Usual Legal Song and Dance:
You all know the drill: I don't own Kim Possible. KP and Company is owned by Disney, as are all associated production rights, proceeds and any and all things even remotely associated with her. I make no money off of this, nor do I receive anything else for my efforts here. I'm just an ordinary working schmuck with way too many words floating around in my head and not enough ways of letting them out. Pity.
And now… On with the show!
- By Any Means Necessary -
She should be scared… but she wasn't.
Freefalling with no apparent means of support tends to have that effect, after all. All joking about the trouble not being the fall but the sudden stop aside, the idea of impacting an immoveable object at terminal velocity strikes an ominous chord in the psyche of any person whose ever seen a bug impaled on the windshield at freeway speed. Simply put, the imminent prospect of becoming one with the pavement will put almost anyone off his lunch.
Fortunately, she wasn't just anyone…
She was Kim Possible.
The mission had started off like any other to be sure. Wade had beeped in with a report that Drakken and Shego were on the move, tracking toward a section of Lowerton's industrial district. The young tech guru theorized that the nefarious duo was headed for a fuel depot that had recently received a shipment of a highly advanced bio-fuel. With rumors circulating that this new "wonder-gas" contained ten times the chemical energy of ordinary gasoline, it seemed a logical target for someone with the mad scientist's penchant for bigger, badder, more-powerful schemes.
From there, things had gone pretty much according to plan. They had infiltrated the warehouse where the fuel tanks were stored via a rooftop skylight, just in time to surprise the blue-hued villain and his erstwhile assistant. True to form, Shego had vaulted up to meet the threat, and while Ron went after the so-called "brains" of the evil operation, the two ladies engaged in a pitched battle among the rafters. Leaping and weaving their way through the matrix of beams and trusses, neither of them noticed when one of the green villainess's plasma bolts struck a stack of wooden crates and ignited a fire dangerously close to the storage tanks in question. The combatants continued their mutual assault, completely oblivious to the growing danger beneath them, until the moment that Shego slipped a lucky shot past the redhead's defenses.
The palm strike found its mark on Kim's left shoulder, spinning her around and throwing her off balance. The next thing she knew she was tumbling head over heels through thin air, the cold concrete of the warehouse floor rushing quickly up to meet her.
And yet she wasn't afraid. In fact the experience was leaving her more exhilarated than frightened. The rush of wind and the vertigo that accompanied the tumbling sensation titillated her senses and gave her a certain adrenaline rush that she found almost intoxicating. She closed her eyes and savored the sensation, the thought of imminent and gruesome death never even crossing her mind: She simply knew it would never come to that.
And then the thing that she instinctively expected… happened. Rather than a bone-shattering, life-ending smash, she felt a gentle impact of soft warmth, accompanied by a soft but firm tugging sensation beneath her shoulders. Then, in a motion as sweeping and graceful as a circus acrobat on the high trapeze, her momentum was redirected into a more lateral trajectory, tracing out a graceful arc through the open space of the cavernous building.
She didn't need to open her eyes to know what had happened. True to form, Ron had swung in on his grapple at the last moment, plucking her out of thin air and swinging them both away from the prospect of making a big impact on the world. She didn't know exactly where he had come from or how he always managed to pull such maneuvers off in the nick of time, but the fact remained that he always did, and that alone banished any reason for fear on her part. Death would never come for her in that way.
But then her momentum shifted drastically, taking on a tumbling sensation once more, this time across the cold concrete surface of the floor. It was a shock to be sure, but it wasn't an entirely unexpected turn of events. While Ron was known for showing up just when she needed him, his landings often left something to be desired, and as such Kim was at least semi-prepared for this occurrence. With all the grace and agility that six years of competitive cheerleading can provide, she executed a perfect "tuck-and-roll" maneuver, emerging from the ordeal virtually unscathed.
Taking a deep breath to clear her head, the teen heroine stood up to take stock of the sitch. Aside from a few bruises and a sore shoulder, she seemed to be no worse for the experience. Shego and Drakken appeared to be nowhere nearby, leading her to assume that the pair had cut their losses and retreated in favor of easier targets. She had no doubt that they would be hearing from the evil pair again before too long, but for now their plans had been thwarted, and that was good enough.
