STANDARD DISCLAIMER: The characters of Kim Possible, Dr. James Timothy Possible, Dr. Anne Possible, Jim and Tim Possible, Ron Stoppable, Wade Load, Steve Barkin, Bonnie Rockwaller, Monique, Tara, Felix Renton, Rufus the Naked Mole Rat, Drew "Dr. Drakken" Lipsky, Shego, Dr. Dementor, Lord Montgomery "Monkey Fist" Fiske, Señor Senior Senior, Señor Senior Junior, Dr. Betty Director, Special Agent Will Du, Global Justice and any and all other minor characters/locations from the television series Kim Possible are the sole property of the Walt Disney Corporation, and are used herein without permission or contest to their ownership for the sole purpose of personal, non-profit entertainment. Any and all minor characters that have not appeared in the television series, and this storyline, are the sole creation and property of the author and may not be reproduced without prior consent (if you want to post it, just ask).

This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of the characters herein to any person or character, real or fictional (those mentioned above notwithstanding), living or dead, is strictly coincidental.

CHAPTER FIVE

Kim and Ron's exit from the building and subsequent journey to their cars was, all in all, uneventful. Wade plotted them a course that took them on a secondary fire-escape route to the alley behind the building; from there, they were able to retrieve their cars and return to Middleton.

Roughly twenty minutes later, Kim's pink hatchback rolled into the Possible's driveway with Ron's convertible directly behind. When they parted ways at their cars, Ron noticed Kim seemed to have crawled into a shell; as they exited their cars it appeared nothing had changed. Kim showed no emotion as she climbed out of her Roth and locked it. He climbed out of his Mustang and hastily locked it as well before following his girlfriend to the front door, arriving just in time to prevent her from closing it on him as she entered the house. Silently, she untied her boots and slipped them off her feet before heading for her loft bedroom, leaving Ron in the entryway. With a sigh, the young man removed his own boots and followed her; giving her enough of a headstart to get to her bedroom and lock him out if she so desired.

It was in her bedroom when Kim's shell finally broke open. Ron noticed she'd left her trap door open, so he climbed the stairs slowly, ready to retreat if need be. His head had just crested the opening in the floor in time to see his girlfriend collapse on the bed in a fetal position, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Kim?" he said softly, standing on the top step. He'd never seen Kim—normally the poster child for calm under pressure—so distraught, and was unsure how to deal with it.

Kim, for her part, knew exactly what she needed. "H-h-hold me, Ron," she sobbed, "… please."

Ron complied at once, slipping his gloves off his hands as he approached and rounded Kim's bed to lay behind her. He spooned his body against hers, wrapping his arm around her waist and holding her to him. Kim responded by pressing her own body as tightly to his as she could, her hand clasped over his. It broke Ron's heart to see her in such an emotional state, but he knew he had to be strong for her.

They remained that way for quite some time—how long, Ron couldn't be sure. He did notice, however, that Kim's sobs had been replaced with the slow, steady breathing of slumber. Ron was thankful for that; it would afford Kim some relief from her anguish… temporary, but relief nonetheless. With gentle movements, he extracted his hand from her now-relaxed grip and used it to pull her hair back from her face, leaning on his other elbow as he did. He couldn't help but stare at her as she slept; even with a tear-stained face, Ron thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

From the corner of his eye, Ron saw a flicker of light coming from the front yard, accompanied by the sound of a car pulling into the drive. Assuming it was Kim's parents coming home, he decided it would be best if he intercepted them downstairs before one of them inadvertently woke Kim. Using his entire combined ninja/teen hero training, the towheaded young man slipped away from his girlfriend, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead before heading downstairs.

James and Anne Possible, for their part, had just arrived home from their monthly "date night." When they first pulled in the yard, they were mildly surprised to see Ron's car sitting in the drive behind Kim's, but didn't make much of it—it wasn't uncommon for Kim and Ron to close out their evening cuddling on the couch and watching a movie on TV Trash Heap… the thought of which never failed to bring a smile to Anne Possible's face.

Silently, the two elder Possibles entered the house and made their way to the kitchen, not wanting to disturb the teenagers. Neither was quite ready to go to bed just yet, so Anne put some water in the kettle and placed it on the stove for a cup of tea before they retired. While they waited for the water to boil, James moved to take a peek in the living room.

