Author's notes: Wow, it's been a while! A quick shoutout to the old guard of the KP community (and especially old Alternate Reality Association/Global Justice Alliance members!)
I've finally decided to rewrite my old unfinished fanfic, Tempus Simia. First, it's not actually based around the idol now - I figured that a) the idol was erased from time when it was smashed in ASiT, and b) I don't really want to rehash ASiT anyway. However, I do still find the concept I was aiming for to be interesting, thus this post. :p
A quick note: as before, this story is set either around the end of season two or sometime during season three. (So basically, pre-So The Drama, but not too far back.)
I've still some nuts and bolts to sow, so chapters might be a little slow in forthcoming; I just wanted to get some feedback before I decide to commit to this. Also, forgive me if my Kimmish is rusty; it's been a good five years since I've participated in the community, and around two or three since I've last seen an episode. ^^;
If I Only Had Time
Chapter 1: Field Day
Far out in the middle of the storming, withering ocean, upon a mountainous rocky island lashed by the vicious winds and unending waves, sat a large building. There was nothing particularly odd about this building, if you didn't count the fact that it was out on the middle of nowhere, where no man would choose to live voluntarily.
It was plain and rectangular, with many windows looking out to the thrashing sea (or, at least, they would, had they not been blinded shut). The beige paint scheme blended well with the frothy spray that splashed against its walls. Even with the spires at either end, if you saw a picture of it on a calm, sunny day, one might even think it was an office, or some kind of research laboratory.
But now, framed by darkly ominous clouds, thunderous lightning bolts and the swirling sea, it very much played the part of an evil villain's lair. Which would have been a good thing, because that was exactly what it was – however, as it was meant to be a secret lair, this posed a particular problem for its ponderous resident.
If one got close enough (and somehow made it past the hidden laser defence grid, the rocket-propelled missile launchers disguised as palm trees, and the rather-hard-to-miss moat of electric eels), one would be able to hear the voice of said resident, echoing through the chambers of the building (and emphasising nicely its lack of sound-proof walls.) And more often than not, that voice would be saying the same thing:
"I shall find a way to defeat Kim Possible. I shall discover her weakness!"
Deep within the heart of this fortress on a cliff, in a room lit by a roaring fire, a rather tall man paced anxiously. For the last three years, he had been thwarted, time and again, in his evil plans. Not by the police, nor the FBI or SWAT, nor by special forces or secret agents – but by a teenaged cheerleader and her dumb sidekick.
And now, for the last month or so, the thought that echoed across the vast complex consumed him to the core. He'd put all his plans on hold until he could figure it out – the Achilles heel of the young girl who vexed him so.
"If only there was something I could use," he murmured, rubbing his chin. "Some kind of information, or maybe a weapo- argh!"
THUD.
The man found himself sprawled across the floor. He sat up, rubbing his head lightly, and looked around for the perpetrator. Before him lay a rug, ruffled and wrinkled, bunched up where his foot had taken a slide on it.
And then, one by one, the overhead lights flashed to life, and the man heard loud footsteps entering the room.
"Yeah, ever thought of turning the lights on when you do your evil rants?" came a sneering sarcastic voice from behind.
The man mimed his companion's mouth with the tips of his fingers, which, one might be surprised to see, was pale-blue in colour, as if it had been starved of oxygen for a very long time. In fact, the man's entire body, save for his ruffled, jet-black hair, his black dotted eyes, and deep, slate-blue labcoat, was the same colour – how it happened, he had never told anyone, but one guessed it had occurred before his turn to evil villainy.
Then again, considering his companion's skin was green, one might not find it that surprising,
"And why do you even have a rug, Doctor D?" she asked as she walked across the room. "With your luck, I wouldn't trust anything not bolted down."
Ignoring the woman's remarks, the man pulled himself to his feet and resumed his constant pacing. The woman, now used to his intense brooding, sank into the lazy-boy situated by the fire.
"So, Drakken… uh, thought of something yet?"
"NO I have NOT thought of something yet!" the man named Drakken snapped back, a fierce look in his eyes.
"Jeez, I only asked!" she muttered.
Drakken sighed. "I'm sorry, Shego. But everything I've tried so far – failure! Nothing but unending torturous failure! OW!"
