Tradition might have dictated that on one's wedding day, the groom ought not see the bride before the ceremony. But it was also tradition for Ron Stoppable to drop by the Possible household for Saturday breakfast, and given a choice between wedding folklore and food, Ron – to absolutely no one's surprise – chose food.
"Bon-diggity as usual, Mrs. Dr. P," Ron told Kim's mother, polishing off a second plate of brain-shaped waffles.
She smiled at him, spatula in hand. "Thank you, Ronald. More eggs, Kimberly?"
Kim shook her head. "I'm stuffed, Mom. Any more and I won't fit into my dress."
"Well, if you're sure. Nana?"
As Ann Possible circled the breakfast table offering seconds, Kim turned in her chair to face Ron. "We need to talk," she said softly, "in private. There's something—"
Ron blinked. "Um, isn't the in-private stuff supposed to wait till after the ceremony?"
His fiancée blushed. "Not that kind of something. Treehouse in ten?"
"Treehouse in ten," Ron agreed.
Exactly ten minutes later, Ron climbed up and clambered into the treehouse. "So," he asked, "what's the big secret?"
Kim tried to glare, but the expression collapsed into frustration. "This is serious, Ron," she said. "And it really is a big secret. You can't tell anyone else – most especially not Dad."
Ron blinked. "Whoa there. This isn't a black-hole-type secret, is it? You haven't--?"
"No, I haven't," Kim told him, "any more than you have. It's not me – it's Mom. Only it sort of is me, too . . . darnit," she said, throwing up her hands, "this is way complicated."
"Slow down, KP," Ron said. "So it's a Mom-thing but not a Dad-thing, and a you-thing but you haven't . . . ." All at once, the metaphorical light bulb went on. "Ohhh! You mean – your mom did the wild thing with – somebody else?" He gulped. "I am so not sure I want to know this."
Kim gave him a pleading look. "I wish I didn't have to tell you," she said, "but I do, because it is partly about me. And it's kind of – awkweird, too." As quickly as she could, she spun out the story for Ron.
"So genetically," she finished, several minutes later, "my parents are Mom and – Monkey Fist."
Ron eyes went very wide. "Monkey Fist?" he echoed. "But you don't have monkey hands and feet!"
Kim giggled, but it was a high-pitched, half-hysterical giggle. "It happened way before DNAmy did that. Still," she added, reflectively, "it would kind of explain the mad kung fu skills."
"Could be," Ron said. "So what are the rules for something like this? I mean, technically, you're the blood kin of my evil arch-nemesis – does that mean we have to duel to the death or something? Because that would be sick and wrong."
"Totally sick and wrong," Kim agreed, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "But this still changes everything. Maybe I'm not a monkey girl, but I'm still . . . his girl, and look how he turned out. And there's probably some prophecy about how I'll betray you and steal your mystic monkey power, or we'll have freaky monkey babies, or – well, something!" The floodgates broke, and she crumpled onto the floor of the treehouse, sobbing.
Ron stared at hs fiancée silently for a moment, then cast his eyes heavenward and said very, very softly, "Why did it have to be monkeys?"
Then, however, he took two steps, lifted Kim up by the shoulders, and folded her firmly into his arms. "Kim, Kim, Kim," he said gently into her ear. "You are not a freaky monkey girl. You are not the subject of an evil monkey prophecy. And you are not Monty the Monkey's anything, except maybe his second-worst nightmare after me. You are Kim Possible, you can do anything . . . and that includes getting married to a weird blond guy with a naked mole rat and maybe some mystic monkey powers that he never really wanted anyway. Are we clear on that?"
A heavy, labored breath whooshed past Ron's own ear, and Kim lifted her head off of his shoulder. "You really still want to do this?" she asked, her voice quavering.
"I really do, KP," he told her firmly. "What DNAmy's mom did to your mom was completely and totally wrongsick, but it's not your fault, it's not your mom's fault, and it doesn't change who you are. And," he added, "if we're going to get to our own wedding on time, we'd both better go start getting ready. That sound like a plan?"