He never did quite make it, though. He was just passing through the doorway from the kitchen to the living room when Ron came down the stairs. While his first notion was to call his colleagues at the Space Center to set up a launch time, James decided to instead allow the young man a chance to plead his case… after all; it was indeed very possible that Ron had a legitimate reason for being upstairs.

"Hello, Ronald," James said as Ron stepped off the stairs. Right away, he noticed Ron was wearing his mission gear. "Just get back from a mission?"

"Yeah, something like that, Mr. Dr. P.," Ron replied, shuffling towards the kitchen as he spoke.

The Possible patriarch quirked an eyebrow, but said nothing; instead he followed his daughter's lifelong friend back to the kitchen and watched him slump into the breakfast nook. With a shrug, James slid himself in across from Ron, unsure of what to say next.

Anne, for her part, saw Ron the second he came into the kitchen. Almost immediately, her heart went out to the young man; she could tell by his body language that something was weighing heavy on his mind… and she hoped against hope it didn't involve her daughter. Grabbing a third mug from the cupboard, she quickly prepared tea for the three of them and brought it to the kitchen table, sitting down beside her husband. Ron managed a wan smile of gratitude as the steaming mug was placed in front of him.

"Ron… is everything okay?" she asked, her blue eyes shimmering with concern. She could tell something was upsetting him and hoped she could help, when a sudden horrible thought crossed her mind. "Is Kimmie alright?"

"Yeah, she's fine," Ron said. "She's asleep upstairs."

"So what's wrong?"

With a sigh, Ron launched into telling the tale of the evening's events. "Wade called me and told me there was a situation going down in Lowerton; he was going to call Kim after and get her to meet me there," he said, his hands wrapped around the mug in front of him. "Once we got there, we met up with the Lowerton police captain and she told us what was going on; hostage situation, fourth floor boardroom, three suspects and four hostages. Wade hacked the security cameras so we could go in undetected, and we walked right in the front door and up to the fourth floor without any trouble.

"Kim went in first; took 'em by surprise. Two of 'em took a couple of shots at her, but they missed. She went under the table and took one of them down and knocked him out, and then she flipped the table on its side and Supermanned at the other two. She missed one of 'em, so I ran in and took him down; we took their guns from them just in case they came to and I got the hostages out of there.

"I had just gotten them to the elevator when I heard shots, so I hightailed it back for the boardroom. The third guy had come around and tried to take Kim down, so she used the gun she stripped from the other guy and shot him in the shoulder."

"Oh, my God," Anne gasped. James took her hand, his own face still devoid of expression.

"Go on, Ronald," he urged, "what happened then?"

"I heard her scream 'no!' just before I got back," Ron continued, taking a deep breath. "When I got there, she was bent over losing her lunch, then she told me he popped a suicide pill. We checked the other two; apparently they'd come to somewhere along the line and did the same thing. She called Wade and told him to send a cleanup crew and we came here."

"Did she say anything?" Anne asked.

"She clammed up the second she finished talking to Wade," Ron replied, "but when we got here, she just went upstairs, lay down on her bed and started crying."

Ron's own voice had cracked at the memory, prompting Anne to reach across the table and take his hand in her own. He managed to smile wanly at her and continued. "She asked me to hold her, so I laid down with her and held her until she fell asleep; then I came down when I heard you come home."

"Thank you, Ronald," James said after a moment of silence, a note of sincerity in his voice never before heard by the younger man, "for looking after my Kimmie-cub."

"Dr. P, I was nowhere near Kim when she was shot at!" Ron protested. "How could I possibly have protected her?"

"Ronald," James began, his eyes locking with those of the towheaded teen across from him, "you've been looking after Kim for the last fourteen years. From that first day in pre-K, when she came home and told us about her new friend she met, to that first mission in Upperton… right up to now. Time and again you've proven your devotion to my daughter—whether she deserved it or not. Quite frankly, you're more than a father could ever hope to see in his daughter's boyfriend."

Noting the confused look on Ron's face, Anne decided to try a different tack. "Ron, why do you love Kimmie?"

"She's my best friend," Ron replied instantly.

"Exactly," Anne said, smiling despite the tears that still rolled down her cheeks. "You and Kim were friends for years, and it developed into what you have now."

"What's that got to do with looking after her?" Ron asked, now thoroughly confused.

