Disclaimer: I don't own Kim Possible or anything in this fic beyond the story itself, and I'm pretty sure Disney could take that away from me too if they felt like it. I make absolutely no profit from this thing, and I'm poor. Don't sue me, please.
Notes: Heya, cats and kittens! This is gonna be quick, because this is supposed to be what the people who make television refer to as a "cold open," meaning there should be no preamble. Unfortunately, I have a couple of things to say. Skip this junk if you don't care.
First off, for all y'all wondering whatever happened to the redux of Child Development, here's the official word: I canned it. I know, I KNOW, but the story just wasn't up to snuff, and I would rather piss you guys off than put out a subpar story. There were other reasons, of course, but nobody cares about those but me, and time's a-wasting. Ask in a review if you're that interested, and I'll tell you all about it.
On a more positive note, this is the start of a new series. I've been working on it for longer than I'd care to admit, and it's honestly better than CD would've been. It's based on a challenge posted by Alexlayer over at the KP Slash Haven a long, long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away. Tons of people have helped me with it, but I'd like to give a particular shout-out to Trackula (Zearth at KP/) and Diogenes (whose FFN name I don't actually know, if he even has one yet) for beta-reading the crap out of this thing.
Finally, this prologue doesn't merit the rating I've given it, but this fic will earn it starting next chapter. It's pretty lighthearted, but I don't shy away from writing dialogue as I hear it in my head, and I occasionally hear some pretty naughty words. This is a T story content-wise, and if I had it my way, I would rate it as such, because the only M-rated stuff is in the dialogue. However, I realize most people don't feel as I do about "bad" words, and I don't wanna be one of those weird people who changes their rating in mid-fic. This is M for the same reason the film "Clerks" is R, okay? So it's like PG-15, I guess. Just be aware.
Okay, I'm probably forgetting a couple of points, but screw it. This intro is too long as it is. On with the story, and I'll meet up with y'all at the Author's Note.
Price Of The Heart
A Kim Possible Fanfic
By
Ffordesoon
Prologue – The Executive's Dilemma
A friendship founded on business is better than a business founded on friendship.
-John D. Rockefeller
Kim Possible groaned. This was not going well.
She closed her eyes and leaned back in what the furniture catalog had referred to as her "executive chair." It was apparently the official term for a chair with a high back, but she found the term "executive" rather pretentious. It made her think of people like Jack Hench, all slicked-back hair and predatory grins. She wasn't like that – she hoped she wasn't, anyway.
Besides, an executive would actually be able to, well, execute a task, particularly a task as simple as this one. It had seemed simple, anyway, until she had actually started working on it. Now her desk was a snow-white hellscape of resumes and job applications and interview transcripts, absolutely none of which had anything remotely interesting on them. She had checked.
Twice.
Apparently, saving the world was a cakewalk compared to hiring a bodyguard.
She had believed the hiring process would be easy, as the job was cushy and paid extremely well. There was one problem with that logic: the job was cushy and paid extremely well. A flood of applications had poured in, and now she was drowning in them.
The real problem wasn't the sheer volume of applications, though. At some point during her two weeks of reading about seemingly every single extraordinary act of heroism and bravery ever performed, Kim had just... stopped caring. She had tried to fight that feeling, she really had, but all of the very real and very significant accomplishments she had read about were nothing but black ink on white paper to her now.
Simple fatigue was a big part of the problem, to be sure – it is dreadfully hard to be told the same story over and over without getting bored with it, and these resumes all told essentially the same story: Applicant A performed Extraordinarily Heroic Act B and got Commendation C from Organization D and did it again and again and again, blah blah blah. There was just no personality to any of it. And that was the main problem, really: all of these people were certainly competent, but competence wasn't the only thing Kim was looking for in a personal assistant, let alone a bodyguard. Maybe it was naïve and unfair, but if someone was going to follow her around twenty-four-seven, she damn well wanted it to be someone she liked.