"Sounds like a plan," Kim agreed, reluctantly detaching herself from Ron's embrace. "But after the honeymoon, remind me to track down Dr. Hall Senior and kick her mad-scientific butt halfway to China."
"Got it," Ron said. "Now let's get moving, before your dad decides we're jumping the gun and fires up one of his rockets."
Kim laughed – a genuine laugh this time. "Race you!" she said, and leaped for the ladder.
Kim slipped her feet into the silver-chased white slippers, stood up, and pirouetted. "How do I look?"
"LTMBBBITES," responded Monique. "Like the most bon-diggity beautiful bride in the entire state, that is," she translated as the aforementioned bride waved an amused (and white-gloved) hand in her direction.
"Spoken like the most gorgeous maid of honor ever," Kim retorted.
"You got that right, girlfriend," Monique said. "This outfit looks entirely too delicious to be a bridesmaid's dress. Whose favor did you have to call in to pull that off?" While Kim was in classic bridal white, Monique's dress was purest silver in color, though the fabric was textured so that it merely seemed to glow gently rather than giving off a blinding metallic reflection. The design was a simple sheath slit from the hemline to just below the knee; above the waist, a glittering jeweled silver choker secured triangular front and rear panels that left Monique's arms and shoulders bare. For the ceremony, a slender teardrop of twinkling forest green gleamed at the chest, but both girls knew it could be easily zippered out later to create a strategically sensual keyhole bodice suitable for livelier evening affairs.
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Kim told her. She wasn't sure she believed it herself – and she probably wouldn't have if she hadn't seen Rufus sketch the outfit himself, drawing on a leftover Bueno Nacho napkin.
Her own dress was a different matter; it had been her mother's, and her maternal grandmother's before that. Despite being nearly eighty years old, it too was classically simple; glistening layers of snow-white silk, very lightly accented with hand-stitched lace at the collar, bodice, and shoulders, the neckline a modest scoop. The original veil had been lost some time after her mother's wedding, so Nana Possible had contributed hers, which sat on the desk next to Kim. The elbow-length white gloves were new – and as for "something blue", well, that was for Ron to appreciate come nighttime.
There was a knock at the office door, and Monique went to answer it. Deciding the wedding's location had been a challenge, given the need to accommodate both Ron's and Kim's backgrounds, until Kim's father had settled the matter by suggesting the Space Center. The ceremony itself would take place in the center's planetarium, almost literally under the stars, and empty offices had been turned into dressing rooms for the two halves of the wedding party.
"Who-hey! Ah-ch--!" Monique's exclamation was abruptly cut off, and Kim turned toward the door – to find Shego muscling through it, with Dr. Drakken bustling along behind her. Monique, meanwhile, was sprawled on the floor, a spray-mister dropped carelessly beside her.
"Oh, don't tell me," Kim said, taking a careful step backward; her grandmother's wedding gown had definitely not been designed for combat, and she wasn't ready to sacrifice it just yet. "If you wanted to be in the wedding party, Shego, you should've said something."
The mercenary grinned, acknowledging Monique's sleeping form with a quick tilt of her head. "If I'd known the outfits would be that hot, I might have. Relax, Princess -- I don't want to ruin that dress any more than you do."
"Oh, really? Then what are you two doing here?" Kim demanded.
Drakken smiled, holding up a device Kim didn't recognize. "Just conducting a little test," he said, and pressed a button.
"Test? Of wh--?" Abruptly, Kim's entire body tingled and stiffened, and she found herself cut off in mid-word, completely unable to move.
"Well, what do you know," Shego said. "Instant action figure. Looks like the puppet-whatsit actually works."
"Puppetronic Command Unit," Drakken corrected. "Thanks to the smartsilk thread I added to your wedding dress, Kim Possible, I can control your every move." He made a small adjustment to the controls, and Kim's jaw tingled and unfroze. "Now don't scream, my dear, or I'll just have to paralyze you again. Oh, and one other thing: it is possible to freeze a body so totally that it stops breathing and pumping blood. I lost two synthodrones that way last week."
