Notes: This fic is in response to a challenge over on KP Slash Haven, and involves, eventually, two adult women in a consenting relationship. If that's not your type of stuff, rest assured you have been warned. My illegible scrawling has been whipped into shape courtesy of the Beta-ing skills of the inestimable Mr fFordesoon, and the title was suggested by the ever-inspiring Love Robin. Reviews always eagerly welcomed; hell, flame if you want to, but be aware I'll just ignore it and carry on, so it would just be a waste of your time writing such an attack.
A knowledge of the events of the episode 'Rewriting History' would be pretty useful, since it's a story about Miss Miriam Possible and the woman referred to by Bartholomew Lipsky only as "Miss Go". If you haven't got a clue what I'm talking about... well, you'll probably patch it together soon enough.
Disclaimer: See the title in the internet browser you're using? See that bit where it says "Stea-Mim Under Pressure Chapter 1, a Kim Possible fanfic"? Now, if I owned Kim Possible & Co., would I be writing a fan fic? No. No I would not. As such, you can probably guess that I do not own Kim Possible or related characters, which are the property of their creators and the Walt Disney Company, no infringement of copyright is intended or should be inferred. Now that that ground breaking revelation is revealed, on with the story...
12th of October, 1902
Go City Women's Prison was an imposing building; unlike the smaller Middleton Correctional Facility, which was composed of a series of brick buildings in a heavily guarded compound, the GCWP was a large stone construct that looked more like a fort built to keep people out than a facility in which people were kept.
Miriam Possible swallowed nervously as she followed a guard through the interior of the building. Her scalp was itchy under the blonde wig she wore, and peering through the thick spectacles perched on her nose made her healthy eyes feel strained, but it wasn't as if she had a choice. She was, after all, a fugitive.
Yes, Miriam Possible – investigative journalist par excellence, well-regarded amateur sleuth, and local feminist icon – was on the run from the law. Following the events of the Tri-City Expo in Middleton, Miriam – or Mim, as she liked to be known – had been forced to flee when accused of stealing a German scientist's invention, the Electrostatic Illuminator. She wasn't guilty, of course, but fate had not been kind to her that night. She now faced imprisonment, and Mim was not about to go to prison for something she hadn't done.
So, for the past 4 months, Mim had been living in exile, and her brisk walk through the intimidating corridors of the Go City Women's Prison was a very good reminder of why she had endured the living hell that had been the past few months. To go from the safe, comfortable, loving surroundings of her family and friends to the life of a wanted fugitive had been nothing short of pure torment for the poor redhead.
As such Mim had desperately sought to clear her name, regularly exchanging telegrams with her best friend Jon Stoppable under an alias, each working ceaselessly to prove Mim's innocence. But since the real culprit had seemingly vanished from the face of the earth, it had so far proved impossible to clear the reporter's name.
Mim's guide stopped by a small door, and turned to the disguised fugitive.
"She's just in here, Ms. Bly. You have fifteen minutes, and then I'm afraid you'll need to leave. Prison policy."
Mim smiled. "That should be plenty, thank you... I assume our conversation will not be monitored?"
"As per your request, ma'am, yes," the guard replied, unlocking the door and pushing it lightly. He lazily scratched his greasy beard as it swung open.
The room that lay beyond wasn't large, but it gave the illusion of far greater space because it was almost completely bare. There were only four things in the entire room; a table, two chairs, and the reason Mim had risked this trip back into the Tri-City area.
It had been complete luck; Mim had become a journalist because she loved to read the papers; she loved the idea of hunting down the truth and capturing it in a prison of perfectly turned phrases. Ever since she had first learnt to read, Mim had been reading the papers, and even in exile a daily news journal was always on hand. On the 4th of October, Mim had, as usual, bought a newspaper, and had spent the evening in her small lodgings (half the price for the room, and half the price for no questions asked) by the light of an old gas lamp reading the paper.
