Well, here we go. Please review, but be gentle. This is my first published piece of work.
Disclaimer: (Yea, I've read enough to know I need this) Don't own the Kim Possible series, nor any of the characters or story lines therein. I also don't own Hamlet, but thats in public domain by now. I do not own, nor do I have have any professional association with the US military, or its post-humus support services. (although if George W is interested in selling, I'd love to have all those M-1 tanks and Apache choppers at my beck and call) This story is entirely my own work. That being said, let me give a big thank you to all the authors of KP fanfic that came before me, particularly the work in the "Comet Showers and Monkey Powers" C2. Whenever I need inspiration, or a good adjective, I know where to go.
Prologue: Consequences
A young lady cut through a cool Sunday afternoon on a quiet suburban sidewalk completely lost in her own thoughts. It was late autumn, the temperature already dropping enough to allow her to see her breathe amongst the browning leaves that bracketed the street. However, up until late, her life had been considerably more biting than the unseasonably cold air that kicked up her long shining locks of hair, she having recently found herself boyfriend-less in the worst sort of way. She took a small comfort that although the pain she felt over the breakup was still present, the reasons for the action left her undeniably vindicated in it. The pragmatic re-evaluation of life that usually comes with the realization that an infatuation was not the love that one thought it was had also yielded her the presence of mind to find many of her other relationships in similar, and far more shame inducing, shambles.
So not what I had imagined life after high school would be like. She thought, more than a little bitterness finding its way into her internal monologue. The emotional upheavals that had plagued the last few months of her life were taking their toll on the recent escapee of grade school education, with her college GPA, job, and self esteem all suffering the consequences.
I can't believe how much of a mess I've made of things... if only I had just listened to him. The usually willfully resolute girl was reluctant to register of the name of whom she was currently thinking, although that particular "him" was the inspiration for the trek in which she was presently engaged. Of all the terrible mistakes she had made while under the intoxicating influence of the heart fever, he, the one who would have done anything for her, at any time, in any place, no questions asked, no holds barred, had borne the brunt of her tactless pursuit of monogamous perfection.
But now I'm going to make things right again. This thought bolstered her resolve, and she quickened her pace towards his house. He would not be there, unfortunately; a result of the brutally selfish choices she had made was his beating a retreat to lands overseas. But soon she would convince him he need not flee to nurse his wounded heart any longer. Her recent attempts to contact him had not received a reply, until she had found a message on her pager from his father asking her to come over to their house as quickly as she was able. The message had not alluded to the point of this meeting, but she had concluded, albeit without any evidence, that it was a positive sign. Perhaps he wanted to talk to her directly, and knowing his tendency to be anything but demanding, would split his time between her and his rents to make best use of his allowed long distance air time.
Oh yes, things will be different this time. She knew she was lucky that he was granting her this chance to reconcile, and that she would be luckier still if she could manage to repair the damage she had done, but perhaps she was luckiest in that she was dealing with a man that the words remarkable amongst the incredible failed to describe even his most trivial qualities. Through the lens of hindsight, it was all she could do but not strike herself for not realizing this sometime in the 14 odd years she called him her best friend. Perhaps it was with this protracted view that she now compared him to other men she had once considered perfect that had brought the full breadth of her feelings about him to the surface, and if so it was the one good she could take from her failed relationship.
Bearing these new emotional facts in mind, she took a moment to prepare herself for the likely aspects of the conversation that awaited her just beyond the maple-wood door she had arrived at. She readily accepted the possibility that he might be inclined to spend a while discussing the less than admirable aspects of her behavior towards him in the months past, in theory at least. Still, her temper was legendary, so she made provisions to combat the urge to strike back verbally should it arise. In the same strand, apologizing was not an activity she often found herself partaking in, and she felt another unfamiliar sensation creeping into her mind, fear.
