say to that. He never really knew how to deal with Sky. With any of them, really. Some of them - like Merrick - were easier than others. Eric didn't seem to know how to act around him more than he did around them. He couldn't even look Casey in the eye anymore, and being around Lily was just painful. She reminded him too much of -
It wasn't so hard with R.J. R.J. never seemed to expect anything of him, and always accepted exactly as much as he was willing to give.
He wasn't sure he'd keep coming back if it wasn't for him. There were times when he seriously considered staying in the outlands permanently, hunting the outer reaches of Venjix's army and searching for survivors. But he always ended up returning, slipping past Corinth's shield and finding his way to Jungle Karma Pizza. To R.J., and the feeling of safety he provided.
"What do you want, Andros? What are you searching for?"
R.J. had asked him once, not long after they first met. He'd been so angry about the question he'd stormed out and refused to come back until he was forced to by a deep cut into his leg that required serious medical attention. R.J. hadn't asked again, but the question had haunted him ever since.
Because Ashley had asked him that same question once, when she'd tearfully demanded to know why he wouldn't stay with her. Why he *couldn't* stay.
"I don't know," he'd tried to insist. "I'm not looking for anything. I just ... I just need to do this."
"Why?" she demanded, and she was hurt and furious at him all at once, and it hurt to see. "For fame? Money? Because you have to be the best? What is it? There's no reason for you to keep fighting, Andros! The war is *over*. We won our battle. Who are you still fighting against?!"
" ... Andros?" R.J. sounded concerned, and he realized suddenly that he hadn't said anything in awhile.
"How do you stay?" he asked abruptly. How can you stay in one place and not want to tear something apart?
There was a moment of silence.
"I suppose ... because everything I want in my life is here, or will be at some point in the future," R.J. answered eventually, and he didn't miss the subtle hint. "What do you find yourself lacking in your life that you must continually search for it?"
Purpose.
To feel alive.
To feel like my life has meaning.
Forgiveness.
He didn't answer, and he knew R.J. wasn't really asking him to. If there was one thing he could count on R.J. for - and really, there were actually many things he counted on him for - it was his ability to let things go.
Instead he turned around, ignoring the flare of pain in his ankle it caused and the pointed frown R.J. gave him, to lean forward and kiss him. There was a pause, and honestly, R.J. was the only person he had ever known who could sigh without ever opening his mouth. Then they were kissing, softly, sweetly, full of silent assurances and subtle promises. Never demanding, never questioning. And this, *this* was why he kept coming back. This was what he had to return to.
What he would always return to.
And that ... was enough. It had to be.