It had been a small article, sharing a page with a dozen other unimportant pieces of news, but what had drawn Mim's eye was the photograph, or, more specifically, the subject of the photograph. A pale-skinned woman with a mass of black hair tied up in a knot, in a style rather similar to Mim's own; a woman Mim had last seen dangling from a hot air balloon. The article detailed how this woman, named as "Sheridan Gomez", had been arrested in Go City on charges of theft, and was awaiting trial in Go City Women's Prison.
Mim had immediately set about making arrangements for her journey to Go City; this Sheridan Gomez was the only link she had to the moustachioed man that had been behind the crime of which Mim was accused, and she was determined to catch him. Hopefully, when she revealed the role Sheridan had played in the crime, Mim would be free to set out in pursuit of the man without fear of arrest.
As Mim stepped into the room and heard the door close behind her, however, she found herself wondering how exactly she was going to persuade this criminal to help.
Sheridan Gomez was lounging back on the wooden chair she occupied, inspecting her fingernails as if totally oblivious to the woman being ushered into the room; but when the sound of the door once again being locked echoed through the bare room, she swung the chair forward, the two front legs making a loud click as they came back into contact with the floor, and fixed Mim with a Cheshire-cat grin.
"You really should take those glasses off, kitten; they don't suit you."
Off all the greetings Mim had been expecting, that hadn't been one of them. She stopped halfway between the door and the chair, squinting through the thick lenses at the smirking brunette.
"E-excuse me?" she asked. Sheridan leaned forward, .
"Oh, and the wig, peaches, it looks ridiculous."
"I-I... I don't know what you are talking about, Ms Gomez." Mim replied, pulling herself up and trying to look haughty.
Sheridan's grin vanished, and she leaned back again.
"In that case," she said coldly, "you had better hope that that ridiculous wig stays on your head." She took a deep breath, obviously meaning to sic the guard on Mim.
"Wait!" Mim held up a hand, and was relieved to see Sheridan pause, arching a thin eyebrow, but holding the breath, ready to shout in an instant. Reluctantly, Mim raised her hands to her head, and pulled off both the glasses and the wig. When she focused again on Sheridan, the grin was back on the pale woman's face.
"That's better," the prisoner remarked, as the now unmasked Mim sat down in the empty chair. "Now, let me guess... you're in disguise because your backwater's local flatfoot stitched you up for my crime?"
Mim didn't answer, but she didn't have to; her face flushed red. That was all the confirmation Sheridan needed, and her smirk seemed to widen as she leaned forward and continued: "And in your adorable little attempt to clear your name, you've tracked me down in order to hand me over to the authorities?"
Mim suddenly found her purpose again, and a small smile of triumph touched her lips.
"Exactly."
Sheridan snorted in disbelief and leaned back again, tipping her head back to gaze at the ceiling.
"Typical. And just when I was starting to think you might be interesting."
Once again, Mim was left speechless at the attitude of the woman before her. When she found her voice again, she inquired,
"Interesting? I'm here to prove my innocence, not to provide you with-"
"And what on earth makes you think accusing me is going to do you even the slightest bit of good?" Sheridan answered almost angrily, snapping her gaze back to the redhead. "It's just your word against mine, and if you've already been accused by that fool Demenz, then it's your word against mine and his. In any case," Sheridan seemed to calm down again, and glanced once more at her fingernails. "I was in Europe at the time, so I couldn't possibly have been involved."
"You... you... what?!?" Mim demanded, pushing herself to her feet to tower over the seated Sheridan, "You were in Europe? That's... that's..."
"Exactly what a rather rich friend in Spain will say if anyone asks," Sheridan replied, voice now bored. "What you're asking me to do is move from one prison to another and from one charge of attempted theft to two, and, quite frankly, I imagine that the sewing and laundry routine in Middleton is more or less the same as it is here, so I don't see what's in this for me."
"In it for you?" Mim parroted, still aghast at the foul woman's attitude. "There is absolutely nothing 'in it' for you! You're a criminal! The entire justice system is in place to make sure that there is never anything 'in it' for you!"
