Thanks to CajunBear73, Campy, Drakonis Aurous, MrDrP, Ran Hakubi, Samurai Crunchbird, Sir Sebastian, and spectre666 for the reviews and encouragement. Thanks to the rest of you for reading - but I do so wish you'd leave a review!
Much appreciation as always to Ultimate Naco Topping, my own personal CSI:Fan Fiction, forensically detecting weaknesses for me to correct. And if you haven't yet read his Season 4: Through the Cracks, well, good garden party! What are you doing sitting there reading this?
Disney owns Kim Possible, and I derive no profit from this work other than the pleasure of writing it and occasionally seeing it read.
Chapter VII
Building Alliances
I.
"Mr. Barkin?" Kim stared wide-eyed at the hulking… Congressman.
"Well. Possible. Stoppable," he growled. "Isn't this a pretty picture?"
"Yeah," muttered Ron under his breath, "if, by pretty picture, you mean Guernica."
Kim, shocked out of her Barkin-induced paralysis, stifled a chuckle. Their former assistant principal's enormous chin swiveled in her husband's direction. Meanwhile the drone of the cocktail party resumed as the other guests returned to their chatter.
"Uh, Mr… Representative, uh, Barkin…," Kim began, "it's just that it's a bit of a surprise to see you. Here. In Vietnam. Uh, as a member of Congress. You see."
Barkin smiled.
Kim and Ron stared, unsure whether to smile back or flee in terror. Their eyes met again.
What's going on? thought Kim.
We can take him, thought Ron.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, astonishingly, before either had a moment even to cower reflexively, Barkin put an arm around each of them, and proceeded to push them towards the bar.
"It was a long trip," he said, "and I need a drink. Join me?"
Kim nodded wordlessly as she allowed herself to be dragged along.
Cheese and crackers, thought Ron.
II.
One scotch, one caipirinho, and two screaming vikings later (Ron mixed the drinks himself, and given his mood, the cucumbers were more than slightly bruised), the three found themselves gathered around a coffee table in a corner of the room.
Monique was wrong, thought Ron, slumping into the couch. No more school bells, no more mystery meat. But lots more Barkin!
While Ron brooded, Kim warily investigated, rather like a desert camper checking her shoe for scorpions.
"Well, Possible, it was boring without you and… Stoppable," Barkin grudgingly admitted. "And I kept coming back to that tongue-lashing your Nana gave me in the gym – surely you heard about it." He looked solemnly at Kim, then glared at Ron as if to warn him not to take the conversation lightly.
Ron gulped and busied himself with his drink for a moment so as not to meet the basilisk's gaze.
"I realized that… that I could do better. I realized it was time to step back up. Enough with trying to impose discipline on high schoolers, and instead try to have an impact on a larger playing field." He looked away for a moment, then back at the couple. "Got some counseling. Started looking for opportunities to make a difference on a bigger scale. Volunteered. Got a seat on the city council."
"And, when Representative Hufnagle retired unexpectedly due to his unfortunate Zamboni accident, I knew it was my time. One special election later, and there I was – in the Congress."
"Mr. B.! You were photographed in a dress with a rubber chicken for a stole. Why the heck did anyone vote for you?"
Ron regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth.
Barkin just stared at him, eyes narrowed, clenching his tumbler until his knuckles went white.
Then his fist unclenched and something quite extraordinary happened.
He laughed. Long and hard, shoulders shaking, tears streaming down his face.
Kim and Ron's hands found each other instinctively and their fingers intertwined.
"We're in the end times, Kim," whispered Ron.
"We'll face it together, Ron," Kim whispered back.
Barkin set down his glass, wiped his brow, and put his hands on his knees.
"Well, Stoppable, you're still a piece of work." He breathed in deeply. "Thank you for reminding me of that cherished time we spent together…."
