The name of this chpt is from the song The Way We Were, sung by Barbra Streisand, from the movie by the same name.

Ron Possible has nicknames for Mr. and Mrs. Dr. P., whom he knew in his youth: Grimpy and Granna.

A HEROINE'S LEGACY:

THE KIMMUNICATOR GIFT

chpt 2

mem'ries may be beautiful, and yet, / what's too painful to remember…

Everything Ron promised was contained in the Kimmunicator's data bank...and more.

Her life was there. The mission logs. All the home videos. The snapshots. Her first steps. Her birthdays. Her class pictures. The family vacations. The holidays. The Proms. Graduation. Even the video her father had prepared for high speed viewing when she had lost her memory. And using modern technology, the scenes had been rendered into a three dimensional holographic format.

Kim laughed. And wept.

Her nephew had included scenes of life's pageant as it had unfolded while she was buried. Her funeral. Her Beloved, Ronald Eugene Stoppable, held little Hana on his lap. The little girl looked up with big inquisitive eyes. The little voice was heard plainly over soft organ music. "Bru-ther? Where Kay-pee?"

And Ron had to answer with quivering jaw and tears flowing from his eyes, "K.P.'s in Heaven, Hana."

The little girl looked bewildered. "Heben?"

Ron looked like he would start bawling. "Yeah, Hana. Heben."

Kim institutively reached up toward the three-dimensional image. In that moment, the long-dormant babysitter longed to take the little girl and hug her desperately…

…Until she glimpsed the withered skeletal limbs she had for arms. Then she folded her arms on her chest and sulked furiously. At that particular time, more than fifty-five years ago, Kim was so not in "Heben." She was slowly rotting to death, in Regina King's backyard, under a slab of cement. In this damned mausoleum.

In a moment, the fit passed. And she continued to scroll through the recordings.

The years rolled by. There were her brothers' proms. Their high school graduations. Their college graduations. Their weddings. Their families.

Kim's parents gradually grew old. The grey appeared on James Timothy's temples. Anne's bright auburn hair faded to ashen grey. The lines on their faces deepened. Their shoulders stooped. James Timothy's tall erect bearing slowly wilted. His spirit slowly flagged.

There were moments Kim had to pause the recording and weep with despair.

There was Monique and Wade's wedding. Their children. Monique's funeral, after her murder. Then Wade's memorial service, after his death of grief.

Her parents' funerals. Cousin Joss' funeral, after her death, when Sheldon Director, aka Gemini, self-destructed the WorldWide Evil Empire headquarters. Such bittersweetness.

And also was the tale of the one who had been the cause of her misery. Tara René King. The Cheer Squad videos. There she was. At the games. At the Middleton Days. With Josh Mankey. At the junior prom. With Jason Morgan. At Lake Wannaweep. Making big defenseless eyes and little helpless screams in Ron's direction. It was sickening. It was pathetic.

There was Tara King's and Ron Stoppable's wedding. And the chronicle of Tara and Ron's children.

There were moments Kim reverted to her demonic anger. She screamed and railed at Tara and Ron's nuptials. She stalked and circled the holographic images while Tara and Ron traded their vows. She hissed and yowled like a frenzied cat at Tara.

"I, Ronald Eugene Stoppable, take thee, Tara René King, to be my lawful wedded wife-after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony…"

"Ron!" screamed Kim. "Don't you hear me? I'm here. Please! Look at me!

"I, Tara René King, take thee, Ronald Eugene Stoppable, to be my lawful wedded husband-after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony…"

"You bitch! You buried me alive! I'll kill you! I'll rip your hair out! I'll rip your eyes out! I'll take your head off! Just like he did to me!"

She freeze-framed the moment Tara said "I do" to Ron Stoppable. She circled Tara's three-dimensional image as the blushing bride, like a feral animal stalking its prey, hissing and snarling. She tried to leap on it and slash at it with her clawed fingers.

She snatched the Kimmunicator from her wrist and hurled it against the wall, screaming with her old crazed fury...

..."Damn you, Tara! I hope to God you're burning in Hell! YOU CHEAP FUKKING WHORE BITCH…!

...Only to take the device up again and clasp it to her breast, like a little girl cuddling her beloved toy, whispering, "I'm sorry...I'm sorry…I didn't mean it."

But Wilmont Load had made the thing sturdy. It withstood all her ferocity.

After the fit had passed, Kim huddled in the corner, sobbing. Ron…why did you do this to me? Why did you play me?" Did she mean Ron Stoppable for marrying her murderer? Or Ron Possible for reminding her?

And it was with a subdued and cowed behavior that Kim greeted her nephew on his next visit.

Kim heard the sound through of his arrival in the pump room.

"Hello, Aunt Kim," said the kind voice.

