The beep echoed through the unconscious haze of dreaming, insinuating itself into her mind and refusing to go away. Responding to the sound was automatic, no matter how much she wished she could pretend otherwise. Even in the dead of night, buried in the warmth of several quilts and squished between down pillows and human warmth, she was still on call.

Jen reached out blindly, fumbling for the nearest chronomorpher. One of them skittered away across the coffee table and clattered to the floor, but her fingers clenched firmly around the other one and she depressed the call button. No hologram appeared, and that could only mean one person.

"Wes?" The voice was depressingly alert. "It's Eric."

Groggily, she hauled herself up out of her cozy nest. "This is Jen," she mumbled, hoping her voice was at least recognizable. Casting about for the alarm clock, she wondered distantly what time it was.

"Jen." Maybe it was the hour, or just her sleepy ears, but it sounded like his voice softened a little. "The time warp is closed. I thought you should know."

Just like that, she was wide awake. "Lucas?" she whispered, her breath catching in her throat. They had thought they would have another day, at least, but Lucas had been scheduled to depart tonight just in case. If he had been in the Time Ship when it happened...

"He's fine," Eric answered. "He got through, sent a signal back when he arrived. But the time shift is too distorted now to risk any more travel until we find the crystal."

She swallowed, knowing what that meant. They were cut off from the "future" indefinitely. She had chosen this course, and everything it entailed, but it was still... disconcerting. Strange, to be adrift in the past with no way back. And a little lonely.

"Thank you," she said at last, forcing the words out past the lump in her throat. "It's good to know."

"Right." Eric's voice was comfortingly neutral. "Good night, Jen."

"See you in the morning."

The chronomorpher turned itself off when the transmission ended, and she was left staring at it in the darkness. One of her only links to home, now. She never brought much with her--after all, she wasn't supposed to get comfortable here. But she had. Somehow, she had gotten far too comfortable.

The quilts moved a little and she felt Wes' hand settle on the small of her back. "Jen?" he asked quietly, no sleep in his voice. He had probably overheard the entire conversation. "You okay?"

She smiled to herself. Somehow. It was no mystery how she'd "gotten comfortable" here. Not to her or her teammates, at least. To the rest of Time Force... well, officers sometimes got attached to times other than their own. It wasn't encouraged, but it did happen.

"Yes," she murmured, squirming back under the covers as she lay down again. "I'm glad Lucas is all right."

"What about you?" Wes trailed his fingers over her arm, tracing little comforting circles with his thumb. "Are you all right?"

She nestled closer to him with a sigh, still smiling as she pressed up against his chest. "I'm feeling pretty selfish," she admitted softly, wrapping his arm around her. "But yes, I'm all right."

He was quiet for a moment, and she thought he would leave it at that. Just as she was closing her eyes, though, he spoke again. "Jen... there's no one in the world that cares as much about us as we do."

She opened her eyes again. Staring at the table beside their futon, she wondered what he meant by that. She was, if it came down to it, too tired to ask.

"Maybe it's selfish to do something just for us," he continued quietly. "But isn't it more selfish not to and then to hope that someone else will do it for us anyway? How can we expect to be given something if we won't even fight for it?"

Wes thought things through. Most of the time she loved him for it, especially since it wasn't one of her strong points. She put more faith in his convictions than in her own, because she knew that if he believed something then he could explain why. Some of the time, though, she was just as happy to make a decision and go with it.

When she didn't answer, he persisted. "You said the world needs people who are strong and true, right?"

Had she? It sounded like something she might have said. She never knew what his mind would latch onto and remember years later, long after it was obscured to her by the heat of the moment.

"If you're not true to yourself," he was saying, "then sorry, but you don't qualify. Maybe the world needs you to be selfish, Jen."

She couldn't suppress a yawn, and she let her eyes slide closed once more. "That's a nice logic puzzle you set up there," she murmured, patting his hand gently.

"Think so?" His wry tone said he knew exactly how close she was to falling asleep. "I've been practicing on Trip."

"Trip's a pushover," she mumbled, turning her head to bury her face in the pillow. "Try Lucas."

"Lucas is too good at it," he countered. "He always finds the flaw in my arguments. And Eric never listens. Trip's gullibility is good for my ego."

She didn't answer, knowing from experience that he would keep her up all night if she didn't let him get the last word. Whether she followed his rationale or not, it was reassuring to know that he was convinced. And that he could justify her actions with more than "it seemed like a good idea at the time," which was basically her argument.

She smiled into the pillow as she felt him settle into a more comfortable position, keeping his arm around her. Of course, Wes had a slight bias. Captain Logan might not find his "logic" quite so convincing...