"I have to assume that there must have been some sympathy among voters for an ex-military man with PTSD. With a diagnosis like that, I'm never going to be elected President, to be sure, but for an independent Congressman from Colorado, it wasn't the end-all-be-all. Though my opponents did have a field day with it…. And, I suspect that, in all honesty, despite my.…performance during the Lorwardian invasion, my association with you in the voters' minds helped quite a bit."
Ron could not believe his ears. "You're saying Kim's got coat-tails?!"
Kim looked at Ron bemusedly, blushed slightly, and turned back to Barkin.
"Anyway," continued Barkin, who clearly had had enough of his sharing moment with Team Possible, "when I heard that some of my colleagues were planning this little junket, I thought it would be fun to get back out here."
He smiled evilly. "And the expressions on your faces just now! It was worth every penny of your tax dollars that brought me here."
Ron scowled.
Kim just looked thoughtful. That was quite a confession for Mr. Barkin to make, to them, his former students. To Ron!
Just then she felt a presence behind her and looked up to see the Consul General standing there, Deputy Principal Officer Liz Hunter right behind him.
"Oh!" Kim popped up and smoothed out her skirt. "Mist- I mean Representative Barkin. I don't know if you've met our Consul General, Sanderson Roy." She surreptitiously gave Ron a mini-squint with the unmistakable message of Get up!
Ron got up.
"Thank you, Kim," said Roy, with a nod to the redhead. "Evening, Ronald, how are you." He turned back to Barkin. "Very nice to meet you, Congressman. Welcome to Ho Chi Minh City."
The CG turned back to Kim.
"I understand that Mr. Barkin represents your home town. And he told Liz earlier that you knew each other when you were in high school?"
Kim nodded, unsure of where this was going.
"Then you'll be delighted to know that he has specifically requested that you accompany the delegation and the Ambassador on their trip this weekend to the delta."
Kim was surprised but, knowing a piercing look when one was directed at her, tried to project responsibility and seriousness of purpose. While simultaneously body-languaging at Ron to close his gaping jaw.
"Wow! Uh, that's really an honor. But… you're sure that it makes sense? What I mean is, I'm just doing consular work – I don't know much about rice exports or catfish breeding or whatever it is the delegation is looking at."
"No matter, Kim," responded the CG. "No time like the present to start familiarizing yourself with the broader range of issues with which we deal. Besides, the Ambassador has been eager to meet you, and this is a good opportunity for that."
Kim could see, out of the corner of her eye, Liz frowning slightly, surely at the idea that such a junior official would get real face time with the Ambassador. Seeing Liz discomfited was a tremendous mood booster for Kim.
Spankin'!
"I'd be delighted to accompany the delegation, of course," Kim replied.
"Good, then. Ambassador Marks is flying down on Friday morning and I believe they're departing for the delta mid-day. Talk to Lucy in Econ to make sure you're included in the arrangements."
"Now, if you'll excuse me. Congressman Barkin – Steve – there's someone here I'd like you to meet…."
Barkin nodded to Kim, squinted menacingly at Ron, and turned and walked off with Roy, Liz Hunter trailing just behind.
"Well. That was weird," Kim said to Ron, taking her place beside him on the couch and absently sipping from her highball.
"Uh, yeah, KP. We just had drinks with Steve Barkin. Who is a member of Congress. And laughs." Ron's face grew thoughtful. "Are we just sharing a dream again?" He reconsidered. "Or a nightmare."
"Dunno, Ron. Maybe." She held up her glass and examined it. "But if we are asleep, well, I'm going to dream about another drink. Join me?"
III.
Kim and Ron stood by the CG's door, saying farewell to the last stragglers from the reception. The apartment had mostly emptied out, save for a handful of guests, the consulate staff (required by protocol to remain until the guests were gone), and the caterers.
The CG sauntered over to where Kim and Ron were standing.
"What did you think of the party?"
"I-" Kim began.
"Good one, Mr. R," interrupted Ron. "But can't you do something about the wine? All these great Australian and New Zealand labels available, and," waving the glass in his hand, "you're pouring this plonk."