"So you'll understand if I'm not chomping at the bit to participate in that system's fun and games," the brunette deadpanned. Mim just stared at the infuriating woman, unable to believe how utterly she had lost control of the conversation, when Sheridan cocked her head and eyed Mim with a speculative gaze; "However..."
"However?" Mim asked, cautiously, sitting back down opposite Sheridan.
"However..." Sheridan echoed, and then paused until she could see Mim about to prompt her, at which point she cut in again, "...if you were to, say, get me out of this little slice of purgatory, I might be persuaded to take you to Lip-" Sheridan cut herself off, biting her lip, before continuing, "... to my previous companion in sin."
"You mean to the man in the hot air balloon," Mim said, more a statement than a question, as she carefully stored away the first syllable 'Lip', for future reference.
"Precisely," Sheridan smirked, "and I'd be putting my glasses and hair on at this point were I you."
For what seemed like the hundredth time that day, Mim gaped at the woman sitting across from her. The words sunk in after a moment, and she grabbed at the fob chain that led to her pocket watch. She snapped open the half hunter and saw that she had about thirty seconds before the guard returned for her. In a panic, Mim threw her wig haphazardly on and scrabbled on the table for her glasses. As she finally pushed the thick spectacles up onto the bridge of her nose, she felt something tugging at her hairpiece. She squinted through her disguise and saw Sheridan leaning over the table, carefully pushing loose red hairs underneath the blonde wig.
"Remember," Sheridan said, her voice low and serious, "get me out of here, and I'll get you your criminal."
The sounds of a key scraping into the door's lock echoed through the room once again, and in an instant Sheridan was back, lounging in her seat, the front two legs off the ground, examining her fingernails once more.
The guard opened the door slowly and stepped into the room.
"I'm afraid your time's up, Ms. Bly," he said politely but firmly.
"Of course." Mim smiled at the man, even though the presence of a uniformed official brought back some of the nervousness she had felt upon arriving at the prison. She stood up, casting a single glance back at Sheridan, who didn't acknowledge the presence of either Mim or the guard, and walked back through the door, and was escorted back to the outside world.
**********
17th of October 1902
The weak moonlight did little to light the rough road outside Middleton, and the dull headlamps of the automobile didn't greatly lift the shadows either. The driver kept their speed down, careful now that the once straight highway began to wind through the woods and fields of the countryside, all the while keeping an eye out for a figure in the darkness.
The car crossed a small brick bridge, and the trees on either side crowded around the road, eclipsing even the meager moonlight. At that instant, a beacon of light shone out of the shadows. As the Mercedes 35HP approached the light, the driver slowed until the car came to a stop.
As the handbrake was pulled, the shadowy figure in the driver's seat turned to look at the bearded face revealed by the handheld gas lamp that had signalled the car.
"Jon," Mim sighed in relief; finally, after more than seventeen weeks, she was able to lay eyes on someone from her past life, and she couldn't have hoped for a kinder face to greet her.
"Hello, Mim," Jonathan Stoppable replied, smiling. His smile faltered somewhat as his eyes adjusted to the light and he saw the rumpled blonde wig sitting on the seat beside Mim. It was a reminder of the cruel circumstances that now forced Jon and his greatest friend to skulk in the shadows like frightened squirrels.
The meeting had not been easy to arrange; a flurry of telegrams and even a hushed conversation over a telephone, from Mim in the Go City Palace Hotel to Jon in the Middlton Police Station, had been needed to coordinate the meeting. Now that they had met, neither seemed entirely sure what to say. Eventually, Mim spoke.
"Do you have any news? Of my family? Of Middleton in general?"
Jon shook his head with a wry smile.
"Nothing new since your last telegram, Mim. Or the eight before it." Jon knew the redhead well enough that he could imagine the slight blush gracing her cheeks. He decided to spare her any embarrassment by continuing, lifting the briefcase he held and holding it out to Mim. "These are all the papers you'll need."
Mim reached out for the case, then paused, her hand hovering mere inches from it.
"Jon..." she asked, uncertainly, "... are you sure about this? I'm risking enough as it is without adding your work and possibly your liberty to the list."