Kim swiveled the chair to face the setting sun. The Team Possible International building wasn't a skyscraper, but it might as well have been; no building in Middleton rose higher, not even the ones on hills, and Kim's office was on the top floor. The floor-to-ceiling windows behind her desk gave her a spectacular view of Middleton and its surroundings, but what Kim really loved were the sunsets. Gazing at those those impossibly vast panoramas of green and blue and gold and orange always made her feel insignificant. For most people, that would be disheartening, but not for Kim. When you did what she did for a living, you needed a daily reality check. You needed to realize that you just weren't that special, because if you didn't...
As she watched the color slowly drain from the sky, she came to a decision: she was being unfair. Yes, she had managed to make it through her heroic career with her personality relatively intact, but she'd had the unwavering support and friendship of most everyone around her to keep her grounded; it stood to reason that the majority of these people just hadn't had the same advantage. The interviews she'd beenconducting for the last week or so had certainly confirmed that.
The applicants inevitably fell into one of two categories: they were either overemotional wrecks tormented to the point of obsession by their few failures, or they were stone-faced mercenary types with bulging muscles and no discernible emotions. They were all successful solo heroes, sure, but neither type worked especially well with others. The wrecks might screw the team over to get some closure on their issues, and the mercs were dead-eyed thugs who lacked compassion or imagination. Both types had their uses, of course, but neither one was a good fit for this particular job.
Who is, though? she thought, sighing.
She shook her head and looked at the framed copy of her mottoperched precariously close to the edge of her desk. She scoffed at it. Tch, "I can do anything." Yeah, uh-huh, then why can't I do this? You have an answer for that?
The tiny picture frame stubbornly refused to animate and give Kim a pep talk. She sighed again. I'll take that as a no.
Loath to return to the task before her, Kim leaned forward in her seat and looked down at the form closest to her. It was one more veteran soldier, one more square-jawed Real American Hero indistinguishable from all the others. She'd had enough of soldiers in her life – more than enough. That bias had already made the otherwise easy decision to acquire TeamImpossible a difficult one for her. Their rigid attitude and matching uniforms reminded her of those sycophantic, pigheaded—of her former colleagues at Global Justice.
She was glad she had caught herself. After... that mission, it had taken her several weeks to get over flying into a rage at the mere mention of GJ, and months had passed before she had been able to say anything about them out loud again. Even now, after years of therapy, she still felt queasy when she heard anything about them. She could sit there silently fuming and cursing for up to thirty minutes if she didn't nip that line of thought in the bud before it got out of hand. Those thoughts weren't just bad for her psychologically, either; she always ground her teeth involuntarily during those little episodes.
Yes, if she had to deal with that GJ-drone, Agent-Will-Du-reporting-for-duty-may-I-shine-your-shoes-with-my-unworthy-tongue-sir attitude day in and day out, she was pretty sure someone would end up dead. No, she needed someone accomplished, sure, but she needed someone who wasn't just accomplished. Someone who knew the rules but wasn't bound by them. Someone who would have her back, who knew what having her back meant. Someone she could trust with her life.
None of the applicants fit the bill. Not a single one.
Well, I tried, she thought. Maybe I don't need a-
Kim nearly yelped in surprise when her intercom buzzed. She cleared her throat and patched her secretary through. "Go ahead."
"Ms. Possible, your six-thirty appointment is here. Shall I send her up?" asked Kim's secretary.
Kim blinked. Six-thirty? I have a six-thirty? Since when?
Exactly one day and nine minutes ago...
"...And you have an appointment tomorrow at six-thirty with a Ms. Francesca Lattuada. Is that alright, Ms. Possible? Ms. Possible? … Are you snoring?"
Kim snorted and her eyes snapped open. "Wha-I-ye-no! Of course I wasn't... But, ah, remind me what you were saying just now?"
"Your six-thirty appointment...?"
"Oh! Um, that's... yeah, definitely," she said, frowning at the little puddle of drool on her desk.
Kim smacked her forehead. Oh, right. Since then.
