Transdimensional Archives


Keywords: Romance
Rating: uhm…PG, I think
Distribution: Anywhere as long as you let me know where you put it.
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Authors Notes: This fic assumes that Tommy and Kimberly got back together at least a year ago, and are living together. In addition, this has nothing to do with "Becoming.", in anyway.
Authors Notes: This fic is dedicated to Symbolic Agony, who wanted to see if I could write something that could possibly be shown on daytime television. Let me know what you

By Ozmandayus

White Falcon Dojo
Saturday, October 14, 2000
Angel Grove, Ca

<Uh oh, here we go again,> Tommy thought to himself as Kimberly walked over to his desk on the other side of the room from where she was working in. "What is it, Kim," he asked with a smile. He has turned his personal office at the dojo into a double office, complete with her own desk and computer on the other side of the room.

Kimberly watches him with a shadow of a grin on her face, but says nothing as she reaches in a folder she was holding and pulled out an envelope that had no markings on the outside. Without saying a word, she hands him the envelope and walks out the door. Not bothering to wait for his reaction.

Tommy leans back into his chair, and pushes his computer keyboard out of the way. Taking a deep breath, he wonders what is the purpose for this letter. <Me and Kim have been doing fine lately. I can't think of anything I’ve done to get her mad,> Tommy muses to himself. <Lord knows letters have never signaled anything good in our relationship.>

When Jason won $300.000 dollars in the lottery, he built two martial arts schools. The Red Dragon and the White Falcon. The Red Dragon is in Santa Monica, Ca, where Jason and Emily now live. Tommy and Rocky run the White Falcon , since they both still live in Angel Grove.

Kimberly has been teaching the seventh grade at Irving Elementary for the last year and a half, while she goes to college part-time. When she first returned, she purposely avoided Tommy, not quiet ready to face the man who's heart she broke. But Billys twenty-second birthday party began the start of their new friendship with a quite talk on a balcony. Then, at Katherine's going away party, as she had just landed a two-year dancing contract in New York City, signaled the beginnings of something new.

Their first kiss in almost five years took place that night. About three weeks later, they were an official couple again. Seven months after that, they moved in together.

Tommy contemplates all these things as he twirls the envelope Kimberly left him in his fingers. He, in all honesty has no reason to believe this is bad news. But Tommy has always been weary of relationships ever since Kimberly broke up with him years ago.

Now that they are reunited, he is even more caughtious, knowing that he is not sure if he could take losing her again.

Finally, he opens the envelope, and pulls out the letter inside.


When I was thirteen, I used to write love letters. I'd sit in the room when my parents left, and I'd write these letters, me with my terrible braces, the hair I hated, and the growing body I was ashamed of. I'd quote famous literary poets, or sometimes I'd quote awful poems I'd written myself, and I'd fill them with wonderfully flowery declarations of undying love and eternal fidelity.

That was the hidden world of Kimberly Hart. The one I kept separate from the spunky, valley-girl, cheerleader life I lived in public.

My letters never got sent, of course. Well, I sent one of them, once, to a boy named Steven, who had blonde hair and could beat me at running, but that's a story for another time.

Sending them wasn't the point. In a house that at the time, consisted of me, my parents and my Aunt Meredith and her two sons, I didn't dare hide them. Instead I'd tear them up, or, if I was in a particularly angst-ridden and dramatic mood I'd burn them.

I haven't written anything that could be called a love letter since then, so bear with me. I'm not even sure this qualifies as one, for that matter. I've never poured out the innermost secrets of my teenage soul on a Bugs Bunny notepad one of my students left in class.

What I wanted to say is this: I saw you stealing those Hershey’s Kisses with the peanuts from my coat pocket this morning.

I know you thought you'd gotten away with it, but it was hardly the perfect crime. I would've noticed that they were gone sooner or later. When a whole bag of delicious chocolate goodness goes missing from a womans pocket, she's bound to notice. Besides, if you're going to steal food from me, you should at least wait till I'm not only out of the room, but until I've closed the door behind me.

That little smudge of chocolate just below the right-hand corner of your mouth is also a dead give-away. Didn't you notice Rocky suppressing a laugh when you walked in the dojo.

A serious criminal act such as theft may have untold ramifications for the victim. The biggest of those ramifications, for me, is that I haven't been able to concentrate on my work for the last twenty-four minutes, since I noticed that tell-tale bit of chocolate, because I've been sitting here thinking about how much I'd like to get out of my chair, walk over there, bend down, and lick it off.

Such little things you undo me with, even after all this time. Do you realize that. Some days I have to stop and take a deep breath when I look across at you and see that you still don't understand what you do to me.

So here's what we're going to do. In ten minutes time, when the hands on my watch hit 11:00 AM, I'm going to get up, place this on your desk, get my jacket and briefcase and go home. When I get home, I expect your car to pull up in our building parking lot no more then ten minutes behind mine. Tell Rocky you need the afternoon off. Then you're going to take the elevator to our apartment, and you're going to come inside, and I'm going to have whats mine.

I'm going to have that chocolate.

Then I'm going to kiss you Tommy, and you'd better make the most of those stolen goods in the car on the way over, because when we kiss, I want to taste the smoothness of chocolate and the clean, honest taste of peanuts. I want to taste it on your lips, on your tongue, on the ribbed roof of your mouth, just where it tickles you when I touch with the tip of my tongue.

You're going to taste like everything good from my childhood, from before I shed tears over anything but broken toys and skinned knees. Like peanut butter sandwiches, cold glasses of milk, like gummi bears my dad would sometimes buy me at the drugstore if I'd been very good, like splashing in puddles with Trini, or playing cowboys and Indians that one time with Zack, when he let me be the cowboy with him instead of getting tied to Billys lawn-chair and scalped with my own tomahawk.

You're going to taste like everything I remember as being good and honest and true about life, just like you always do, and I'll fall in love with you all over again, just like I did when I saw that incriminating smear of chocolate on your oh-so-innocent face, I'll remember why it is I love to touch you, and there’ll be no more tears, and I won't feel so bad for that poor, gawky girl sitting in her room writing hopeless love letters.

But tomorrow morning, I'm going to make you get out of bed early and go to the store to get me another bag of Hershey’s Kisses with Peanuts before we go to church together.


Tommy can only sit back in his chair and grin. <How is it that she has written both the best and worst letters I've ever recieved.> He gently folds the letter, and tucks it into his desk, for those days when he and Rocky do the books and he needs a pick-me-up.

Looking at his watch, he rises from his chair and grabs his car keys. A quick run to Rockys office and he's off.

<She wanted Reese’s Cups, right?> he mused on the way to the car.

True Ranger fans know of Tommys horrible memory.

The End.

<Come on, Ms. Agony, was it really that bad? 🙂

al k‹"