Requiem On Paper Wings
Prologue: Last Regrets
The figure clad in a black raincoat walked, with painful slowness, through the entrance of Middleton Cemetery, his only companion the thin raindrops falling like tears on and around him. The cemetery, a quiet place at best, was completely deserted at three in the morning, leaving him to walk, with fluid grace and utter silence towards his goal: a simple marble memorial, surrounded by fresh flowers and candles long extinguished by the rain. On the stone was new embellishment; a graduation cap, left on top of the grave marker like a gift, and a simple card that read, "To Kimmy, From Monique."
I wonder how Monique is doing.
I don't know why I keep doing this to myself.
A bouquet of white roses was clutched in his right hand, his left thrust inside his coat jacket. His dyed-black hair was completely drenched, the bangs lying across his forehead and his eyes like a mourning veil. Despite the torrents falling down his face, his gaze never left the memorial, burning its stark image… burning her memory… once more into the depths of his mind.
Not all of the water flowing down his cheeks was rain.
I'm tired. I'm so tired.
I don't know how long I can keep going on.
He stopped a few feet from the marker, standing stock still for half a minute before slowly dropping to his knees. He placed the bouquet in front of the memorial with loving carefulness, being sure not to knock away the other wreaths and flowers laid there. There were many; among those he could easily see, despite the twilight, the names written on the cards. He could read them because he knew who they were from; Tim, Jim, the Drs. Possible, his own family, all of their classmates and friends from Middleton High, Dr. Director, even Wade, the reclusive genius, had left his room to pay homage to the lovely redhead.
My redhead. My Kim. My KP.
I don't know why I'm still fighting.
He raised his right hand, pressing the pads of two fingers to his lips like a silent prayer, before reaching out to touch the rain-kissed marble marker. He knew it was his imagination, but he thought he could feel warmth in stone. The same warmth she always had, for everything and everyone, but especially for him. The warmth she had before… before it all happened.
I wonder if you're looking at me right now.
I wonder if you're having fun where you are. I hope so.
Just a little longer, KP. I'll be there soon.
There's just one more thing that I need to do.
When I've found him and sent him where he belongs…
…then, then I can be with you again. Again. Forever.
He closed his eyes to murmur a quiet prayer for her. The small scar on the left side of his chin started throbbing again, the way it always did when it rained, or when he thought of her. He didn't mind the rain, though. It was only right that sky would weep this day, the second anniversary of…
His eyes screwed shut, the tears beginning to overwhelm him. It was supposed to have been the second anniversary, not of her death, but of them. Together. Forever.
His left hand reached up, a metal replacement for the hand he lost on that black day, to absently stroke at the ring he still kept on a silver chain, around his neck. Dr. James Possible himself had helped, using the remnants of the Project Hephaestus technology to create a cybernetic replacement. It was a glorious piece of work, responsive, feeling, articulate, almost exactly like a real hand…
… except that his engagement ring would no longer fit on it.
He took a dozen deep breaths, trying to calm down, trying to stop the abyss from reaching up and swallowing him whole. Even if all he wanted was to fade to black and never come back… no. He couldn't do that. Not yet.
I have to go now, KP.
He opened his eyes, the lonely pain pushed back one more day. He leaned over to tenderly kiss the gravestone one last time, before rising to his feet, the ebon-black katana slung across his back bumping against his thighs as he did so. He could hear it in his head again, the chittering of a million monkeys, goading, accusing, waiting for him to release them again, through his fists and feet. To unleash the Power once more, to fight, and maybe for a few seconds, to forget.
He was about to leave when something caught his eye: an slightly faded picture, still vibrant in the rain, probably placed there by Dr. Mr. or Mrs. Possible. It was a snapshot taken after her junior prom night, her beautiful face matched only by her smile as she stood, hand in hand, with a blond haired geek, who was smiling from ear to ear.
He turned around to start walking away.
Everything died, along with her, on that oil rig two years ago. Everything I know, everything I cared about, everything that made me happy, made me smile, died along with her two years ago. The only thing left to me is the mission.
I will continue the mission. I will continue to keep fighting them, just as KP would have wanted me to. I will keep fighting until I find him, and I send him where he can't harm anyone else anymore, ever. I hope I can make her proud, just like she was so proud of Ronald Dean Stoppable.
My name is… no.
My name was Ronald Dean Stoppable. Ron Stoppable, bumbling sidekick, aspiring cook, all around geek… but most importantly, Kim Possible's best friend. Her boyfriend. The one she was going to marry when they left college.
Ron Stoppable is dead.
All that is left to me is a new mission and a new call sign.
Force.
Unstoppable Force.
He stepped out of the cemetery, the raincoat's hood over his head, even as the rain was beginning to stop.
He still had a mission to accomplish.
