DISCLAIMER: Nothing belongs to me if you've seen it on TV. There's a lot of Christmas stuff I don't own, either. Who knows how much of that will get dragged outta the attic. Soundtrack for this chapter: Nothing to Fear by Oingo Boingo; Romance 76 by Peter Baumann; Ages by Edgar Froese.

"So anyway," Ron was saying, halfway watching the Crepuscular Region marathon on the sci-fi channel, "Monique says hi."

"Uh-huh." Kim had ducked into the bedroom, looking for something. Something she hadn't needed for a while.

"Oh yeah, she's expecting."

"That's nice…" Too bad the Battlesuit had broken down again, but Wade had never been able to completely repair it after Dementor tried to seize it by remote-control, back in her senior year of high school. The Bavarian madman had been obsessed with its powers. His last attempt to steal it was shortly before the Lorwardian invasion; since then, he had escaped prison and apparently gone into hiding.

She definitely hadn't missed him. Of all her numerous adversaries, only Shego was as vicious as the minuscule scientist, and even she would balk at throwing a teenager into a pool of acid.

Not Dementor. She'd seen it done.

"KP, are you even listening? I saw Monique in town today. And she's expecting!"

The words finally hit home. A vortex of emotion swirled through Kim's heart. She hadn't seen Monique since her promotion to Club Banana Zone Manager. She'd relocated to Cincinnati, and there she'd met Denis Langevin, the most handsome hunk on Earth. In a whirlwind romance, he had swept her off her feet.

At least that was the version posted on Myspacebook. For all of her professional veneer, Monique could still gush like a schoolgirl online.

Kim was happy for them both.

There was some envy there, too. Sometimes she feared that she'd been exposed to one too many dimensional vortexes, been hit with one too many plasma blasts, tied to one too many doomsday devices, even though the doctors had assured them both that all was well. So why didn't they have a son, a daughter?

It wasn't like they hadn't tried.

She walked into the darkened living room, where the ancient, black-and-white image of Rob Sterling, Crepuscular Region's near-legendary narrator, was intoning the upcoming episode's trademark dire prediction: "Submitted for your approval, a woman waiting for an answer. Unaware that answer will open the door…to The Crepuscular Region."

Ron lowered the recliner a little more as the theme music began its eerie twanging. "It's the one where the woman's in the hospital having plastic surgery. When they take off the bandages she's beautiful, but on that planet our beautiful is their ugly, so she's actually gruesome."

"Uh-huh."

"It's titled 'A Matter of Perspective'."

"Why not 'Eye of the Beholder?'

"KP." He sighed. "That would have been way too obvious."

Another TV show that wouldn't die. You could watch The Crepuscular Region on some channel every hour of the day. Rotated forever in syndication, it had never been off the air since its cancellation in the mid-1960s. You could probably see it online as well.

Not like Snowman Hank.

"How many times have you seen that episode?" she asked.

"I dunno. Two or three. Hundred. It's a classic. Did you hear what I told you?"

"About Monique, yeah, that's great. Spankin'." She hesitated. "I've got something I have to do."

"What's that?" He stood up, reached for the light switch. "More Christmas shopping? I still need to get something for Hana – " He fell silent.

She was clad in her mission garb, a strange, indecisive expression on her beautiful face.

Not many other women her age can still get in their high-school clothes, he thought. Not many other women spent their high-school years saving the world in their spare time. Once again he was reminded what a lucky man he was.

When he spoke, he was quiet, serious. "Kim, what is it?"

"Wade's in some sort of trouble. He left me a message; time and coordinates. " She glanced at the old-fashioned cuckoo clock on the wall, the clock Ron had given her on their first Christmas together as man and wife. Six-thirty. "It's time to go. I – I didn't know if I should tell you."

He was shocked. "Why?"

"I don't know." She shook her head, as if shaking off an evil spell. "Yes I do. We haven't done this for what – four, five years? I felt like – I felt like I'd be pushing something on you."

"Wade's in trouble – and you figured I'd rather stay home and watch Rob Sterling yammer on for the thousandth time?"

"Three hundred and first. And it wasn't like that. Really." I've gone this far; might as well spill. "You don't ever talk about it. About our school years. The missions. It's like you've – put it behind you. "

"And you haven't?"

"I met a fan the other day."

"That's good –"

"Former fan."

"Not so good."

"She wanted to know all about Shego and Drakken. 'She's such a hero. Saved the world and all. Their wedding was sooo romantic.'"

The sarcastic edge in her voice made him wonder where this was heading. Even after all these years, KP was still a mystery to him.

She didn't keep him wondering long. "Ron, they don't even remember us. You saved the world, not Shego. She was lying unconscious in a pile of rubble. Just like I was. "

"Shego and Drakken are still high-profile. They're constantly on The Paparazzi Network. Everywhere they go, everything they do. I guess they like it that way." He suspected that Shego liked it far more than Drakken, but that wasn't important at the moment. "Our lives are different. We chose to retire. We chose to get out of the limelight. You're a teacher. I'm a Smarty Mart manager."

"A teacher who's also a special diplomatic envoy to the UN. A Smarty Mart manager who studies tai sheng pek kwar at Yamanouchi."

"Never mind that. People are fickle, Kim. Yesterday's news means nothing to them." It was time to drop this subject. "So what's with Wade? Sitch me."

Hearing him use the word brought a small smile to her face. "He – ah – he was looking into some things for me, and somehow he got in over his head." No need to tell him about Snowman Hank. He might still find that under the Christmas tree. "I'll fill you in on the way."

The Sloth pulled out, took off down the street. A minute later, Myron's sedan followed it at a distance. Dementor had been very displeased with his performance thus far, especially with the price of gasoline what it was. This time, he thought, I'll prove my quality. "I won't let you down, BIL," he told the steering wheel, and promptly ran a red light.

Officer Cosgrove was unsympathetic. "So what's with the goofy pajamas? And the weird hat?"

Think fast, Myron. "I'm – uh – an elf. Christmas party. C'mon, officer, I'll be late. Give me a break."

"Elf?" The policeman raised a derisive eyebrow. "You look more like the deranged minion of an evil scientist. Or something."

"It's – it's a sophisticated, ironic comment on Christmas. You know, elves are Santa's minions, and Santa is pretty judgmental, with the whole naughty-and-nice thing. Not unlike an evil scientist, or some other form of dictator –"

"I hate irony. Here's your ticket."

The Sloth was long out of sight. Myron drove off, muttering to himself.

Unknown to either the Stoppables or their erstwhile stalker, another person had joined the impromptu caravan, leaping nimbly from rooftop to rooftop, keeping the vehicles in sight with practiced ease. A feral cat sprang out of the shadows, surprising the lithe figure; a small bolt of green plasma sent the creature howling back into the dark.

She cursed under her breath. That shouldn't have happened. She was too tense, too ready to fight. It had been some time since she'd done anything like this; she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, felt her heartbeat slow down, her mind clear. A master thief does nothing out of fear or nervousness. A master thief finds their centre, works with confidence, has everything under control. And she was a master thief.

Among other things.

A moment later she vaulted off again, into the night.