And for the first time since he’d found out, Alexi had showered in the changing rooms with the rest of the team, rather than going straight home. He’d ignored Conner, sure, but . . . he’d been there. Maybe things could start to relax between them.

Several teachers were dropping hints about the value of academic work. But studying was boring, and he wanted to see Trent.

He’d dropped off Trent at his house before, so he knew the way. And he figured that if Trent’s dad was home, they didn’t have to do anything. They could just hang, something that seemed weirdly attractive. And Conner could apologize for the way he’d acted before, after Dr. O came out of his coma.

Or maybe just hope Trent had forgotten it. Whichever worked. Because Conner still didn’t know exactly why he’d acted like it, only that for some reason he’d felt furious at the others for just standing there, not saying anything and leaving it to Conner to make the decisions.

Which, okay, he supposed was he job as leader. But he didn’t know what he was doing, and he hated the pressure of it. Any of the others would probably be better, if only Conner hadn’t gone and picked up the red gem. Dr. O was the one who made the real choices. Conner just agreed with him.

But Trent had seemed to think Conner had done okay, even though the only plan he’d been able to come up with would have almost certainly led to them all being destroyed. So things should be okay. Shouldn’t they?

Even though he’d come planning to apologize, he felt slightly surprised by Trent’s welcome. “Conner? What are you doing here?”

Even Conner knew that was rude. “I came to see you.”

“You didn’t phone!”

“No, I’d just finished soccer practice and I—”

“Trent?” A voice from inside cut him off. “Who is it?” Conner heard footsteps echoing down the hall towards them.

“No one!” Trent yelled back. “Just a friend from school.”

“Dude, he knows me,” Conner pointed out. “He taught us, remember?” And what fun lessons those had been.

“Conner, you need to go. Really, it’s—”

“Trent?

Anton Mercer appeared at the end of the hall. He started on seeing Conner, but continued walking towards them. “Conner, isn’t it?”

“Um, yes,” said Conner, wondering how to address someone who was both your ex-teacher and boyfriend’s dad. “Sir.” Better be safe.

Mercer nodded. Conner noticed one of his hands shaking slightly, before he slipped it into a pocket. “Good. You’re here to see Trent? I’m always telling him to invite people round.”

It wasn’t just his hand shaking, Conner realized. It was his whole arm. He glanced at Trent, who looked pale.

He turned back to Mercer, who attempted a small smile. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “There’s something I must attend to.”

Conner watched as he almost ran back down the hall, and out of sight. “Is he ill?”

Trent nodded. “Yeah. Look, I really should go and see if he needs any help. You should go.”

Clearly, coming here had not been one of his better ideas. “Yeah. See you some other time, yeah? I wanted to—”

“Yeah. Some other time,” Trent agreed, cutting him off and almost shoving him down the porch steps. “Bye now!”

“I—”

Trent disappeared back inside, slamming the door behind him.

Well. That had been weird.

Trying to put it out of his mind, he turned to walk back down the driveway. He’d parked outside, not knowing if Mercer would appreciate Conner parking on their tidy gravel. Most likely not.

But he only made it three steps before he felt a familiar breath of wind. He stopped, praying it was natural.

Green light flashed. He closed his eyes on instinct. When he opened them, it was to see tyrannodrones surrounding him, scattered over the neatly-mown lawn.

This was so not good.

--

Should he call for help? A glance behind him showed that Trent had disappeared inside, to help his dad.

Conner looked back at the tyrannodrones. He couldn’t call Trent, not now, not while Trent’s dad was ill. Besides, they were only tyrannodrones. He could hardly call himself a Power Ranger if he couldn’t handle a few of those without back up.

Except there were more than just a few.

The tyrannodrones didn’t give him any more time to make a decision. They rushed at him as a pack

A tyrannodrone punched at him. Conner dodged, caught the arm before the tyrannodrone could pull back and threw it over his hip. One day, he would really have to thank Dr. O for teaching him that.

A foot slammed into his ribs. He fell to the grass, jarred his knee, bouncing up again before any of the tyrannodrones could take advantage. Pain pulsed in his leg as he kicked out in another, but it wasn’t bad enough to make him fall.