Kim had to suppress a sudden sob. The dear voice was like a lifeline. But she also had a score to settle…a burning question to be answered. She heaved a sigh. "Ron...I behaved like a total frikking fiend! I was absolutely freaking out! I was a monster all over again! Why did you let me see this...all the footage of your grandfather and Tara? Please tell me you knew what you were doing when you gave me this."

His voice was sad. "Yes, Aunt Kim. I could feel your anger last night. I anticipated you would react just the way you describe."

Kim wanted to vent again as she had earlier. She wanted to roar in infernal satanic anger. She wanted the walls to reverb ate with her unleashed horrid fury. But it came out a half sob...a frightened little squeak. "Ron…why?"

In the pump room, Ron knelt against the wall that faced the cistern. His aunt's plaintive little plea wrung his heart. He put his hand to the wall. He put his cheek to the wall. The yearning swelled in his chest. If only he could coax her out. If only he could enter the chamber to be with her. "Because you're my heroine, and I've promised to always tell you the truth. You don't deserve any less. Grandma's lies put you in that prison. And because it's necessary. You have sixty years of anger you have to get out of your system."

"Ron…! My anger was my defense mechanism! I know this sounds totally inconsistent...but...making myself angry enough to get out and kill Ron and Tara's children is what kept me alive! And now...I'm afraid to stay...but more afraid to come out! What am I supposed to do?"

Ron hesitated. "Aunt Kim...he began. What do I tell her? "It's...it's like your first day at Pre-K! You wanted to stay home and take care of your baby sister...but Grimpy told you what a wonderful time you would have once you made friends. Or...or...your first mission! Once you confronted a real 'danger major', you thought you were too braggy! Well...now you have a chance to do it all! It's win-win! You can meet a new friend...and take care of a child...and rescue someone! Me!"

"Ron!" she snarled. "You idiot!" Don't you understand?" And for just a moment, she sounded like the old tweaked Kim of old.

But it was temporary. "I can't do anything anymore! I'm the one who's trapped! I'm the child in the womb! I'm the stupid CuddleBuddy collector who got caught in the laser web!"

In desperation, Ron took out his Ronnunicator and began tapping the controls. "Aunt Kim...I'm coming in."

"You're…what?" Kim was baffled. Coming in? What was he talking about? "No! Wait! Tell me what you mean…!"

She received her answer. A glowing image materialized in the cistern. Kim huddled against the wall, deathly afraid.

The image took shape. She gasped. It was…it was…

His hair was long…gathered in a pony tail. His beard was full. Yet, for all that, he was her Ron. The stickout ears. The long oval face. The lanky limbs. The baggy clothes. She had only glimpsed him through the pipe the first night he had talked to her.

And here he was in his wholeness. Her grandnephew was uniquely himself, yet indistinguishable from her heart's true love. His freckles, twinkling brown eyes, and goofy grin were ever-present, even after two generations. A perfect likeness of his grandfather. The voice that had stolen her hatred now had a face. He was a living icon of the one who had loved her, and then imprisoned her, and then loved her again.

Kim felt defenseless...exposed. It was too soon. She wasn't ready. She responded in animal panic, covering her face with her arms. "Ron!" she screeched in mortal terror. "Don't look at me!"

He knelt before her, in all his unmarred beauty. "I'm only projecting a hologram, Aunt Kim. And I can't see you. Only the physical outline of your bio-scan." He extended his hand. "Look...I'm not here...and I'm not a ghost. Just an image...a three-dimensional holographic image."

The splendor of his smile. The glory of his gaze. There was a lump in her throat. Oh, God! I never really imagined…

One who has confessed a religious doctrine all their lives becomes accustomed to repeating the words over and over, by rote. When confronted with a genuine visitation, it is a genuine shock. One who has listened to the voice of a favorite radio announcer always reacts with stunned surprise when finally beholding the announcer's face.

She suddenly realized how his presence night after night was, until now, only an academic exercise. Here was the reality. Living and breathing. Only feet away. No longer was the cistern protecting him from her. It was protecting her from him.

Kim reached out toward the image...then snatched her hand back, as though burned. She cringed further and drew her body into a tight little ball, her knees up to her chin. She hid her face in her arms.

Her voice was a frightened little plaint. "Ron...it's too much...please leave! If you love me…please leave!"

Dismay shown in the honest brown eyes. The image smiled sadly and slowly faded from view.

Kim took the Kimmunicator from her wrist and held it up to the pipe, like an offering. "Ron!" she pled in a subdued voice, "Please...take this back...I can't stand it. The sunlight. The memories. The Kimmunicator. I'm like the prisoner who's been locked up too long. I can't come out."

And the firm gentle refusal was equally subdued. "I can't take back what I've given you...any more than you can take back the effect you've had on me. You captured my heart the night I heard your voice. You've imprinted yourself on me, Aunt Kim. Now and forever, I'm bound to you."