He had slammed his fist against the mantle for emphasis, only to receive a throbbing hand in return.
"I've checked security footage, bystander videos – anything that would show a pattern," he continued, sliding his slight bruised hand into a pocket. "I've read police reports, news stories, FBI dossiers and blog posts – most of which I have you to thank for, of course, for stealing."
"Uh- you're welcome?"
Shego was slightly taken aback – she wasn't used to hearing any 'thanks' for her work.
"But nothing! We tried taking the grappling hook-"
"Yeah, that didn't work out so well," muttered Shego.
"- we tried hijacking her mobile device-"
"That video-audio transposing software cost a fortune," Shego groaned.
"-we tried destroying it, we tried electrostatically frying her gadgets… we tried decreasing her intelligence, we tried forcing her to fight herself – even when she had the flu she still won! Nothing works!"
He rubbed his fingers together.
"There must be something there," he murmured. "Something that's always present, something that gives her an edge."
"Maybe she's just really good at what she does?" Shego suggested. "And I'm sure that boy genius doesn't help matters mu-"
"Hush, Shego! I'm thinking."
Like so many times before, his mind reflected on all that he'd seen, both in footage and in person. There had been times he'd been able to capture her. Sure, she'd always escape, but there had definitely been times when it seemed most likely that he had been going to win. What had been different then?
And then, something happened that hadn't happened in any of Drakken's previous thinking sessions – something clicked.
A series of images flashed before his mind's eye. Could it be? That devastatingly simple? No, it was impossible- unless…
Drakken rushed across the room to a computer, sitting in a corner all on its lonesome. He woke it up with a flick of the mouse, and scanned through the security footage of one such capture at five times normal speed. And in that footage, he spied exactly what he was looking for.
"Ahaha! Yes!"
Shego glanced at the corner. "Dr. D, uh… what is it?"
Drakken launched another video, and played it back at quintuple the speed as well. And in it he saw the same thing.
"Yes!"
Shego moved closer in her chair and squinted at the screen. "What?"
Drakken loaded yet another piece of footage, fast-forwarding through it at the same speed. And there it was again.
"Yes! Yes! Yes! Ahahaha!"
Shego stared at him angrily. "What? What is it?"
But Drakken did not respond. Instead, he sent the computer back to sleep and began pacing again.
Yes, it was possible. But likely? It seemed like such a silly thing, really – but at this point, Drakken was desperate. He'd try everything twice if he had to, just to get that girl out of his hair for good.
"I have a plan," he announced.
"Yes, I got that at the a-ha-ha thingy! Tell me!"
"Not yet, Shego," he said in a somewhat sing-song voice. " First, I need to get a few things"
"You mean, steal a few things?"
Drakken smiled. "Oh, you know me so well, Shego! Well, it's not just stealing – I've also got to build some things as well-"
"And by 'I have to get some things' you mean 'Shego has to steal some things', right?"
Drakken tapped his fingers together, a slightly anxious look in his eye. "Well, if you don't mind-"
"Trust me, any excuse to get out of this lair! Do you have any idea how long you've been brooding here?"
Drakken scratched his head. "Three days?"
Shego gave him a rather annoyed look. "Longer."
"A week?"
"Four MONTHS!" She threw her hands in the air, and what looked like green fire sprung forth from her palms. "Four months, and all you've been paying me to do around here is sit around, go to the grocery store, and play canasta with the henchmen! Who are all terrible at it!"
She began to march towards Drakken, glaring at him all the while, each step increasing the panic apparent on his face.
"While you either rant for hours on end, pace a hole into the carpet, or sit at your drawing board, draw up fifty or so plans, and then scrunch them all up and chuck them all in the bin!"
She was now inches away from him and, despite being shorter than he was, successfully glaring him down. And Drakken, not having anywhere else to go but through a wall or up a chimney, was now silently praying that whatever pain she had in store for him would be, at the very least, short.
But Shego turned her head, sighed, and walked across the room, the flames evaporating as she went. Drakken breathed a sigh of relief for this reprieve.
"Look, this is the first plan you've actually been confident in in… in about forever," she continued, her voice now much calmer than before. "Whatever it is, I'm behind it one-hundred percent – as long as it involves me getting out of here and actually doing something."