"Take it," Jon answered firmly, pushing the briefcase the few further inches until the handle brushed Mim's palm, "and don't worry about me; all the paperwork is done perfectly, and you know what Barkin is like with paperwork." Jon cracked a smile at the redhead.
As Mim took the case, she returned Jon's smile, but like Jon's, her smile held more than a hint of sadness. Neither knew when they would next meet, or even if they would. As Mim shoved the briefcase into her rented car, she could see Jon fidgeting slightly where he stood. When she stood back upright, Jon burst out;
"For Christ's sake, Mim! Just give me one hour, and I'll be back here ready to help do whatever it takes to clear your name! I can--"
"No," Mim cut in, quietly but firmly. She shook her head at Jon; "Jon, I can't ask you to drop your entire life to help me out of a jam. I can't, and I won't," Mim's voice became softer and she prayed Jon would see reason. "I don't trust Ms. Gomez an inch, but I have no choice but to follow her, because she's the only person who can lead me where I need to go. And if she leads me into the middle of the wilderness instead and flees, she'll leave me with nothing but an ever-increasing list of charges against my name and no hope of ever returning home. I could never... God and all his angels could not force me to put you through that, Jon."
For a moment, Jon looked like he was going to argue, but then his shoulders slumped, and he chuckled humourlessly.
"There really is no changing your mind when you're set on something, is there, Mim?" he asked, shaking his head. Mim smiled slightly.
"Not this time, Jon."
"And you know you just need to send a telegram and I'll be anywhere in the world in a flash?"
"I know. Thank you." What Mim wanted to do was get out of the car and embrace her oldest friend, but the desire was beaten down by two decades of strict upbringing. Instead, she merely said, "I'll send you any news. Just make sure my parents are alright?"
"Of course," Jon nodded. "Goodbye, Mim. Just... sort everything out soon. As you always say, Anything is Possible..."
"... for a Possible," Mim finished with a smile. "Goodbye, Jon... and, again, thank you."
Jonathan Stoppable stepped back from the road as Mim began to turn her automobile to once again face towards Go City and away from her home. As Mim started her journey, she kept glancing over her shoulder back at Jon, until the lone man extinguished his lamp, plunging her into darkness once again.
**********
18th of October 1902
Papers were shifted, keen eyes examining each page. Mim watched Elizabeth D. Smith, Superintendent of Go City Women's Prison, leaf through the documents Jon had given her.
"This is highly unorthodox," the Superintendent said, eyes scanning the papers, and Mim fought hard against the instinct to squirm in her seat.
The documents Miss Smith was scrutinising were orders for the transfer of a prisoner. More than that, they were for the transfer of one Sheridan Gomez to the Middleton Correctional Facility, due to an ongoing investigation into the events of the Tri-City Expo. The most 'highly unorthodox' aspect of all, however, was that the slight, blonde-haired, bespectacled Ms. Bly was to oversee the transfer.
The superintendent glanced up at 'Ms. Bly'; the woman looked, in her opinion, like a scruffy barn owl. The distorting effect of the round lenses made her worried green eyes look twice their size, and if that mess of blonde hair had seen a hairbrush in the last week, then Miss Smith was a leprechaun. Even assuming Ms. Bly was carrying a weapon about her person, Ms. Smith doubted she could aim straight should the prisoner attempt a getaway.
On the other hand... Sheridan Gomez was a nuisance. She taunted the guards and her fellow prisoners indiscriminately, and when she had been placed with the other inmates during the period in which the prisoners used their sewing skills on mailbags, Gomez had stitched some quite, quite unladylike words into the fabric.
And the paperwork was all correct...
"However, I'm sure this Barkin man knows what he is doing," Miss Smith continued, tapping the papers on her desk before turning to her assistant. "Have Ms. Gomez brought here immediately."
"Yes ma'am," the assistant nodded, and left the office. Mim felt herself relaxing in relief, as she thanked fate for the thousandth time that Inspector Barkin was in the habit of just signing all the papers Jon put in front of him.