"Ron, you and Kim have been through more scrapes in the past four years than most people will ever experience in a lifetime," Anne said. "Do you think a Josh Mankey or a Walter Nelson would ever stick by her side for even half as long as you have?"

"Anne's right, Ronald," James said, picking up on what his wife was saying. "You've been the one constant in Kim's life; the one rock she could lean on when she needed it most. You made sure she got to the orthodontist when she locked braces with the Nelson boy; you went all the way to the Amazon to save Kim's life—and her date with the Mankey boy!"

"And through it all," Anne continued, "you never think twice about putting Kim ahead of your own feelings. If that's not looking after her, I don't know what is."

"That's just the way it's always been," Ron shrugged, "I've got KP's back; she's got mine."

"And we're forever grateful for it, Ronald," James said, smiling fondly at the young man before him.

"Why don't you go on back up to bed; I'm quite sure there's a pair of your gym shorts on the top shelf of Kimmie's closet," Anne added, smiling just as fondly at him. "I'll call your mother in the morning and let her know you're here."

"Okay, Mrs. Dr. P," Ron said with a nod. It seemed to hit all of a sudden, but Ron felt totally drained; as if the evening's events had robbed him of his entire energy reserves. It was all he could do to not doze off as he climbed the stairs back to Kim's room, at the same time thanking his lucky stars he knew the layout of the house almost by heart. He navigated the upstairs hallway to Kim's wrought-iron stairwell without incident, shuffling into the redhead's bedroom as quietly as he could.

As he topped the stairs, he could see Kim at least appeared to still be sleeping, so he tiptoed to the closet to retrieve the shorts her mother informed him about. Luckily, the full moon outside was casting enough light through the window so Ron could see without turning on any lights. He found the shorts without trouble and made his way to the privacy screen that stood in the corner of the room, careful not to tread too heavily past the bed. Quickly and quietly as he could, Ron doffed his mission gear and slipped the shorts on, re-emerging from behind the screen to see his girlfriend propped up on her elbow, looking at him through half-hooded eyes.

"Ronnie," she muttered, "aren't you worried about black holes?" Instead of answering right away, Ron made his way around the bed to what was quickly becoming "his" side and slid under the covers, wrapping his arm gently around her waist as he did so.

"I was just talking to your parents; they told me to come up and get some sleep," he replied, kissing her cheek softly. "Now go get your PJ's on and go back to sleep; I'll be right here when you wake up."

Kim turned to look at her boyfriend, a soft smile on her face. "Promise you'll be here?"

"Swear it on the Torah."

"Good," she whispered, resting her forehead against his for a moment before slipping off the bed. Ron rolled to his other side, putting the privacy screen to his back and watched as Kim went to her dresser and pulled an unidentified piece of clothing from the bottom drawer. She then disappeared from his line of view, presumably behind the screen to change. Ron rolled onto his back with his arms folded behind his head and lay staring at the ceiling.

I could sure get used to sleeping in this bed, he thought, settling himself into the mattress with a content sigh. With the bed being as comfortable as it was added to the physical and psychological strain of the day, it was a struggle for the young man to stay awake long enough for his girlfriend to join him. Before long, though, he caught a movement from the corner of his eye. He turned just in time to see Kim fully emerge from behind the screen, wearing one of his old red jerseys—the same one she'd confiscated from him less than a month after they had started dating.

"So that's what you wanted it for," he muttered with a smile as Kim slid in beside him.

"Uh-huh," she replied, snuggling up to him, her arm across his stomach. "It was the best way I could think of to have a part of you with me every night."

"Badical," he whispered, wrapping his right arm around her shoulders, holding her close to him, her head nestled into the crook of his shoulder. Ron was just about asleep when he felt Kim's head move, followed by her lips gently pressing against his jaw.

"I love you, Ron," she whispered in his ear before letting her head settle once again to his shoulder. Ron let his right hand trace up her arm to her head, running his fingers through her auburn mane as he turned to kiss her forehead.

"I love you too, KP," he whispered back, his lips brushing against her forehead as he spoke. They were quiet for a few minutes, just basking in each other's presence.

Finally, Kim spoke. "Ron… am I a bad person?"

"Huh?" Ron stuttered, blinking. He had just about fallen asleep when Kim spoke, rousing him once again. "Wha'd ya say, KP?"

"Am I a bad person?" she asked again, lifting herself on her right arm so she could look him squarely in the face.