Ignore it, he told himself. Ignore it.

“Conner!”

He didn’t have time to reply, a tyrannodrone taking advantage of the distraction to come in, swinging fists in Conner’s direction. Conner kicked him in the shin. Effective enough. Another tried to grab him from behind, and he drove his elbows back, getting free enough to aim a punch of his own.

And ow. Knuckles.

The next few tyrannodrones he kicked away, flashes of white in the corner of his eye confirming that Trent was busy doing the same. Between them, it didn’t take long to defeat the tyrannodrones. Conner flung a last one away, watching as it tripped over one of its comrades and hit the grass.

The flash of green light had barely faded before Trent was next to him, clutching his arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” And since Trent didn’t look hurt, he got straight to the important question. “Did your dad see?”

Trent looked away. “No. He’s lying down. I couldn’t believe it when I heard . . . I was just going into the kitchen for a drink . . .” He looked back at Conner. “You sure you’re alright?”

“I can handle a few tyrannodrones.” Except his knee still twinged when he bent it. It would be healed within hours, but for now? Ouch.

“Yeah. It just freaked me out.”

Doubtless it would freak Dr. O out too. It was a bit strange, them appearing at Trent’s house. Hopefully not something they were going to make a habit. “Yeah,” he said, raising his communicator. “Dr. O might—”

Trent’s fingers closed around his wrist, yanking it away from Conner’s mouth so hard it hurt. Conner pulled away, shaking his hand. “Ow! What?”

“Don’t,” said Trent.

“What?”

“Don’t call him. It was just tyrannodrones, like you said. Not important.”

Conner looked at him in confusion. “But we’re supposed to. It might give him some clue as to what Mesogog’s up to. And besides, they attacked your house!” Conner would be freaking out. Conner was freaking out, really, and it wasn’t even him. “We need to report every attack. You know that.”

Trent grabbed his wrist again, squeezing gently. “Conner, please. Don’t. I just . . . I just don’t want to bother him.”

“It’s not bothering him, it’s—”

“Look, Conner . . . please, alright? Please don’t tell him. Just, promise me.”

Conner let Trent keep holding his wrist, the arguments as to why he should contact Dr. O seeming less convincing by the second. He tried to remember them, remind himself of what a proper ranger would do. “We really should tell him.”

“Please, don’t. Promise you won’t.”

Conner hesitated. He knew what he should do: ignore Trent and call Dr. O. But a little voice inside his head pointed out that then Trent might be mad at him, and he didn’t want them to argue again, did he? Not when things finally seemed to be going well.

“Why?” he tried asking.

“Look, it’s personal. I can’t tell you. But I will owe you so much if you don’t tell him. Please? Just trust me?”

Conner did trust Trent. Strange, after so long feeling suspicious when Trent so much as breathed, but he did. And Trent knew they had to report attacks as well as he did, so surely he wouldn’t ask Conner not to without a good reason.

“You really can’t tell me why?” he said, praying Trent would suddenly change his mind.

“One day, I will. I promise.”

He bit his lip, looking at the ground. “Then I promise I won’t tell,” he said.

And when Trent smiled at him, it was almost enough to let him ignore that nagging voice at the back of his mind telling him he should have been stronger, should have ignored Trent, should have done what he knew was the right thing. After all, what sort of Power Ranger was he, if he broke the rules just because he didn’t want to argue with his boyfriend?

--

He should have let Conner call.

Too late now, especially after he’d made such a fuss, but in hindsight it would have caused less suspicion to have just let Dr. O know. What if he found out later? Or Conner thought about it a bit more, and decided to ask Trent more questions?

Trent heard Conner’s car pull away, and wished for a moment that he could have gone with him. But Conner thought his dad was sick—in bed—and it would have made him wonder if Trent just left. And it would really be best if Conner just forgot all this, while Trent prayed to whatever deity that would listen that he hadn’t just messed things up.

No one would have guessed about his father from hearing about a tyrannodrone attack, but Trent had panicked. That was the problem with secrets. They always seemed so obvious.

He’d just have to hope Conner kept his promise—or that he could lie his way out of it if Conner didn’t.

--