Kim's shook her head imperceptibly and resignedly. Ron!
The CG smiled. "I heartily agree, Ronald. But you know the rules for someone in my position – gotta promote the American products." He rubbed his chin. "You're right, of course; plenty of decent American wines to choose from. I'd welcome your working with my house staff on the selection – as long as you can stay within the budget."
"You got it, Mr. R. It'd be an honor. And a pleasure. Uh, in other words, a plonor."
"Oh no, Ronald, the plonor's all mine."
The CG shifted a moment and took a quick look around the room, eyeing the other officers and last guests gathered by the bar, where they were working on the open bottles and polishing off the remaining hors d'oeuvres.
Something about his demeanor made Kim's nerves jangle. Ok, what's the sitch?
"Well, thanks again for coming tonight," continued the CG, suddenly nonchalant. "Oh, and Kim – I think this must have fallen out of your bag at the office. Good idea, carrying one of these, just in case the power goes out when you're working late. But you really should be more careful in future – wouldn't want to lose it, eh?"
He reached out and placed a familiar penlight in Kim's hand.
Kim just stared at it. The CG, noting her hesitation, took her hand for a moment and closed her fingers around it.
Kim stood there for a moment, frozen. With a supreme effort of will she calmly placed the flashlight in her handbag.
"Thanks. Sir. Thanks very much. You're right. I really should be more careful. I will be."
For the nth time that evening she and Ron exchanged glances.
Whoa.
"You're welcome. You've got potentially a bright career ahead of you, Kim. With or without the flashlight." The CG ran his hand through his thinning hair, as if embarrassed by the weak gag, then rubbed his forehead for a moment before glancing around the room. "You two can go ahead on home. This party is definitely over."
Kim and Ron nodded their farewells to the CG, waved a quick goodbye to her colleagues at the bar, and headed out into the hallway without another word.
IV.
They taxied home in silence.
V.
Ron could hear Kim brushing her teeth in the master bathroom as he disrobed. He had been thinking too much all the way home and his head hurt. For now he just wanted to take his brain off the hook, so he talked himself through the evening ritual.
Shoe trees in shoes. Socks in hamper. Hang up pants. Hang up belt. Check shirt collar. Still good? Hang up in closet. Jacket –
He picked the jacket up from the bed where he'd tossed it when they came in. He began emptying out the pockets. Wallet on dresser. Plug cellphone into charger. Wait. What's this?
His hand emerged holding a thick, embossed business card printed on high-quality stock. Ron stared at it a moment. Hecksher Hotel, Hoan Kiem Lake, Hanoi.
He idly flipped the card over a few times between his fingers and then set it on top of the dresser next to his wallet. He tried determinedly not to think about anything as he went into the bathroom to brush his own teeth.
A few moments later he and Kim were sitting side by side in the bed. They looked at each other, each trying to make sense of the evening's weirdness.
"I'm sorry—" they began simultaneously.
"Jinx! You owe me a soda!" Kim said, reflexively, then smiled. "Or a glass of American plonk, maybe."
"Come here," Ron replied, lying back in the bed and putting his arm around his BFW, who rested her head on his chest. He paused, then said, "My feelings were pretty hurt about being left out. But that doesn't mean I should've gone sneaking in there without telling you." He thought for a second. "Are you mad at me about the flashlight?"
Kim looked up at him. "No, Ron. Sure, that whole sitch could've been a master disaster. But I was the one taking a stupid risk, poking around on my own."
She sighed deeply and glanced away. "I'm sorry I got so mad at you that night." She looked back up at him. "And even if something had gone wrong – well, we'd've just figured it out, like we always have."
"Besides," she continued, "it's not like my snooping got us anywhere. We didn't find anything."
Ron stared down at her. "Uh, well, KP, that's not exactly the case."
"What?"
"Uh, I might've found a, you know, clue. That night. While you were fighting Shego."