"Uh, well… well…"
Drakken's brain was still trying to wrap itself around the sudden mood swing.
"… well…"
Finally, whatever cog was gumming up the works freed itself, and his brain told him to ignore it as one of those 'Shego things'.
"…well, uh… that's excellent! Phase one of my plan starts tonight!" He laughed. "We'll have a field day! Ahahahaha!"
Speaking of field days, approximately five or so kilometres east, there were a small group of people having a field day of their own. Well, it was a field day of sorts, because although it did have them out of school, it didn't involve fields of any kind (making it more of a field trip), and although they were moving about, it didn't really involve running or athleticism at all – in fact, this trip was meant to be completely educational, as it took place at the Middleton Museum and Natural History Exhibition (making it more of an excursion – and thus far, a rather boring one at that.)
And what's worse, it had former Army private Mr. Barkin as its chaperon.
"Now, the history of Middleton is important!" Barkin's cracking voice attempted to roar over the chatting of the students in his charge. "Each of you come from a long line of proud Middletonians who all worked to make Middleton a better city for everyone! Why, back in 1984-"
"Uh, excuse me, Mr. Barkin?" A tan-coloured girl with long black hair raised her hand. "That's not strictly true – my family moved here from Malaysia a few years ago, and-"
"Oh, think you're a wise guy, Ms. Flores? Front and center!"
The crowd quietened almost instantly, and parted to make way as the girl timidly shuffled forward.
"Zeta, Zeta, Zeta," Barkin said, slowly tapping the script he'd been reading. "Where in this text does it say for you to interject? That's strike one."
Zeta gasped. "No, I'm sorry! It's just, I was just correcting you about being wrong about all of us being descended from Middleto-"
"Not answering a direct question and overriding a teacher's authority? Strike two." Zeta squeaked and shivered.
"I should have known it would be a troublemaker like you," continued Mr. Barkin, pacing as he went, "who would try to wisecr-"
"But sir, I've never been in trouble before. You can't have possibly known anything about-"
Barkin glared at her.
"Eep!"
"Alright, Ms. Flores, since you obviously know so much about Middleton that you feel the need not to listen-"
At that point, two voices rang out from the crowd.
"But Mr. Barkin, sir, she was listening!" called a female voice.
"OW!"
"Ron, say something!"
"Uh, yeah, I mean, uh… after all, how would she be able to ask a question about, uh, what you'd been talking about and everything?"
Barkin's angry stare now turned to the crowd, who quickly parted again to reveal a Caucasian girl with long red hair, a green tank-top, and blue designer jeans, and a similarly European teenager, male this time, with a loose maroon shirt, baggy cargo shorts, and yellowish-blond hair.
"Ronald, Kimberly, forward, now!"
Ronald Stoppable calmly walked towards Mr. Barkin, while Kimberly-Ann Possible's pace was a lot more… unsure.
"What's up, Mr. B?" said Ron.
"Uh, hi, Mr. Barkin… nice weather we're having?" said Kim.
Barkin's glare narrowed.
"Tell me, what year was the World Expo held in Middleton?"
"But, Mr. B, we haven't even done-"
"What year, Stoppable!"
"Er… 1984?"
"Incorrect, Stoppable! Now, I want to see from you three a-"
Zeta took a deep breath.
"Nineteen oh-"
"I did not ask you," Barkin replied. "Now, you three will write me a-"
"Um, Mr. Barkin? It's 1903," said Kim.
She immediately wished she didn't.
Mr. Barkin's face flushed red as a turnip, and had he been a tea pot, one would expect to see steam pouring out of his ears. He turned to face the crowd.
"Due by tomorrow, I expect to see a full five-page report on why Middleton history is important to you. From everyone. No exceptions."
Groans echoed across the room.
"I will hear no complaints, because every complaint I hear adds another page to your report. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Mr Barkin" the crowd chanted.
"And Flores, Possible, Stoppable! Meet me after school in the detention room."
"Well, this sucks," muttered Ron as he and Kim passed a one-fiftieth scale model of some old ferris wheel.
"Tell me about it," Kim groaned.
"Do you still not get detentions?"
