When She Wears My Color

By: Ally-Kamiya

Author's Notes: It's amazing the plots that can develop when you're bored after an English test.

Disclaimer: I do not own Power Rangers, or the characters, I'm a fan who makes her own little world of it. Go me and others like me.

Rating: PG-13, just to be safe.

Summary: Tommy has some interesting thoughts during first period…Tommy POV.
Timeline: Most likely, during the Ninja saga.

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I finished and turned in my test a good five minutes ago. Thank the Power for Billy's great cramming skills, but they do leave you with nothing to do. So, first I pretended I could concentrate on other things, took out our current literature book and started to scan the pages. You may ask me why I say scan and not read.

My answer will confuse a lot of you. It's here, plain and simple.

Kimberly Anne Hart…My Beautiful, my goddess, and much more. Her perfect caramel brown hair is resting gently on her shoulders, and I can see her gnawing away at her lower lip while she tries to answer the next question. Now, as she crosses her legs, that's enough to make my head spin even more.

But strangely enough, that's not what does it for me. Want to know what does?

She's wearing my color.

Today, it's a tight, stretched out white shirt underneath her pink tank top that I know from experience barely goes below her ribs. Then, it's the flirty but not slutty white corduroy skirt on her hips. Her sneakers are pink with white laces, too.

Maybe it's a side affect from being a Ranger, a kick Zordon didn't want us to know about. But every time she wears my color, I think I lose my hold on sanity until she doesn't anymore. And god, does she love to wear white often.

A part of me wonders if she knows what she's doing to me. However, I don't wear pink very often (try once every millennia), so I don't know if she's ever experienced it. She's always wearing it, though. And there's always that little smile on her face when she does. I don't know, maybe she's just pledging that she's mine in some secret sort of way that only we understand.

And boy, does she know she's mine…

Oh god, she just shifted which leg is crossed. She has to know I'm staring at her, her hand is toying with the hem of the white skirt now. White. Mine. My Beautiful.

Now she just gave me that coy little smirk. She knows. I can tell she does…That flirt, that tramp (said lovingly), that showoff, that know-it-all, that woman, that lover, that girl, that teammate, that Beautiful, that sexy smooth woman…I could go on, but you don't want me to. Trust me on that one.

I can't help but continue to stare at her over the edge of my book, my eyes are drawn to her like a moth is to flame. She's flirting now, her pencil tapping against the white of her t-shirt. She goes so far as to slip it into the sleeve a bit, the eraser tip rubbing her shoulder, just far enough so that I can see the white of her bra strap.

White. Always white. My woman is driving me crazy in more ways than one, and by now, I'm damn sure she knows it.

Now her foot is tapping against her other one. The white shoelaces are bouncing up and down, and her skirt opens up a bit more at the side, just so I can see it. Just so I can see her tanned thigh that makes me want to…I really shouldn't have these thoughts in class.

She glances at me once more, and she can tell that she'd won before she had even started, I didn't even return her physical flirtations today. With a wide grin, she stands, goes up to Mrs. Applebee, and puts the test down on the table.

I watch the way her body and her clothes move as she heads back towards her seat. She winks and me, and I curse her name lovingly.

She'd been finished with her test long before me. She'd known I'd been watching her the whole damn time, and she played along.

I hate it when she does that.

I love it when she does that.

I hate it when she drives me to the brink of insanity.

But boy, do I love it when she wears my color. When she wears white.