"What?!" Kim was sitting bolt upright.
Ron tried to read her expression. Thank god, she just looks astonished, not tweaked.
"Ok, Stoppable. Spill."
"Why don't I just show you, KP."
Ron padded over to the bureau and reached under a stack of t-shirts to pull out the two microfiche cards he had lifted from the Consulate the previous weekend.
"I grabbed these from the filing cabinet that Shego broke into. She must've grabbed the card, or I guess maybe cards, between them." He presented them to Kim with a flourish.
"Ron!" Kim looked shocked. "Are you telling me that you stole government property that could possibly be material evidence in an ongoing international investigation?"
Ron's mouth opened and closed repeatedly, but no sound appeared to emerge. (A truly attentive listener might have picked up a faint "eep.")
Then Kim smiled slyly. "I'm just playin' ya, Ron. How many girls can say that their husband has obstructed justice on their behalf? It's terribly flattering."
Ron collapsed back onto the bed. "KP! Shhhh! They could be listening!"
Kim frowned. "They? What they?"
"You know….They! Them! The man! The Illuminati! GJ! Carnivore! Echelon! The Reds! The FBI! The CIA!" He wagged a finger at Kim. "And I'm not talking the Culinary Institute of America!"
Kim looked at him.
"Uh-huh. But you were going to outwit them by stashing these" – she waved the microfiche at him – "in your underwear drawer?"
She leaned in and gave him a little kiss on the cheek.
"Now shush and let's look at them. Not your them I mean. These. Ugh, whatever."
She peered at the microfiche but quickly realized the futility.
"There's no way to see what these are about without the reader. But we can just cross-reference them with the Consulate's database and find out what files were on the card in between."
She thought for a moment, letting her eyes rest on the darkened window, through which the lights of Saigon flickered.
"And we don't even really need to worry about obstructing the investigation. GJ probably just thinks that Shego swiped all three cards – they'll be able to reconstruct the missing data too."
She looked back at Ron, and found him looking at her, a smile on the corners of his mouth.
"What?" She suddenly felt a bit self-conscious.
"Kinda fun, huh? A real mystery. With Shego. Which probably means Drakken, too. And some kinda take-over-the-world plot. Sure beats the visa line, eh?"
Kim nodded and set the cards down on the bedside. "Well, yeah, sure it's kind of fun. But also majorly inconvenient." She looked thoughtfully at Ron. "And a little weird. It's not that I haven't really been missing the world-saving. But… while it feels good, kinda, like putting on a favorite piece of clothing or listening to a favorite CD, I don't know… it also feels kind of … stale. Are Shego and Drakken really going to try again? Are you and I really going to ride to the rescue?"
"And then what? Maybe the Foreign Service isn't the dream job. But it's real. Is the alternative just saving the world over and over again until we're too old to fight? And then what?"
Ron smiled at her. "Well, we could just turn this case over to the tweebs right now, you know. They'll have our backs." He thought for a moment. "Then they can hire us as consultants for six-figure salaries."
"Maybe we should just ask the tweebs to handle this one," Kim replied. "I don't know. I feel like this is sort of personal, though…."
"Or we could just call Betty," Ron replied.
"Betty who?" Kim was already lost in thinking about the next steps.
"Oh, how quickly they forget! Hello-o?! Doctor Director? Umm, you do remember a little something from when we used to save the world, right?"
"Ron. We agreed we weren't going to do that."
There had been a lot of pressure, when Kim decided to join the Foreign Service, to cash in the chits she had earned over the years. Most of their peers, and even some of their relatives, were astonished that she would take an entry-level job when a few phone calls could guarantee her a plum spot just about anywhere.
Ron, of course, had not been astonished at all. Kim Possible take a shortcut to the top? Make a personal profit off of her history of helping people? No way. Cheat codes were for Stoppables, not Possibles.