Kim didn't scream, but she gave Drakken a glare fiery enough to melt half of Antarctica. "You do realize if you sabotage my wedding, Ron's liable to let his inner Zorpox go all evil on you?"
Drakken shuddered, but then took a deep breath. "The buffoon is not our concern," he said. "Bring her, Shego – our patron is waiting."
Kim had just time to get out "Patron?" before Drakken twitched the controller again, silencing her, and no amount of willpower permitted her the slightest motion as Shego picked her up, turned her sideways, and carried her out of the office as if she were a golf bag.
To her surprise, the duo didn't take her out of the Space Center. Instead, they slipped quietly along a series of empty corridors until they reached a rarely-used freight elevator. Shego kept Kim turned away from the controls, so she couldn't tell what button Drakken had pushed, but the descent took almost a full minute.
They emerged from the elevator into a large, dark chamber. A Darth Vader-like synthesized voice rumbled out of the shadows: "Set her on the platform." A series of tightly focused lights marked a path to a slightly raised square illuminated by a bright overhead spotlight, and Shego easily hauled Kim to the designated spot, setting her in place as if placing a doll atop a wedding cake.
A pair of monitors lit up beyond the platform, one showing the Space Center planetarium and the gathered wedding guests, the other a view of the parking lot. Off to one side, just barely within Kim's field of vision, another overhead light flicked on, revealing a tall black-cloaked figure whose face was obscured by a flowing hood. In one hand, the stranger held a compact wooden rod, from one end of which a narrow, razor-sharp blade curved in a three-quarter circle arc to end in a needle-pointed tip.
From within the hood the electronic voice sounded again. "Greetings, Kimberly Ann; I am the Scythe." Lifting his weapon hand, he made a very small gesture toward Drakken, who again adjusted the puppetronic controller to permit Kim to speak.
"Creepy special effects much?" Kim said. "So not impressed. Let me guess, you're the supervillain in charge of Halloween?"
The Scythe gave a brief laugh. "Hardly. I am the hand of truth and the end of lies – and today, it shall be your lie that comes to an end."
Kim's eyes widened slightly. "Been there, done that, returned the battlesuit," she said, though she was certain that wasn't the issue the Scythe had in mind.
"Enough," the Scythe responded. "Dr. Drakken – I require the command unit."
The blue-skinned scientist swallowed nervously but obeyed, crossing the chamber to where his cloaked co-conspirator stood. By the time he reached the dais, the Scythe had slung his weapon over a shoulder, then reached out with a gloved hand and plucked the puppetronic controller from Drakken's fingers. Then Drakken scurried back toward the elevator, while the Scythe stepped down from his platform and strode calmly to Kim's.
As he walked, he expertly manipulated the command unit's controls. In response, Kim's head turned more directly toward the wall monitors, her left arm lowered until it hung straight down, and her right arm rose, bending at the elbow, her outstretched hand opening – all while Kim herself watched, a prisoner in her own body, utterly unable to resist.
"Now," said the Scythe as he reached her side, "the instrument of your fate." Smoothly, he unslung his namesake weapon from his shoulder, lightly set the handle in Kim's open palm, and made a series of careful, precise adjustment with the puppetronic unit – closing her hand over the scythe in a firm grip, then lifting it by degrees until Kim's fist was nearly in front of her face and positioning the sweeping, curved blade so that it very nearly encircled her slender neck, scant inches from her skin.
Finally the Scythe stepped back, apparently satisfied. "When the time comes, Kimberly Ann," he said, "your lie will end by your own hand."