"What're you talking about, Kim?" Ron replied, a befuddled look on his face. "You save the world and help people on an almost daily basis… what would ever make you think you're a bad person?"

"Ron, I shot a man tonight!" Kim exclaimed, sitting up on the bed. She drew her knees up and rested her chin on them, her arms around her shins. "I just practically went against everything I stand for when I pulled that trigger!"

Ron groaned as he rolled over and turned on the bedside lamp, then sat up beside his girlfriend and put his arm around her shoulders. "Kim, listen to me," he said, in a stern, yet soft voice. "You are one of the single most wonderful, selfless people on the entire planet. What you did tonight does not make you a bad person." Kim made a move to interrupt, but Ron held his hand up and locked eyes with her. "No buts, KP; all you did was defend yourself."

"But that's what I know sixteen styles of kung-fu for, Ron; so I wouldn't need a gun to defend myself!" Kim exclaimed, fresh tears running down her face.

Ron pulled her closer and tighter into his embrace, kissing the top of her head as he did so. "Kim… remember what Kate said the other day at GJ?"

"Which part?"

"The part about not being able to dodge bullets," he replied. "I think the point she was trying to make was exactly the situation you were in tonight."

"I'm not sure I follow," Kim said, wiping her eyes.

"What would you have done if you didn't have that pistol in your hand?" Ron asked.

"Probably rush him," Kim replied.

"And most likely you would have gotten shot; maybe even killed," Ron said. "Kim, shooting that guy saved your life. He would have survived the wound he had if he hadn't decided to do the cyanide shuffle."

"So now I should start shooting every bad guy I go up against instead of taking them down using other means?" Kim retorted, pulling away from her boyfriend to stand beside the bed. "Is that what this is all about?"

"Kim, you're blowing this all out of proportion," Ron said, unruffled by Kim's reaction. "I'm not saying you should go all Lara Croft on everybody; what I—and Kate and Dr. Director—are saying is you shouldn't totally turf the idea. Just make it another tool at your disposal. You saw it yourself tonight—it can come in handy."

Kim exhaled deeply. "Maybe you're right," she finally said after a moment of ponderous silence. She sat back down on the bed in a lotus position facing Ron, her hands folded in her lap, staring at them. Neither said anything for a moment, then Ron noticed Kim's shoulders start shaking. At first he thought she was crying again, but when he reached to take her hand, he heard the snort.

"What's so funny?" he asked, nonplussed.

"I'm sorry, Ronnie," she said between chuckles, "but it just struck me—whoever thought you would be the one offering me advice on this kind of thing?"

Ron tried to look hurt, but couldn't keep the charade up. Between the irony of Kim's statement—even he could admit he wasn't exactly a normally insightful person—and her infectious laughter, soon he, too was laughing almost uncontrollably. It took them a few minutes, but they did finally regain control of themselves. Kim laid back down beside her boyfriend and wrapped her arm around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Thank you, baby," she whispered, kissing him tenderly.

"Hey, that's what you keep me around for," Ron replied, gazing deeply into Kim's eyes, "moral support and the odd insightful comment."

Kim smiled as she put her hand to the side of Ron's face; her thumb gently tracing the three freckles there (she secretly hoped his freckles would never fade away). "That's just the tip of the iceberg, Ron," she said softly, "I have so many reasons to keep you around, I'd never be able to list them all… but here's the only one that matters." With that, she leaned closer to his cheek, her eyes almost closed.

"I…" she whispered, kissing the freckle closest to his ear.

"…love…" she kissed the one closest his nose.

"…you," she kissed the lower of the three, and then kissed him tenderly on the lips.

"Boo-yah," Ron whispered in reply, holding Kim's body as close to him as he could. Kim reached across her boyfriend and shut the bedside lamp off, then drew the covers back up to their chins. She snuggled as deep as she could both under the covers and into her boyfriend, her arms around his midriff and head against his chest. Not five minutes later, both were sound asleep and wearing content smiles on their faces.

Things were starting to calm down in Lowerton. While Captain McShane was a bit annoyed that Kim and Ron bailed out without reporting back to her, she took it as one of the side-effects of bringing in outside help and took it in stride. Both she and Detective Craddock gave statements to the press; they confirmed that the hostages were safe and Team Possible was indeed involved in the extraction, but other details would not be divulged pending a full investigation. Some of the reporters tried to get more out of them, of course, but were promptly shooed away.