There was a great sadness in his voice. An eternal sorrow, aching for consolation. Yet also a placid flowing river. Or a pond, mirror-like in its stillness. It had her father's authority, her mother's tenderness, and her nana's ancient venerability. It flowed around her, like a warm bath. It soothed her, like a deep massage.

Her own inner self rose up in protest. It's a trick! He's playing you! Just like Tara did! Her and her fukking box of CuddleBuddies. Only with him, it's ferociously unethical Mystical Monkey mind control! Don't give in!

Kim replied, out of all her sense of frustration and inadequacy. Her voice rose to a wail. "Ron...I know you don't mean it this way...but this is cruelty! You're teasing me! You're making promises you can't keep!" She choked back a sob.

In that moment, Kim both loved and bitterly resented her grandnephew for the gentle tyranny he exercised over her. His was the first face she had seen in completeness in decades. And it was a face of childlike love and eagerness. Everything he did only served to bond her heart more firmly to his.

Ron was aware of her feeling of powerlessness. It was coming through in her voice. And he felt his own inadequacy. He had indeed done the thing deliberately. His years as a teacher and his reading of clinical literature had convinced him that his great-aunt needed to work through her anger and hatred. He had no experts he could consult for such a dilemma as weaning a heart so lacerated with pain and so soaked with the venom of hate back to tenderness. His Sensei had given him her blessing and encouragement. But Yoriko-sama had no more insight into this matter than her student did.

What was I thinking? I should have anticipated this! He rebuked himself, calling himself the word she had called him. I'm an idiot! I thought I had foreseen every eventuality!

He was at a loss. What do I do? What do I say? I was ready to put up with all her rage...but her sense of helplessness? "Aunt Kim..." and he hesitated.

What should I tell her, Lord? Grandpa...what would you say to her?

Ron began again. He spoke slowly and softly. "Aunt Kim...watch it again tonight. Pay close attention to your junior prom…the night your love came to fruition. Then watch your funeral. Then my parents' wedding…the marriage of the girl named after you, and the son of your brother Tim. The union of two families. The marriage that should've been you and my grandfather. Look closely at the man you love as he beholds the daughter with your name. See into his eyes.

"And…it you can endure it…even watch the wedding of the man you love and the woman who sealed you up in that cistern. From the time you disappeared, the light was gone out of his eyes. In their happiest years together, it was never there again. The only times it even came close to coming back was his kids were born. The eyes are the reflection of the soul, Aunt Kim."

Ron prayed desperately for his aunt's waning spirit. His heart cried out to the Father in Heaven, with unspoken groans, too deep even for conscious words.

And in the place that had intended for her tomb, Kim was continuing to experience a painful birth. Her nephew continued to astonish her. Not merely the voice...which could sound like his grandfather one moment and her father the next moment...not merely the face...the messy blond hair, the freckles, the big ears, the brown eyes...which made him a veritable clone of her Beloved...but the bow...the way he fell to his knee...like a knight before a Queen. And the gaze in his eyes. A word came to her mind for it. Adoration.

The impression that awakened in her heart with the beam of sunlight several nights ago awakened again...that she still had inner beauty. The realization of several nights before the sunlight also renewed itself. Within her nephew was contained all his ancestors...her Beloved...her brothers...her parents...her nana...and even her former Cheer Squad friend. It was in his eyes...his voice...his smile...his mannerisms.

She shivered. Every year while he was alive, Ron Stoppable offered to join her in the cistern. After him, Tara made the same offer. And after her, came this most remarkable young man, wielding a weapon against which Kim had no defense...love.

And it had come to pass. Ron Possible had come into the cistern. Unbidden, and even unwanted. Yet he came humbly, with lowly demeanor, like a mendicant, a begging friar. He sought the most simple of gifts, just assurance of her love. And he bestowed a holy man's peace and blessing.

He brought with him a sense of majesty. She was helpless before him. Her heart was in his hand.

But what he took, he also gave back. He had conferred a sense of majesty upon her. He had placed his heart in her hand...with his continual visits...and the gift of the Kimmunicator.

Kim took a deep breath. "I'll watch it again, Ron...like you asked."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. In a way, it was like trying to coax Rufus with a naco...or his grandfather to accept Frederick, the Middleton Space Center monkey...or his aunt to accept Roachie. But he kept these thoughts to himself. "Badical!" he said.

And in her place, Kim stifled a giggle. The way he spoke the single word...it sounded so like her Beloved...it made her heart melt. If she had been able, she would have shed tears of joy. "Ron? Will you be back? Tomorrow?"

"Yes, Aunt Kim. I'll always come back for you. Until the day I die. I love you. Good night."

"G-good night, Ron. I love you, too."

And what her nephew told her was true. The light she knew in the eyes of her Beloved...the light she had seen in the eyes of his grandson...had disappeared after she disappeared.

Kim huddled in the corner and wept quietly. "Oh, Ron...I miss you...I love you...please...somehow...talk to me...in my dreams...in my heart."

to be continued