He's worth more than my pride. She scolded. And it's not as if he would even entertain the idea of holding this over my head. He's above that. Her largest concern, however, was the double edge that her pronouncement of how different things will be this time could turn out to represent, in that things may never be the same. In many ways this would be a fate worse than outright rejection, the torture of existing amicably with him, but forever outside the blissful realm of absolute trust and love that they had once shared, without even the protection of the self-righteous hate that his refusal to forgive her would likely generate. How could I blame him for not wanting to open himself up again to a selfish witch of a girl like me? He has every right to take his time in allowing me back into his life, has earned the right to test my commitment after my choices. And if he finds me wanting, I will accept the honour in simply being one of his friends, if not his best friend. There was a flaw with the last aspect of her argument and it gave rise to a paradoxical situation where she had to seriously weigh the value of the potential exponential increase in her happiness against the risk she presented to his. It would be up to her to enforce her own imprisonment in this pseudo-hell on the boarder of heaven should it be best for him, even against his own wishes. Knowing his supreme awareness of how even the slightest action could affect people and his penchant for heroic self sacrifice, she worried that he might have considered the pain that proximity without acceptance might cause her, and had decided to forgo his own reservations, as he had many times before, for her comfort. So, as much as she might come to regret this decision later on, she would have to put on a flawless performance to convince him that she was content with what he was willing to offer her. And even this would hardly grant her a snowballs chance in hell of allowing him the relief he so richly deserved, should the recommencement of their high school friendship not occur in full. She was hardly a poor actress (in fact it was an understatement to say she had a world class bluffing game in poker) but she had her doubts on whether or not she could pull the wool over his eyes for even an instant, he knew her tells far too well. However, this particular concern would be something she would have to evaluate far in the future, assuming she could even take the first step without stumbling. I'm the girl that can do anything, except try to bring my best friend back into my life. She thought, this time with more mirth than bile, and knocked on the door. But, in the instant that the door opened, all the cautious hopes that she had been nursing evaporated.
A palpable atmosphere of despair seemed to pour from the house through the doorway, which negated the slight warmth that the air within would have normally brought forth. Instead, a cold shiver penetrated the layers she was wrapped in, as if her soul was suddenly thrust into a blizzard. Looking into the face of the man she could consider her second father, she was stunned and frightened that she could scarcely recognize him, although she could not place which feature seemed off. He silently ushered her into the house, and despite the strong and unexplainable aura of sorrow that seemed to seep from the home's very walls, she followed.
She wanted to reach out, to ask what was so clearly wrong, but her words failed her, and she merely traced his path through the hallway towards the kitchen. Memories, some on the forefront of her consciousness, others long forgotten, began to replay in her mind. Most were carefree, a scarce few were gloomy in the beginning, but had always found a way to resolve themselves, but all were wonderfully familiar and comforting, or should have been if they were not overpowered by the intangible but all encompassing sense of anguish.
This conflict of emotions was so overwhelming that she almost walked into her guide, who had halted and was staring into a wall mounted photograph so intensely he seemed to be lost in. She recognized it as a snapshot of senior year, one that she was particularly fond of, because the frame contained both him and her, in the innocent ecstasy of one another's arms. Suddenly, the statue-like form of his father lashed out at the picture, his fist splintering the glass and driving it deeply into his knuckles. If he felt the pain, he did not express it. He placed his arm against the wall, and rested his head against it, completely ignorant of the blood that was flowing freely from his wounded hand.
"Such a waste..." he murmured, agony dripping in every syllable. The girl stood shell-shocked. Her mouth open and closed in succession, words still maliciously abandoning her. Emerald eyes fell upon a crinkled piece of paper that had fallen from the hand of the wretched human-being that stood before her and had come to rest near her foot. She picked it up, and unfolded it in a combination of reverence and terror. For some reason, she felt as if it was a focal point of this suffering, an intuition confirmed with horrendous accuracy upon her reading of its script, and her world came crashing down. If the ambience of the house was enough to cause her severe discomfort, the comprehension of its cause was enough to convince her that every single bone in her body was simultaneously shattered, and her heart torn from its resting place in her chest and set against a bench grinder. She sank to her knees, glancing into the living room and noting the neatly folded stars and stripes on the coffee table, with a green beret sitting atop it. In the hysteria that was beginning to beset her mind, she re-read the paper, as if it would be revealed that she had somehow misunderstood its meaning. But as she processed the first lines, there could be no doubt.
"...it is with my deepest regret and sympathy that I must inform you that in the service of his country, and the defense of peace and liberty, your son was killed in action on October 19th 1999. He did so exemplifying the very greatest forms of heroism and selflessness, and in his sacrifice he saved the lives of nine brothers in arms and countless civilians..." The words of implacable praise would not have surprised the young woman if she could focus on such aspects of the narrative of the letter, as they matched her earlier sentiments. But she was beyond any cognitive thought at this point, wrapped in the fetal position sobbing relentlessly into her palms. There would be no reconciliation, no redemption, no realization of the new found depths of her love. He had gone to his grave without ever knowing of her regret, of her desire to make things right, and beyond that he had gone on to brave "that undiscovered country" because of her. Her hopes, dreams, her very life collapsing around her, she sought escape. Escape from the walls of this nightmarish edifice that had once bore her so much happiness and now oversaw the blossoming in her of such absolute misery, escape from the city that they had both grown up in, escape from the very life that they had once shared. So the young hero ran. For the first time in her life, confronted with an enemy she had no hope of combating, let alone defeating, Shego ran.
So... did I have anyone convinced it was Kim's head we were in? Remember, I'd love to have feedback.