And that just left the issue of her own partner…
Turning to face the person who was both her operational backup and the love of her life, her heart quick sank at the sight before her. Ron was crouched in the shadows near some unmarked boxes, hunched over in a fetal position, grasping his ankle and grimacing in pain. It was obvious that the landing had been a lot harder on him than it had for her.
"Oh sweetie! Are you okay?" she asked, racing over to kneel beside him and inspect his injury.
"I've been better." He managed to squeak through clenched teeth. By this point Rufus had emerged from his pocket to join the impromptu medical team, gently prodding the injured joint and chittering disapprovingly.
"Let me see." Kim instructed, gently grasping her boyfriend's hands and removing them for a better look. "Maybe it's not broken. It might just be sprained is all."
"Actually, I think we've got bigger issues to worry about." Ron excitedly stated, his eyes growing wide and his voice gaining two octaves in pitch. He frantically pointed across the room to the item that had so grabbed his attention.
"FIRE!" he shouted.
Turning around to see what Ron was screaming about this time, Kim quickly realized that in this instance his hysterics were well justified. The small fire that had been ignited by Shego's signature weapon had by now become a raging bonfire that completely surrounded the tanks of highly volatile bio-fuel. Safety relief valves on the tanks were starting to scream as internal pressures climbed with the temperature, and it didn't take a chemist to realize that things inside that building were only moments away from seriously heating up.
"Let's move!" Kim shouted, scooping up Rufus and roughly depositing him into her own pocket. Then, tossing Ron's arm over her shoulders and grabbing a tight hold, she lifted him from the floor, supporting as much of his weight as she reasonably could, and began to make her way toward a nearby emergency exit. The blonde's protests that he was slowing her down and that she should drop him where he was fell on deaf ears. After so many times of him saving her skin, she would be condemned to Hell before she would skip out on an opportunity to return the favor.
With a swift kick, the door burst open to the cool evening air, and the team moved quickly away from the burning structure. Fifty yards of open space seemed to pass in agonizingly slow fashion, as the radiant heat on their backs grew ever stronger. Then, after what was probably far less time that it seemed, they managed to reach the protection of a concrete retaining way and vaulted over, just moments before a massive explosion rocked the facility, tearing the warehouse and all of its contents apart.
Warily peeking over the protective barrier at the raging conflagration they had just narrowly escaped, Kim marveled at the destruction. Smaller explosions continued to echo through the chaos as the wail of sirens could be heard in the distance. It was clear that Lowerton's finest were on their way, although from the looks of things she guessed that they would be able to do little else besides stand back and watch. Once a fire had reached this level of intensity, experience had taught her, there was simply no stopping it.
Retreating back behind the wall once again, Kim turned her attention to the softly moaning figure beside her. As gingerly as she could, she untied his laces and removed his boot, taking care to not aggravate any injuries he had already received. Once his sock had been tossed aside, she made a careful inspection of the joint while Rufus stood by holding a mini flashlight over the scene. Although she had been decidedly less enthusiastic at the time, she was now grateful for the limited training her mother's colleagues had given her on the subject of orthopedics. It was amazing how that stuff would occasionally come in handy.
"Well the good news is that it doesn't appear to be broken." Kim stated after several minutes of prodding and inspecting. "The bad news is that you've got the mother of all high sprains here. The swelling is already setting in with a vengeance."
"So will I ever play the violin?" Ron asked, forcing a somewhat anguished smile.
"Could you ever play it before?" Kim replied with a smile of her own. It was good to see that the sitch wasn't affecting his spirits.
"Good point." He chuckled, shifting to a slightly more comfortable position. "So what do we do now?"
"First off, we patch you up enough to move." Kim replied. "Then we pay mom a visit."
"Ugh. Hospital food for dinner?" Ron whined. "You can't be serious."
"Relax, Ron. I'm sure it won't take that long." Kim reassured him. "And besides, the food there isn't that bad."
"Are you kidding? I've eaten better on airplanes… in coach!"
"Ron…" Kim sighed.
"I mean, seriously… What's their angle? Repeat business?"
"Argh! Just forget I said anything about it, alright?"
"Okay… Fair enough."
"Good! Now where do you keep your first-aid kit? I'll need to immobilize that ankle with an ace bandage before you can walk."
"Hobble."
"Whatever."