"Am I to assume you are with the Pinkertons, or the like?" Miss Smith asked Mim, bringing her back to the present.
"Oh... not quite," Mim answered, then cringed internally when she realised she had just invited more questions.
"Hmm," Miss Smith replied, but thankfully didn't follow up; as far as she was concerned, if it meant getting rid of Gomez, she would hand the felon over to a French Gendarme, as long as the paperwork was in order. The prospect of washing her hands of the prisoner made her feel generous... or at least generous enough to offer a warning.
"Ms. Gomez is... a difficult prisoner. I trust you've brought some... aid?"
"Um... oh, of course," Mim answered, thinking of the horse drawn cab, with Mim's luggage already loaded on board, waiting near the prison's main entrance.
"Good," Miss Smith muttered, and the pair lapsed into silence again. The superintendent flipped through the papers, finding those that required her signature, and signed them eagerly, before wordlessly pushing them across the desk for Mim to scrawl an utterly illegible moniker in the few places she was required to.
As Mim lifted the pen from the last signature, the office door opened and a pair of guards walked in, a handcuffed Sheridan Gomez between them. She glanced disinterestedly at Mim, face not bearing a spark of recognition, and turned back to face the superintendent.
"Ms. Gomez," Elizabeth Smith intoned, "I am hereby turning you over to the custody of Ms. Bly, for transportation to Middleton Correctional Facility."
"Oh joy, oh rapture unforeseen," Sheridan replied dryly, not deigning to look at Mim, who stood up from her chair.
"I assume I need not impress upon you the severe penalties that the United States shall impose upon you should you attempt to escape custody, whether during transportation, or indeed after it?" Miss Smith continued seriously.
"And what if I try to escape custody right now?" Sheridan taunted, and the guards placed heavy hands on each shoulder, despite the fact that the woman hadn't moved. "Oh," Sheridan smirked, "right."
"Ms. Bly," the superintendent turned to Mim, "as of this moment, Ms. Gomez is in your custody." A key, presumably to Sheridan's shackles was held out, and Mim accepted it. "I sincerely hope your journey is a safe one, as you'll soon discover that a pleasant one is entirely out of the question."
Mim smiled and thanked the woman before turning to face Sheridan. The two guards stepped back, and Mim gestured to the door, and Sheridan walked out, throwing a farewell over her shoulder;
"Nice meeting you, Lizzie. Choke on something terrible for me, won't you?"
The superintendent's eyes narrowed slightly, but she said nothing.
Mim quickly followed as Sheridan took the lead and wordlessly strode to the main entrance. The guard, who had been told to expect the pair, calmly stood aside as Sheridan walked out into free air.
"Is that your cab, 'Ms. Bly'?" Sheridan asked, nodding to the trap that stood waiting.
"Yes," Mim replied tersely, certain that everything had gone far too smoothly and that any moment now she would hear a dozen uniformed men come running to arrest her.
No such cavalcade was forthcoming, however, and the pair climbed into the cab unmolested. As Mim gave quiet directions to the driver, Sheridan sat down and began to work on her shackles. By the time Mim closed the door and sat down herself, the restraints fell off of Sheridan's wrists with a clatter. Mim stared, wide eyed.
"How... why..."
Sheridan, predictably, smirked.
"Trick of the trade, kitten. Now tell me, how does it feel to be a criminal?"
"Horrid," Mim scowled, "I definitely don't think I'll be making a habit of it."
"Aw, calm down, peaches," Sheridan replied, as the prison disappeared behind a corner, "after all; Ms. Bly is the criminal, and as of this moment..." with a sudden lunge, Sheridan grabbed the blonde wig from Mim's head, and in a smooth movement opened the door and proceeded to fling the object out into the street, even as Mim yelped an objection, "... Ms. Bly doesn't exist." Through the open door, Sheridan called new directions to the driver, who shrugged confirmation, before the escapee closed the door again. "And now, we're going to bring an end to Sheridan Gomez's existence, too."
Mim, who was now holding her arms over her head, and shrinking back from the cab's window, glared at Sheridan.