The alarm clock was somehow less intrusive than Eric's call had been. Whether that was because she expected it, or simply because the alarm could mean only one thing, she didn't know. And unlike Wes, she wasn't going to bother analyzing it.

She rolled over and sat up, shoving the quilts off of her as she reached for the alarm clock. She shut it off and grabbed for the pillow that Wes had pulled over his head. Yanking it away from him, she grinned at his incoherent protest. Trust Wes to be able to carry on a one-sided philosophical discussion at midnight yet be completely inarticulate by the time the alarm went off at five.

She left him lying amid the covers while she filled the coffeemaker and set it percolating, then made her way downstairs. Four flights of stairs got the blood circulating again and swept away all lingering traces of sleep. She still wondered how Wes woke up thoroughly enough, fast enough, to reach the single bathroom on the ground floor each morning without tripping.

He was still in bed by the time she returned. She shook her head fondly, dropping a couple of frozen waffles in the toaster. While they cooked, she walked back over to the futon and stared down at the face that had changed her future several times over.

Wes stirred, seeming to sense her scrutiny, and she dropped onto the futon beside him. As he blinked blearily up at her, she pounced. His arms came up to catch her, but it was too late. Knees on either side of him and her elbows braced by his shoulders, she leaned down to kiss him playfully.

His hands settled on her arms, but he only pulled her closer until she melted against him. They lay like that for some time, kissing and enjoying each other's warmth as the dim light of predawn filtered into the Clock Tower. Then the toaster popped up.

"Mmm..." Jen tumbled away from him, swinging her legs over the side of the futon and pushing herself up. "Breakfast!"

She heard movement behind her: Wes getting up at last, hopefully. "Way to make a guy feel wanted," he called after her.

"Some things are more important," she replied, putting the waffles on a plate and rooting some jam out of the little refrigerator. "You know how it is, Wes."

"I'm beginning to," he muttered. When she turned around, he was propped up on his arms and blinking sleepily. Despite his complaints, a smile lingered around the corners of his mouth.

"Want some waffles?" she offered, waving the plate temptingly in his direction. "I think your other option is leftover Chinese."

He groaned, shaking his head as he stumbled to his feet. "Coffee," he said firmly, making for the strongest smell. "Coffee first."

"Clothes?" she suggested, glancing at the microwave clock. Wes had dozed longer than usual this morning. "You're going to be late."

She made the mistake of walking within arms' reach of him as she headed for the stairs. He caught her elbow and pulled her close, laughing as she tried to squirm out of his grip. "Clothes are optional," he informed her, catching the hand that held her waffle and taking a bite for himself.

"Oh, is that a new Silver Guardian policy?" She switched the waffle to her other hand, but he didn't free her wrist. Instead he gave her a roguish look and started to lick the jam off of her fingers.

Relaxing against him, she smiled indulgently as he kissed her fingers clean. There were worse things than being late to work because your lover was eating breakfast out of your hands. In fact, at this particular moment, she couldn't think of many things that were better.

He finally released her, albeit reluctantly, and she kissed him before making her way up to the balcony to change. "Coffee?" he called after her. She could hear more than one mug clink against the counter, and she knew he had anticipated her.

"Yes, thanks," she answered anyway, pulling the oversized t-shirt off over her head. Something occurred to her as she noticed her bare wrist, and she added, "Wes, could you look under the coffee table for my chronomorpher? I think I knocked it off last night."

"That's our super-coordinated Pink Ranger," he replied cheerfully. "Not only drops her own morpher but forgets to pick it up again afterwards!"

Stifling a giggle, she sing-songed in return, "Shut up, Wesley Collins!"

"Sure thing, Commander Jennifer ma'am!"

She balled up a sock and lobbed it over the railing at him. He was leaning against the table on the far side of the room, cardboard box in one hand and a fork in the other. He didn't even flinch as the sock bounced off his shoulder, just grinned unrepentantly up at her and saluted with his fork.

He joined her on the balcony a few minutes later, handing her chronomorpher over as he pulled his own clothes out of the closet. He was already wearing his on his wrist, and she smiled as she pulled her hair back into a ponytail. "I like the morpher-in-pajamas look," she teased.

"I'll send a memo this morning," he replied, deadpan. "'Pajama Friday begins this month at Silver Guardian headquarters'."

They made it out the door about the time he was supposed to be at work, and Wes joked that he was going to turn the siren on while they drove. It was the only way to get anywhere in an official vehicle quickly, since everyone adhered scrupulously to the speed limit as soon as they saw who was behind them. On the other hand, no one cut them off, and it was a tradeoff Jen was willing to make if it meant not getting coffee spilled all over her.