She started to gather up the papers on the desk. What's my six-thirty again? Something that starts with an F, right? Probably another boring interview. God, someone shoot me.
Silently cursing her inability to escape without causing a scene, she answered, "Sure, send her in."
After making the paper nightmare on her desk look halfway presentable, she sat up straight. She glanced at herself, then at the desk, then at the room. And I'm ready. Good.
A moment later,the doorknob turned and the door eased open, revealing her six-thirty.
A familiar woman sashayed through the door with a familiar smirk on her face. In a familiar voice, she said, "Daaaaamn. Room's huge." The woman wore a dark business suit, modestly cut, and it hugged the woman's familiar curves in a familiar way.
Kim knew that walk, that smirk, those curves. She knew them almost too well, to the point of discomfort. She had almost forgotten, however, the feeling that walk and that smirk and those curves carried with them. That pure knockout feeling of luxuriant, sensual power that drew you, that fascinated you, that terrified you. Movie stars and world leaders projected a similar sort of aura, but it always comforted you, made you feel safe. This woman, though – when you were with her, you felt like a little kid petting a tiger.
Kim had become inured to the feeling over years of fighting with the woman, but she had apparently been cured of that immunity in the years since the fighting had stopped. In that split-second of dazed fascination, Kim was powerless, and it puzzled her. It puzzled her terribly.
"… Shego?"
The woman grinned. "Hey, Pumpkin. Miss me?"
Upon seeing the grin, Kim came back to herself. Still a little dazed, she replied, "I, uh... I can't even begin to answer that question. What are you doing here?" She hated how weak she sounded, but at least the question allowed her to regain a small measure of control.
Shego blinked and glanced back at the door. "Um, didn't your secretary tell you I was coming up?"
Kim furrowed her brow. "Coming… Wait! You mean you're-"
"Perfect, beautiful, and brilliant? 'Fraid so. It's a gift and a curse." said Shego, still smirking. She held up a filled-out application form. "Oh, and I'm your six-thirty."
After a moment, Kim snorted. The faintest hint of a smile played across her lips. "Noted." She pointed to the empty chair in front of her desk. "Have a seat."
Shego scoffed, but her eyes betrayed her playful intent. "What, no hug? I'm hurt."
Kim rolled her eyes, but her lip was curved upward. "Just sit in the stupid chair, Shego."
Shego sighed theatrically. "Oh, alright." She finally walked to the chair and sunk into it unceremoniously, then casually tossed the application form onto the desk. As she leaned back into the chair., she said, "Seriously, though, I expected a handshake at least, you being politeness incarnate and all."
Kim raised an eyebrow. "Politeness incarnate, am I? And how'd you come to that conclusion? Not that I mind the compliment, of course."
Shego furrowed her brow. "...You know, I guess I haven't ever really seen you be, like, super-duper formal. Nice, maybe, but never..." She shrugged. "I, uh, I guess I just assumed...?"
Kim chuckled at Shego's puzzled expression. "Yeah, I guess you did." Kim leaned in, eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly. "And what other misconceptions about me do you, y'know, harbor?"
Shego smirked and wagged her finger at Kim. "Nyuh-uh, Cupcake. Two things: one, if I knew my misconceptions about anyone or anything were misconceptions, they would necessarily cease to be misconceptions. Two, even if I knew the answer to your question, which I don't, I wouldn't tell you. No offense, but it's better to play it close to the vest than screw myself out of a job, right?"
"And what if I told you you don't get the job unless you answer my question? Would you answer me then? Hypothetically, of course."
"No, I'd tell you to shove your questions up your ass and leave." Shego smiled. "Hypothetically."
Kim burst out laughing. "Same old Shego."
Shego gave a wide shrug. "Like the man said, if it ain't broke..."
"Yep," said Kim, nodding slightly and smiling. The smile disappeared abruptly. "So, what happened?"
Shego frowned. "What? Whaddaya mean, what happened?" She knew exactly what Kim meant, but playing dumbwas usually the smart play, and she wasn't in any hurry to recall the events of the past few days, much less recount them.