Throughout the entire ordeal, Detective Jack Craddock's gut was telling him somebody was watching them. At first it bothered him to no end, but in the end, he surmised it may have been the fact there were probably snipers stationed at various strategic locations. Still, he couldn't entirely shake the foreboding in his gut as he lit yet another cigarette and leaned on the back bumper of a patrol car.

"Okay, Jack; I'll bite. What's eating you?" Captain McShane asked, leaning against the car beside her top detective. Craddock was silent for a moment, taking a drag from his cigarette before he spoke.

"Something stinks, Captain," he finally growled, the scowl on his face nasty enough to make a freight train take a dirt road. "Ever since we got here, my gut's been telling me something just ain't right."

"Care to elaborate on that?"

"I can't put my finger on it, but I just got this feeling there's more going on here… and it's got nothing to do with Harding Transportation's internal troubles."

"I could've told you that, Jack," McShane said impatiently. "None of the hostages recognized any of the men, and two of them were from the HR department."

"So what in the name of Christ is going on, then?" Craddock spat.

"I don't know, Jack; I really don't," McShane muttered, "but you're right. Something about this whole thing stinks… what possesses three paramilitary agents to take hostages in a building that has no strategic value whatsoever?"

McShane's question hung in the air for some time; Craddock's gaze wandering around the rooftops surrounding their position. Ten years as an Army Ranger gave him an insight that his captain probably never would have; namely to the question she had just posed. Taking a final drag from his cigarette, Craddock dropped the butt to the ground and crushed it out with his foot as he pondered the quandary. Suddenly, a thought came to him, causing him to mutter an oath.

"What was that, Jack?" McShane said, still standing beside him.

"This was all an exercise; that's the only thing that makes sense!" Craddock said, his expression one of dawning clarity. "That's the only reason any military organization would conduct an operation that had no strategic value… it had to be some sort of training or testing exercise!"

"I thought Posse Comitatus outlawed that?"

"Only where the US Armed Forces are concerned," Craddock growled. "These guys weren't ours; no idea who they were, but they sure as hell weren't GI. Besides, even without Posse Comitatus, the United States military wouldn't drag innocent civilians into the middle of a live-fire situation."

"Why would anybody drag innocent civilians into it, GI or not?"

"I wish I knew," Craddock muttered, rubbing his chin.

On a rooftop about a block away, the entire scene was being observed by a solitary dark figure. Dressed in black leather motorcycle gear, she was crouched next to an HVAC unit and watching through a pair of tactical field glasses. Satisfied she would learn nothing more from her current vantage point, she lowered her glasses and returned to where she'd stashed her gear behind the HVAC unit, well away from the edge of the roof and started packing up to return to her employer's base of operations to file a full report.

As she packed her gear, she reflected on the events she'd borne witness to that evening. Sure, most of it was planned; but at the same time she was both surprised and impressed with how flawlessly her boss' plans had been executed. He'd known the Lowerton PD would call in Kim Possible to help with the extraction; he had almost predicted their method of entry exactly (he'd predicted they would just burst through the boardroom door rather than use explosives)… and he also knew the three operatives he'd sent in to take the hostages would not be leaving alive. All of his operatives—herself included—were equipped with concealed cyanide capsules affixed to the roof of the mouth; in the event of capture, they were to ingest the capsule immediately.

What surprised the woman the most, however, was her mysterious employer's prediction that, before the end of the night, Kim Possible would not only defeat his operatives, but would also use a firearm to defend herself. She thought she knew everything there was to know about the teenaged hero; including her complete and utter opposition to firearms. If it weren't for the fact she witnessed the events herself, she probably still wouldn't believe Kim Possible held a .45-caliber pistol in her hand and fired it at another living being—hell, even the fact that Kim held the pistol in the first place would have been a stretch. However unbelievable the events were, though, was irrelevant; the facts were there in black and white and ready to be delivered to "Hawk" for analysis (her employer's codename never failed to make her chuckle—did he think he was on Spenser, For Hire or something?). Hoisting her now-packed duffel, the woman left her observation post and mounted her waiting motorcycle—a Suzuki Hayabusa—to make good her return to her employer's base of operations.