They were waved through both security checkpoints, and, somewhat to her surprise, it was still before six when Wes plunked his mug down on his desk. He gestured for her to take his chair, and at her inquiring look he added, "I'm going to check in with the night guard before I get started. We had a couple of perimeter breaches last week."

She nodded her understanding, powering up his computer without thinking about it. "I'll see if the tracking grid's turned up anything overnight. Let me know when you need your office."

He waved a hand dismissively. "You look better in it anyway," he said over his shoulder as he headed out the door.

She rolled her eyes, just on principle, but she was smiling when she turned back to his computer and got to work.

Caught up in temporal tracking, she was nonetheless peripherally aware when the clock clicked over to eight am two hours later. She noted absently that Wes still wasn't back, but base problems often distracted him when he made the rounds in the morning. She was more concerned by the fact that her commanding officer would be arriving at his workplace right about now.

The minutes ticked by, and her mind split onto two different tracks. One continued to work, while the other mentally reviewed Captain Logan's schedule. At 8:04 he would finish conferring with his assistant and step into his office proper. He would set his coffee down at 8:05 and start reviewing flagged Force memos by 8:06.

Depending on how many crises there had been since 4:30 the day before, it could be as late as 8:15 before he started in on field reports. And one active team would be at the top of his list: the high-profile Ranger vigilantes that had changed both past and future in a desperate attempt to avenge their leader three years before. The team that had broken half the rules in the book and written the other half themselves.

The team whose actions were officially condemned by Time Force but quietly held up as an example to incoming recruits. The team harried by the media and celebrated by the public. The team whose current leader's MIA status would be all over the newsnets by noon at the latest...

Jen's team.

At 8:16, her chronmorpher beeped.

With a sigh, Jen turned away from Wes' computer and activated the holoscreen he kept set up in the corner of his office. "This is Jen," she said, careful to keep her expression neutral. She knew why he was contacting her, and he knew that she knew. That didn't mean she would be spared the interrogation.

"Jennifer." The steel in his tone made her glad she hadn't smiled. Logan was definitely not amused. "Your most recent report confirms the anticipation of a terminal warp flux originating on 24-05-04. One of your own teammates transited the time warp on your order at 2347 on 23-05-04 specifically to avoid said event. Yet you remain at temporal coordinates now completely isolated from the timestream."

"Yes, sir," she said smartly. Some imp within made her add, "That's a fairly accurate assessment of the situation. Sir."

"Would you care to explain your actions, Commander?" His deliberate use of her title was an unsubtle reminder that Ranger rank carried no official weight with Time Force.

"Sir, the time warp degraded more quickly than we anticipated. Transit should have remained within acceptable safety margins for another 24 hours at least. In an effort to maximize progress on the trizirium containment, my departure wasn't scheduled until this afternoon. As my report stated, sir."

Logan gazed inscrutably at her for several seconds. Then he leaned forward and did something to the projector. The meaning of his gesture became clear when he spoke again. "Off the record," he told her. "Did you have any intention of returning this afternoon, Jen?"

She straightened her shoulders. "Off the record," she repeated. She had come to trust Logan with more than her career, but there was no point in taking chances. "No sir, I did not."

He nodded once, and the moment of truth was over. "I trust you'll be able to explain the miscalculation that led to your stranding in the twenty-first century. For as long as communication is possible, I'll expect standard field reports and mission updates."

"Understood, sir."

His hesitation said more than words. "Good luck, Jen."

This time she did smile, just a little. "Thank you, sir."

Then it was over. It hadn't gone as badly as she'd expected. She and Logan had a tacit understanding that had gotten them through the worst of her team's indiscretions. The Rangers saved the world, cleaned up after themselves, and didn't abuse their publicity, and Logan handled spin control for the Force.

Unfortunately, the unspoken nature of their agreement meant that she couldn't ask how much he really knew about their exploits. Or more specifically, the reasons behind them... did he know what had driven her to hunt Steelix so ruthlessly? Did he know what had made her team defy two consecutive Red Rangers to change events already a thousand years gone?

Did he know what was keeping Jen here now?

She wasn't sure, but she suspected she would one day find out. In the meantime, she had to trust Logan--as her team trusted her--to keep the Rangers from too thorough a review by the less lenient officers of Time Force. They did their job. If they didn't always do it within the parameters of the rulebook, well... even Eric admitted that they had helped the twenty-first century.

She glanced at the clock again. The Quantum Ranger would report in an hour and a half, and his partner still hadn't finished the rounds. She debated with herself for a moment, but finally she pushed Wes' chair back and stood. If nothing else, Logan's message was an excuse to go in search of her lover.

Jen smiled to herself as she headed for the door. Like she needed one.