"Well, yes, but I'm over that – one little detention, so not the drama!" She sighed. "It's just that I have cheer practice after school, and there's the theme for the ball to plan out-"
"I'd almost kept out of detention a solid month," said Ron.
"Thanks for doing that for me," Kim replied. "But it's not your fault, it's mine – and with Three-Strikes Barkin, you can never really tell what he'll take offence at."
"Uhuh!" yipped a voice from the area of Ron's pants.
"I guess that's true," Ron agreed. "Besides, well, it's, y'know, what you do – Kim Possible, defender of innocents. Can't expect anything less, really."
"Thanks, Ron," she replied, smiling. "You're a good friend, really."
Ron frowned slightly, for what reason Kim could not decipher – but it was only momentary, as in the space of a second, something seemed to brighten his mood considerably.
"So, when this whole 'detention' business is dealt with, meet the Ronster at Bueno Nacho for some major snackage?"
Kim smiled. "Of course, Ron – I mean, we do it every night, and it's about the only time I get to see Monique socially nowadays."
"Well, I, uh- sure! The three muskeritos!" said Ron, although Kim could detect hesitation in his voice.
"What?"
"Oh, well- I just thought it could be a 'phew, we defended someone and now we're safe from detention' kind of snackage – y'know, something special."
"That's a good idea - we could invite Zeta!" replied Kim. "Y'know, it's been quite a bit of time since we talked – we do need to catch up."
"Oh- uh, yeah, good idea!" said Ron. "Glad I thought of it – the four muskeritos."
"D'Artagnan!" hollered Ron's pet naked mole rat as he emerged from his pocket.
Now, it is not an ordinary thing to examine the shadows of a place, especially when there were interesting exhibits to explore; such things were usually reserved for the paranoid, the frightened, or the bored. But occasionally, one may get lucky and spy something – a brief sense of movement from the corner of your eye, a shadow that you glimpse between blinks.
It was for this reason that a peculiar object was staying well away from the proceedings that were taking place before it. From behind the curtain of an old photography booth, it glared at the girl named Kim Possible; having confirmed its target, all it needed to do now was wait for its chance to strike.
But as it so happened, luck was not quite on its side.
"Hey, dudes, did you see that?"
At the sound of the being's voice, the mechanical contraption receded to the depths of the booth; the last thing it needed was to be discovered.
"Dude, Brick, there's nothing there. You're imagining things."
"No, I'm telling you, I saw something! And it was, like, totally freaky-looking."
"Dude, it's just a spider or, y'know, whatever."
"Na, I'm going to check it out, dudes."
"Whatever. Good luck."
One of the feet visible from below the curtain was now coming towards it. It knew it needed to act, and quickly - the mission could not afford to fail.
The feet were now directly in front of the curtain. The craft formulated a plan, only taking it approximately one point zero five seconds.
A hand was now drawing back the curtain, but the craft was unconcerned. It would be ready.
It was while Kim was examining the fossilised remains of ancient Middletonian wildlife (the skeleton of a dolphin-like creature labelled an 'Ichthyosaur') that the scream rang out.
She ran to the source of the noise; as she arrived, she could see that a crowd was already forming around the photo booth. And crouching on his knees, head in his hands, was the muscle-bound figure of-
"Brick!" exclaimed a fair-skinned female with short brown hair, rushing up to her heartthrob (although somewhat slower than she would had she not brought a swirly purple dress and matching-colour high heels). "Darling, what have you done this time?"
"Urgh-"
Brick Flagg, the gridiron quarterback, pushed himself to his feet. "Bonnie? I… think I banged my head-"
"Oh, it'll be alright," said Bonnie, helping Brick walk towards a gap in the crowd. "We'll just get you to Mr. Barkin, he'll be sure to excuse you-"
"What did I miss?" the voice of Ron came from Kim's side.
"Brick says he hit his head," Kim replied.
Ron looked from Kim to Brick and then back again. "Do you think something else happened?"
"I dunno- I mean, have you ever heard anyone yell that loud after getting a head-bump? Especially since he's part of the football team-"
Ron shrugged his shoulders. "He's Brick, he's… well, not exactly the warmest taco in the restaraunt, if you catch my drift."
"I guess you're right," she said.
But the concerned look did not leave Kim's face, and it would be quite a while more before the thought left her brain for far more interesting facts.