"It's somewhere on my utility belt." Ron said, patting the region around his waist. "Not sure which pocket, though."
"That's okay. I'll find it." She slid up beside him and began searching through the series of pouches and compartments that contained most of Team Possible's vital equipment.
"Tee-hee! Quit it! That tickles!" Ron giggled, somewhat distractingly.
"Quiet Ron. I'm working here." Kim chided, lamenting the fact that her boyfriend's mission gear was no more organized than his locker back at school. Items were stowed haphazardly with no apparent rhyme or reason to their location, and half the time were mixed in with other materials wholly unrelated to the task at hand. Smoke pellets shared space with an obsolete MP3 player while another compartment held used gum wrappers and half a yo-yo. It was as if the boy had never even heard of a wastebasket.
But it was when she began to explore the holster pouch on his right hip that she pulled up short, not because she had found what she was looking for, but because she had found something completely unexpected.
"Ron, what's this?" she asked, indicating the object in question.
"What's what?" he asked confusedly.
"This!" Was her stern reply.
"That's my hip pouch. I always wear that." Ron replied as innocently as he could.
"I know that Ron. I meant what's inside of it."
"Oh, that." He grinned. "Just my grapple. It's the handiest spot to keep it."
"Try again." Kim demanded, concern and determination etched across her face. "You dropped the grapple when we hit the floor, remember? It's still back in there somewhere." She thrust a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the still burning warehouse behind them.
"Would you believe I carry a back-up with me?" Ron asked almost pleadingly.
"Doubtful." Was Kim's flat reply. She was obviously in no mood for word games.
"Please Ron, just tell me this isn't what I think it is." Kim asked almost pleadingly. At that moment her imagination was running wild, and wherever it was going, she didn't like the neighborhood.
But when Ron only sighed and looked away, she knew what she had to do. She would have to find out for herself.
Slowly and carefully, she unsnapped the enclosure flap and eased the object in question from its place of rest. At first glance it gave the impression of a harmless toy: Its predominantly plastic construction appearing downright benign to the untrained eye. But the weight and balance told a different story, and Kim instinctively knew that this was no mere plaything she now held in her hands.
"Ron? What… the Hell… is this?" She growled ominously.
"Really, K.P. It's no big deal."
"It's a Glock nine millimeter, Ron!"
"Actually, it's a Glock nine millimeter with a laser sight."
"Not helping!"
"Okay, okay!" Ron pleaded, throwing up his hands in a defensive gesture. "It's just something that I've been carrying as an added precaution is all!"
"And for how long have you been packing heat without me knowing?"
Beneath the weight of the question, Ron seemed to develop a sudden fascination with the ground. After a long, painful pause he spoke, more into his own chest than to his girlfriend.
"Since last September." He admitted almost inaudibly.
"What!" Kim shrieked, beyond incredulous at the fact the most important person in her life had been carrying a weapon for nearly 18 months. "That's almost a year-and-a-half ago, Ron! Why in the world didn't you tell me?"
"Oh I don't know." Ron quipped in return. "Maybe because I knew you'd totally freak over it!"
"Sha… So not!"
"Uh huh… And just what is it you're doing right now, Miss calm, cool and collected?"
"Oh I am NOT freaking!"
"Dude, you reek freaked!"
"Okay, so maybe I am freaked! What the heck do you expect? I just found out that for the last eighteen months the person I spend almost every waking moment with has been walking around armed and dangerous!"
"Please, I don't carry it all the time." Ron stated defensively. "It's only with me on missions."
"And does anybody else know about this new 'little friend' of yours?" Kim demanded, eliciting a small, mildly irritated warble from Rufus.
"Just Doctor Director." Ron replied. "She helped push the paperwork through and cleared the permit. Oh, and the instructor who ran the firearms training course for G.J! Him too."
"Doctor Director was in on this scam?" Kim growled once again. "Any particular reason she didn't tell me?"
"See previous." Ron flatly stated.
"Super."
"Sorry, K.P. It was sort of an organizational decision."
"What about your parents? Do they know?"
"Are you kidding me? There's no freakin' way I'm letting them in on this!" Ron veritably shouted. "If you freaked out at the news, my mom would have an all-out conniption. We'd be lucky if she didn't spontaneously combust."