"You have got to be kidding," came Shego's voice from where she stood near the elevator. "That's way past wrongsick into whacked. Princess, let's get you out of here." The mercenary was outside Kim's field of vision, but she could hear the sound of Shego launching herself into a handspring—
—followed by a heavy thud as the Scythe flicked two small switches on the puppetronic command unit. "I think not," he said, his gravelly electronic voice sounding almost amused. "Your interference was foreseen and planned for. I would not attempt that," he added, "unless you wish to join your employer's synthodrones in oblivion."
The Scythe calmly turned back toward Kim. "There is no escape, Kimberly Ann," he said. "Your ending is about to be written."
Outside the Space Center planetarium, Kim Possible's wedding party huddled nervously, waiting for the bride to emerge from the ladies' room.
Inside the ladies' room, the bride whispered just as nervously into the nearly invisible microphone hidden in the lace that edged her veil. "Something is wrong!" Yori murmured. "Kim Possible had already vanished when I arrived at the robing room – and Monique thought that Shego and Doctor Drakken had been there! You said that she would not be harmed!"
Monkey Fist's voice crackled softly into her ear. "If those two bumblers are here, it is none of my doing – and as we both know, their odds of actually defeating Kim Possible are practically nil. That they appear to have distracted her from attending her own wedding is merely our unexpected good fortune. I trust your own masquerade is proceeding in good order?"
"It seems so," Yori replied. "But this American-style wedding attire is very – constricting." It was also, she had to admit, curiously attractive; Fiske's monkey ninjas had been spying on the preparations for weeks, and had supplied him with enough information to have Kim's wedding ensemble copied down to the last detail. Between the duplicate costume and the alterations to her hair and skin tone, Yori was now Kim's near-perfect double; indeed, according to the records Monkey Fist had shown her, the two of them had apparently been twins of a sort from the beginning. And while she did not fully trust Fiske, two things were certainly true: joining his genes and Ron's would end the feud between Monkey Fist and Yamanuchi once and for all – and she could not refuse the opportunity to bring about such an ending, especially not by fulfilling her own heart's desire.
"This is a wedding, not a Tai Shing Pek Kwar exercise," Fiske snapped over the voice link. "Time to get on with it!"
"As you say, Lord Fiske," Yori murmured. Straightening, she drew as deep a breath as she could given her attire, brushed a hand across her skirts, and glided out of the restroom.
"About time, girl," Monique told her. "Let's get this done before Blue Boy and his girl wonder show up again."
"Yes," Yori said. "It's time." She waved Tara and Joss forward as the Tweebs opened the planetarium's main entrance doors. Organ music rolled outward, echoing from the state-of-the-art speaker system, as the bridal procession made its way up the isle to the center of the domed chamber, where a space had been cleared for the principals to stand next to the massive star projector. Above them, a spectacular starscape shone brightly down, wheeling slowly as the bride-to-be approached Ron's side. Glancing up to admire the spectacle, Yori reflected that it also represented a bit of good fortune; controlling the complex projection system meant that Mr. Dr. Possible could not walk his daughter down the aisle and give her away – and that meant her masquerade didn't have to pass the scrutiny of Kim's own father at close range.
She gathered her thoughts as she reached her place next to Ron, hoping that the vows she'd memorized hadn't been modified in the two days since Fiske's monkey ninjas had borrowed and copied the texts from Kim's bedroom. A few minutes from now, she thought, I will be married to Ron Stoppable, and nothing will ever come between us again – not even Kim Possible.
Soap opera tradition required, of course, that we linger lovingly over the bride's and bridesmaid's dresses; on the other hand, KP tradition required plenty of snappy dialogue from Monique and Shego. Meanwhile, the stakes have been raised; we see Kim and Ron as a soap "supercouple", one of those pairings that no ratings stunt can ever separate for long.
Shego is not wrong about the Scythe; he's definitely got Issues with a capital I (about which, more later). Then again, the Scythe is a soap opera villain, and soap opera villains operate under different principles than traditional comics/cartoon supervillains.
And of course we've got Yori, who seems to be about to get her fondest wish. But then, soap opera weddings never go off entirely as planned...