Fifteen minutes later, the Hayabusa and its lone rider pulled off the highway and onto a desolate stretch of two-lane blacktop in the middle of the desert. Turning south, bike and rider rocketed along the asphalt at speeds pushing 155mph, making short work of the final leg of the spy's journey back to her employer's base of operations; an abandoned private airfield near the New Mexico border. Despite the outrageously high speeds the Suzuki was capable of, it was still approaching midnight before the mysterious woman rolled to a stop beside an intercom at the gated airfield entrance and pressed the call button, flipping up the visor on her helmet as she did so.

"Yeah?" a lazy voice said from the other end.

"Tell Hawk that Peregrine's back and ready to report," the woman said. Almost immediately, the gate started to roll aside as if by its own volition. Peregrine put the bike back in gear and idled through, no longer in a rush to get where she was going. She drove the bike lazily across the grounds, stopping only when she reached the partially-open door of one of the hangars. A figure emerged from the shadows of the hangar interior and approached her as the hangar's door opened a bit wider.

"Hawk's waiting for you inside," he said to her, relieving her of the duffel bag. "Montrose and I'll go over whatever data you collected from tonight's operation."

"Whatever," Peregrine said indifferently, revving the bike's engine a couple of times before taking it into the hangar and parking it beside a black Hummer. She shut the bike off and just sat on the machine for a moment, contemplating once again the scene she'd witnessed earlier in the evening before finally dismounting and going to her debriefing with the mysterious Hawk. She made her way to the man's office quickly; the sooner she got there, the sooner she could get out of there and go take a long, hot shower.

She arrived at Hawk's office roughly a minute later and strode in without knocking; something the man shrouded in darkness had come to expect. Peregrine had never been one to knock; she would just burst in unannounced. Hawk was convinced she did so to try to catch him out of his cocoon of shadow and actually see his face, but so far she had failed to do so. He actually found it rather amusing, but he would never let anybody know that—least of which Peregrine.

"Report," he said once the door had shut behind the woman.

"You called it," she said, her voice muffled behind the face guard of her helmet. "Kim Possible saves the day again."

"What of our operatives?"

"Dead," Peregrine replied flatly, "all three of 'em."

"At the hand of Miss Possible?" he asked with a note of surprise.

"No," Peregrine replied, "at their own hands. Possible tripped Borsky up, then her and her boyfriend took down Jazz and Hoss and took their guns. Stoppable herded the hostages out around the time Borsky came to; he jumped up and took a potshot at Possible. He missed her; she shot him in the shoulder and started interrogating him. After a couple of minutes, Borsky figured out he was fucked, so he took the Kool-Aid Express."

"What about Jazz and Hoss?"

"I'm guessing when Possible and Stoppable took them down, their cyanide caps busted and killed them; might wanna look into that."

"Indeed," Hawk muttered. "That will be all, Peregrine; you're excused."

Without another word, Peregrine turned and left Hawk's office, the door slamming behind her. Hawk remained still for some time, pondering the information Peregrine had provided him. All in all, he wasn't surprised at the way the evening's events unfolded; in fact, he was more surprised at how accurately he had predicted the evening's outcome. Still, there was much work to be done before he could go ahead with the second phase of the plan.

Sighing, Hawk picked up his telephone and dialed a number from memory. On the second ring, the call was answered. "It went as we expected," he said simply, skipping formalities. "All three of my men are dead… yes; Miss Possible was involved… yes; albeit inadvertently—the cyanide capsules aren't as durable as they perhaps should be… I believe that would be wise… very well… good evening to you."

Hanging up the phone, Hawk once again leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking under his weight. Patience was indeed a virtue he had been blessed with, and under his current contract, patience was something he—and his crew—would need vast amounts of.

A/N: The plot thickens! This thing just kinda took off on me in ways I didn't expect when I started on this chapter, but it's giving me ideas on how to progress. One of the curses I'm afflicted with is writing myself into a corner and not being able to carry the plot forward… thankfully, other than a couple of near-misses, that hasn't happened with this story to date.

I debated continuing on, but decided instead to end this chapter here. It's not exactly a cliffhanger (which I like in moderation, but not for every blessed chapter :p), but it still leaves unanswered questions to ponder… who knows; somebody out there might figure out what I'm doing with it before I do (just do me a favor and don't spoil the surprise)!

As always, a big thank you to all the readers and reviewers out there; you're the main reason I've been able to continue here where other works have faltered. Keep 'em coming, and see ya next chapter.