"Huh. I see your point." Kim admitted, looking warily down at the weapon she was still holding in her lap. "Still, there's just something ferociously whacked about this whole sitch. I mean, I'm so bent, I don't even know where to begin!"
"Why don't you start by asking me what's really bugging you?" Ron softly suggested, and immediately Kim knew just what he meant. With a deep and forlorn sigh she slumped back against the concrete, her shoulder touching his. There was no getting around what needed to be asked.
"Why, Ron?" she almost whispered. "Why?"
Taking a long glance at the redhead beside him, Ron noted that her gaze was averted, directed not at him but staring intently at the ominous object that lay cradled her lap. It seemed as though she was seeking answers from it rather than him: As if it had somehow betrayed her trust, leaving him blameless amongst it all. As if she simply couldn't bring herself to believe that the sweetest, most pure-hearted person she had ever known could carry within him the capacity to take a human life.
"Why?" He sighed. "Because I made a promise, K.P: A sacred promise that trumps all other concerns or worries that I might have."
"Go on." Kim softly prodded, still apparently trying to divine answers from the device in her lap.
"It all started not too long after the cuddlebuddy mission."
"You mean the Paisley rescue mission?"
"Yeah, that's the one. Anyway, it was becoming pretty clear that missions weren't just a one-time thing, or a passing fad, or anything like that for you. You were really getting into it, and one evening your dad pulled me aside for a little man-to-sidekick chat."
"Okay, I'm already not liking where this is going." Kim moaned, thinking back to all the issues her father historically had regarding her, boys, and any situation where these two concepts crossed paths. To his credit, however, Ron quickly figured where Kim's thought process was going and moved to head things off at the pass.
"No, no… It's not what you think." He protested. "He was just worried about you is all. And I mean really, really worried. He knew enough to realize that this whole 'saving people' thing could be a dangerous business, but he couldn't bring himself to stop you from doing something that you obviously loved. So he did what I guess he thought was the next best thing."
"He talked to you?" Kim asked with a faint tone of disbelief. The thought that her father would turn to a thirteen-year-old in a time of personal crisis seemed just a smidge beyond the realm of plausibility.
"Yeah, I was shocked too." Ron admitted, sensing his girlfriend's reluctance to believe her ears at that moment. "But basically he saw you starting to move in a direction where he couldn't protect you as much as he'd like to, so he enlisted some back-up of his own."
"You?"
"Who else?"
"Okay, so daddy told you to watch my back on missions. I'm still not seeing the connection between that and… this." She held up the pistol for emphasis.
"I'm getting to that." Ron informed her before continuing. "When your dad pulled me aside it was right after we had gotten back from a mission. He must've been taking things pretty hard while we were gone 'cause I could tell he was really shaken, and I'm not usually the most observant person in the room, so that's saying something."
He paused to choose his words carefully before continuing once again.
"The conversation we had that night was something that I'll never forget. I'd never thought that grown men could be emotional before then, but then again I didn't really have much to go on in that department. My dad and I were never really that close, so I guess I just sort of assumed that was the norm. You know, maybe if we had taken more family vacations…"
"Focus Ron." Kim commanded, snapping her fingers in front of his face for emphasis. "We're talking about my fam here."
"Oh, right!" Ron exclaimed, suddenly returning from his mental detour. "Where was I again?"
"Daddy getting emotional."
"Yes! Anyway, he pretty much spilled everything to me: What he was worried about, his reasons for not getting involved, that sort of stuff. And that was when he asked me for help. He said that he knew he couldn't look after you anymore, and he asked, almost pleaded, for me to pick up the slack for him."
"And of course you agreed."
"Well duh-huh! You were the most important person in my life after all. I mean, besides my parents, you know. It was just that I've never really been much for making friends and the thought that something could happen to you just… just…"
"It's okay, baby. I understand."
"I don't think you do, K.P. You see, it wasn't just my own feelings or what your father said: It was how he said it. I told you I'd never had much experience with men being emotional before, so the way your dad spoke that night was a real education. The power in his words… The raw emotion and feeling… I'd never seen anything like that before, and I haven't seen it since. I'm telling you something changed in me that night, and when I promised him that I'd look out for you, it was more than just some random promise… It was more of a vow."