Kim chuckled knowingly. "Look, Shego, you can deflect my questions all you want, but I know you, of all people, would never just come work for me. You're too proud for that. So, you know, what happened?"
Shego's frown deepened. Apparently her little Princess had gotten wiser in the ways of the world. She still didn't want to tell the story, however, so she retorted with a slightly venomous "Now who's making assumptions?"
Kim just kept smiling. "But I'm right, aren't I?"
After a moment, Shego sighed. "Yeah."
Kim met Shego's eyes. "And now that we've established that, again I ask: what happened?"
Shego glanced away from Kim as if she'd been slapped. "Look, why do you care?"
Kim raised an eyebrow. "Um, because I'm concerned?"
Shego raised an eyebrow right back. "Why would you be concerned?"
A sudden surge of anger overtook Kim. "I'm sorry, did you just ask me why I should be concerned when my archenemy who tried to kill me throughout high school and who I haven't seen for, like, five years walks into my office and applies for a job where she'll be protecting me twenty-four-seven? Because that just happened, and it is ferociously weird, so I hope you'll excuse me if I want to ask you a few questions before I put my life – something that is pretty darn important to me – in your hands!"
Shego threw her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay! Don't bite my damn head off!"
Kim blushed. She hadn't meant to fly off the handle like that. "Um, sorry. This is really frickin' strange for me, is all."
"Wait... I was your arch? I thought Drakken was-"
"Please. The man's archenemy is Murphy."
"...Murphy who?"
"As in, Murphy's law? 'Everything that can go wrong...?'"
Shego sniggered and shook her head. "So, so true."
"Yes, it is."
"That's part of why I left, actually..."
"So I assumed." Kim's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as she moved in for the kill. "Can I take that as an indication that you're gonna tell me what happened?"
"Damn, Cupcake, you are relentless."
"Wouldn't be where I am today if I relented very often."
After a moment of consideration, Shego responded. "Fine, fine, I'll tell you my moving tale of woe."
Kim grinned. "Spankin'!" The grin abruptly disappeared, and Kim held up a finger. "Except don't start just yet, I need to pee."
Shego smirked. "I look like I'm stopping you?"
Kim blushed again. "Well, no, I was just... You know what I mean."
Shego nodded. "Go."
There was a tap from behind the desk, and Kim rose unsteadily out of the chair. Shego's stomach turned; Kim was clutching the handle of a cane. The tap had come from the cane hitting the marble floor. Kim had stood using the cane. She hadn't moved from the chair until now, Shego realized. And she was limping now, using the cane to walk. She thought back to the conversation they'd had when she came in, and she felt sick.
Kim furrowed her brow. "Shego? What's the matter?"
Shego frowned and nodded softly at the cane. "You... Is that a cane? Are you... walking with a cane?"
A puzzled Kim glanced at the cane, then back at Shego. "Um, yeah. You didn't know? I thought everyone did."
Shego hung her head. "I... no. When did...? How...?"
After a moment, Kim smirked. "Looks like we've both got some explaining to do."
Author's Note: Dun dun DUNNNNNNN! If this were a CSI: Miami episode, this would be the point where we'd smash cut to Roger Daltrey going "YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!" over footage of beaches and crap. As it's the prologue to my (hopefully) long-awaited comedy-action-adventure-drama-thingy fic Price Of The Heart, I'm afraid that's out of my power, but if you go to YouTube and search for the song "You Belong To Me" by The Like, you can picture your own opening.
(Crap, that sounds really dirty, doesn't it?)
ANYWAY, that's the official POTH theme song, so go and look at it now.
Back? Okay, well, I hope you enjoyed it, and that you'll stick with me through the ride to come. I've got some awesome stuff lined up for this fic. Kim's injury is the least of the twists I have planned.
Look forward to more very soon. Oh, and leave a review, why don't you? More reviews means a happier me, and a happier me means more POTH sooner. So yeah, review. ;)
Cheers!