"You utterly... utterly... insane woman! What the... I'm wanted for theft! And you just throw my disguise literally in the gutter!"
"Aw, calm down, kitten," Sheridan laughed, leaning back in her seat, "if I wanted to get you arrested, I'd have pulled the wig off in Lizzie's office. Look, I guarantee you won't be caught; you trust me, don't you?"
"No," Mim answered flatly, "I most certainly do not."
"Good," Sheridan replied, grinning. "I knew you weren't a fool."
A pounding on the roof of the cab cut short Mim's answer, and Sheridan nimbly jumped out, turning back to say, partly to the driver, partly to Mim, "Stay right there," before disappearing into one of the houses lining the street.
Mim jumped up, preparing to follow, before remembering that she was now exposed in the middle of a city which her imagination populated with hundreds of policemen searching for her. Wracked with indecision, Mim paused, pushed by a desire to pursue Sheridan, pulled by an instinct to hide in the shadows of the cab.
Finally, Mim came to her decision, and dived from the cab, rushing to the door through which Sheridan had disappeared. As she did so, she almost collided with Sheridan coming the other way, resulting in an ungainly attempt by the pair to fit two people in a doorway which was rather narrow for one. In the close quarters, Sheridan smiled at Mim,
"Wow, peaches, and here I was thinking you didn't want to spend time with me."
Mim, who was starting to realise that there was little point in trying to scold the criminal for her taunting, spotted the small box Sheridan was carrying and answered,
"Well, how can I resist when you bring such nice gifts?" and promptly snatched the box from the thief's grasp. It was small, maybe ten inches by five, with an intricate rose bush carved over half of the box, the other half smooth; it looked like a jewellery box, for all intents and purposes.
Mim carefully opened the box, and found a bundle of papers and a small fortune in bank notes. She shifted her gaze to stare accusingly at Sheridan. "Let me guess; more proceeds of your criminal undertakings?"
"Why, kitten, how you misjudge me," Sheridan answered, pulling the papers out, but leaving the money in Mim's possession. "Sheridan Gomez has never so much as looked at that money; this all belongs to Sheryl Gow." Sheridan tapped the papers, which, upon closer inspection, were all either proof of identity or hand written bank statements, each bearing the name 'Sheryl Gow'. Sheridan grinned at Mim's confused expression; "I told you I was going to end Sheridan Gomez's existence."
Mim frowned at the irrepressible woman, and snapped the box shut, hiding the money, and, realising that she and Sheridan, or whomever the damn woman was, were still uncomfortably close, stepped back out of the door, and commanded,
"Just get in the cab."
"At once, your highness," Sheridan mock bowed, walking calmly back to the cab. "Train station, please," she directed the driver, who nodded as his passengers climbed in, before cracking the reins and setting the cab in motion.
"Train station?" Mim asked, as Sheridan took the box from her, and set about quickly counting the money it held.
"Indeed," Sheridan said, not looking up. "If you want to catch Lipsky, we need to get the first train possible to California."
"Lipsky?" Mim asked, jumping on the name, "Is that the man you were working for?"
"Oh no, kitten," Sheridan laughed, "I wasn't being paid enough to count it as work. I was aiding Lipsky; Bartholomew Lipsky, to be exact."
"And what about you?" Mim countered, "What do I call you... to be exact?"
Sheridan shook her head,
"Oh no, peaches; I'm not giving you my real name, just for you to put me on a wanted poster as soon as we turn Lipsky in; Sheridan is as good a name as any."
Mim nodded, knowing it was the best she was going to get at this point, and stuck her hand out.
"Mim Possible," she said formally, "and no jokes about the name, I've heard them all a thousand times already."
"Heh, I liked 'kitten' better anyway," Sheridan answered, shaking the proffered hand. "I'm guessing the pleasure is all mine?"
"Well it's definitely not mine," Mim answered with a wry smile, before settling back in her seat. "So Lipsky is in California? That's a long journey."
Sheridan chuckled.
"If you think California is a long way away, the trip we're about to take is going to look like a regular Odyssey."