Kim could only sit spellbound by the strength of Ron's words. Granted, he had always been an "emotions-on-the-sleeve" sort of person, or at least more so than most other high school guys. But now he was taking soul bearing to a whole new level. This was serious "open-the-floodgates" territory, and she knew that she was the only person who had access to this part of his being. Only she was trusted with the deepest secrets of what made the heart of this hero beat.
Reaching across the narrow space between them, Ron laid a gentle hand atop Kim's, and the weapon she was still holding. For a long moment he looked down at that device and the hands that held it, then he breathed deeply and plunged ahead.
"And that's why I started carrying this thing, K.P. I swore something sacred that night: I swore to protect you and have your back no matter what. It's a serious job and I treat it as such, but a big part of that job is making sure I've got the tools I need to take care of business when the fur starts flying."
"But you've never needed to use a gun, Ron." Kim protested.
"And I hope I never do." He replied. "But we have to be realistic and admit that things may very well change at some point, and if they do I don't want to be caught unprepared."
"But Ron…"
"Think about it, Kim." Ron explained. "Up until now we've pretty much been protected by the bad guy's code. Hair-brained schemes, overly complex death traps, needless and long-winded monologues: These are things that usually give us some sort of edge. It's like they really don't want to do us in, or if they do, it's secondary to the actual plot and tends to fall through the cracks at some point along the way.
"But what if the bad guys start upping the ante? What if they wake up one day, decide they're sick of losing, and forgo the usual pageantry and the evil song and dance and come after us directly? What then, huh?"
"Then we'll figure out how to deal when it becomes an issue." Kim retorted, still not fully convinced of her boyfriend's position. "If the villains start changing the rules on us then we'll regroup and hit 'em again the next time."
"But there might not be a next time, Kim. Don't you see?" Ron asked, shaking his head glumly. "When it comes to dangerous stuff like this, a guy's first mistake could very well be his last. Walking blindly into a sitch where you're outgunned is nothing but a recipe for disaster."
"Carrying one pistol is no guaranty that you won't be outgunned, Ron" Kim observed, crossing her arms over her chest and raising an eyebrow. She had to admit that Ron was scoring points, but she wasn't convinced just yet.
"No, but it's something. And something's better than nothing." Ron retorted. "Look, I'm not saying that it's inevitable or even likely that I'll ever have to use this thing. It's just that… Well… I guess I kinda look at it like insurance."
"Insurance?" Kim asked.
"Yeah, insurance." Ron confirmed. "It's one of those things that you have and never think about, you know? I don't dwell on it, and I pray every day that I never need it, but somehow, way back in the back of my mind, it's nice to know that it's there, just in case. You get me?"
"Yeah, I think so." Kim admitted, lifting the weapon to examine it once again. She took careful note of every detail, Ron's words about responsibility and preparedness still echoing in her ears. She took note that the safety was fully engaged, indicating that Ron was indeed taking the necessary precautions, and that he took the issue of firearms safety seriously.
"Anything else you wanted to ask?" Ron softly inquired.
"Just one thing." Kim replied. "Would you?"
"Would I what?"
"Would you use it?" Kim clarified. "If I went down with some crazy henchman right on top of me and you weren't nearby, would you drop the hammer on him? Would you pull the trigger? Would you… kill… to save me?"
She was amazed at how swiftly he answered.
"In half a heartbeat." He said sternly. "No question about it."
His words rang out loud and clear, but it was they way he said them that grabbed her attention more than anything else. There was iron in those words: Iron born of a personal conviction so strong that it left no doubt about truth those same words conveyed. It was obvious that Ron had long since done his soul searching and had steeled himself to the prospect of doing whatever was necessary to fulfill his vow. He knew the burden he carried, and its larger implications, and he accepted it all, willingly and without reservation.
Gradually turning the weapon over in her hands, Kim felt the weight and balance, noting the simple elegance of the design. It was devoid of any adornment such as polished metals or molded grips. It was the very image of utilitarianism: A simple tool, designed to accomplish a task cleanly and efficiently, and nothing more.
"Sooooo… Fifteen in the mag and one in the tube?" she inquired.
"Pretty much." Ron admitted. "If you're gonna carry one of these you'd better be ready to use it."
"Makes sense." She admitted, taking one final look at the device; small, simple and lethal. Then, with one final motion, she grasped it by its barrel and handed it back to the young man seated beside her.
"I believe this is yours." She stated with a hint of a smile.
"Thank you." Ron smiled in return, taking the offered weapon and returning it to its holster. The enclosure flap gave an audible "click" as he fastened it, and he gave the holster two light pats to reassure himself that everything was indeed secure.
"So what now?" he asked.
"Same as before." Kim stated. "We get you patched up enough to move, then head for the hospital. Now where did you stash that med kit?"
And with that statement she resumed her search through the disorganized mess that was her partner's utility belt. It seemed strange to her, as she searched, that having knowledge of a gun in such close proximity didn't faze her as much as it would normally.
For as long as she could remember, she had despised firearms. The clichéd phrase of "guns don't kill, people kill" rung hollow and meaningless for her, since the killing was usually done by people with guns. She always felt uneasy whenever they were nearby, and had long ago swore that she would never resort to using one, no matter what the circumstances.
But this was different somehow. This particular weapon seemed less troubling to her; less troubling simply because of who held it. In the hands of a stranger a gun was a menacing, vile threat. But in the hands of her boyfriend and partner, it was a source of comfort and reassurance. She knew that this particular gun was special: That protection and safety flowed from its cold, steel barrel, because they flowed from the one upon whose hip it rested. Of all the firearms in the world, this was the one that she need not fear…
And a better gun she could not imagine.
Author's Notes:
I suppose the origins of this story could be traced back a few years to some of the early episodes of the Kim Possible television series. I remember noticing the hip holsters that Team Possible wore as part of their mission outfits and wondering what they might be carrying there. The grapples seemed to be the logical answer, but surprisingly little evidence exists to confirm this. (I believe there's a brief shot of Kim holstering her grapple in "The Twin Factor," but other than that… bupkiss.) The question has been rolling around inside my head ever since, right up until this weekend when it suddenly and unexpectedly blossomed into the plot bunny you see before you.
And as I'm sure you're all aware, plot bunnies tend to multiply if you don't eradicate them right away. So here I stand, ready for battle, carrying my net, my shotgun and my can of "Bunny-B-Gone." Tally-HO!
Very few developments throughout the course of human history hold the position of importance enjoyed by the gun. Carrying great power within its design, it can be used for good or evil, has served hero and villain alike, and carries with it moral responsibility.
But to spite this significance, guns are surprisingly absent from Kim Possible's world. With all the villainous focus on lasers, death rays and various other directed-energy weapons, it sometimes seems as though the bad guys who inhabit her world have literally forgotten what a bullet even is. This is of course a function of the ultra-conservative, ultra-sheltered policies of the Disney censors, but such repressive policies do not apply to fan fiction, and thus we were presented with a golden opportunity to explore the issue in at least some depth.
Many authors in the past have presented Kim as having a deep-seated fear of all things gun related. She seems freaked out by them in most stories that deal with the subject, and stands opposed to their use on outright principal alone.
"But what about Ron?" I thought. Little if anything has ever been written regarding his predispositions to this technology. Would he share Kim's feelings? Would he disagree? Would he choose to simply subvert those feelings and follow Kim's lead, regardless of what his own instincts told him? I ultimately decided that in his capacity as "the keeper of Kim," he would embrace any tool that would help ensure that his friend would return home safely. Taking a potential advantage out of the options box in this way is simply not something that he would permit.
But that still leaves us with the question of Kim's own position, and this is what I attempted to answer here. How she might find out and what her reactions would be were questions that governed the development of my narrative, and I hope that I've stayed true to the characters' essence in this way. The ultimate judgment is up to you the reader, however, so judge kindly… please.
As for the weapon itself, I chose the Glock 19 for several reasons. As handguns go, it's compact, lightweight, reliable, widely used by military and law enforcement organizations around the world, and easily obtainable. Its rate of fire is respectable, its accuracy is impressive for a side arm, and its high-density polymer construction makes it both durable and easy to operate. "Plastic Fantastic" is a term often used to describe the Glock. (Although the phrase "Combat Tupperware" is also occasionally thrown about.) It's exactly the sort of weapon that I imagine Global Justice would field for its own agents, and as an extension of that organization, Team Possible would be a likely candidate as well.
As always, write a review and receive a reply! (How's that for alliteration?) Take care, one and all, and I'll catch you all on the flip side!
Later dudes!
Nutzkie…