"Kim – this isn't about getting ahead. While I still think it could just be coincidence that Shego's here, Betty'll understand why you couldn't just ignore it. You know she'd take the microfiche, no questions asked, and nobody at State would be any the wiser that we – I – took them in the first place."
Kim considered the idea. "Hm. I have to admit, you've got a good point. I wouldn't be asking her to give me any extra edge – just to, I guess, put things back in balance." She contemplated her husband. "You know, Ron, that was very responsible thinking just now."
He cocked an eyebrow back. "Oh? You want me to say it again while falling out of an air vent?"
Kim suddenly felt guilty. Had she abruptly re-injured his bruised feelings?
But when she looked at him again she could see him smiling again.
"Now who's gettin' played?" he asked, smirking.
"Just turn out the light, ok, Mr. Smarty Mart Smarty Pants! Let's sleep on it."
Ron reached over with his free hand (the other once again around Kim, who yawned widely) and switched off the lamp.
"Just sleep?"
"Why Ronald! Did you have something else in mind?"
"Well, as a matter of fact I did. And it would be my plonor to share my thinking with you…"
VI.
Kim and Ron sat in the back seat of the Chevy Suburban as it bounced along Highway One, southbound from Saigon towards the Mekong delta. The Ambassador was riding in another Suburban up ahead with the three members of the Congressional delegation, while she and Ron, along with Ms. Vy, the Consulate's local economic specialist, were bringing up the rear.
Kim was psyched that Ron had decided to take advantage of the extra space in her vehicle to come along on this first trip for either of them down to the delta. He couldn't accompany her and the Congressmen on their official visits, of course, but he could certainly lounge by the pool at their hotel in Can Tho and keep her company for the two evenings of the trip.
She watched the landscape glide by out the window. Bright green rice paddy extended in every direction, as far as the eye could see, except for the occasional karst outcropping or unexpected copse of trees in the distance. Men and women in conical hats led water buffaloes through the paddies while enormous dragonflies darted back and forth, their wings shimmering in the late-morning sun.
The scene was marred only by the telephone and electrical poles that marched along the roadside, their wires festooned with frisbee-sized… wait a minute…
Uh-oh.
Please don't let Ron notice. Please don't let Ron notice. Please please please please…
"Pretty scenery, huh Kim?" Ron's voice broke through her incantation.
"Oh. Oh yes! Very pretty!" Has he noticed?
"I love how they've decorated the telephone wires with all those stars."
Double uh-oh. He noticed.
"Yeah, Ron. Stars. Hey. Why don't you look at me and we can talk?"
But Ron was still captivated by the scene outside.
"They're kinda funny-looking stars, though. Why only four points? ….Oh, no, wait a minute, now I see the other points…eight-pointed stars… well, they must have their reasons…and so many of them-"
He broke off suddenly.
Uh-oh cubed.
"K-K-Kim…."
"I know, Ron." She reached over and very carefully put her hand on his.
He jerked his hand back and began to shiver.
"K-K-KIM!"
"It's ok, Ron…"
"B-b-b-big…"
"Yes. They're very big."
"B-b-big b-b-bugs…"
"Well, technically they're arachnids, you know."
Ron turned to her, his face displaying indescribable horror. "Power-line spiders, Kim! The size of...dinner plates! Giant mutant spiders. What, do they feed off the electricity? What hell have you brought me to!?"
Miss Vy, riding shotgun next to the driver, smiled to herself. Ron was well-known around the Consulate for his …energetic…personality.
"They're just normal spiders, Anh Ron," Vy said. "You don't have to worry about them."
Thank god, Kim thought. A voice of reason.
"I might not have to, Vy, but you can bet I will!"
"They won't come down from the power lines," she continued.
"You say that now – but wait until the dead of night when they start their blood-sucking invasion!"
"Really, anh oi. They won't come down. They're afraid of the geckoes. The geckoes will eat them. So they just stay up there and eat the dragonflies. That's why they're big. Not the electricity."
"So what you're saying is, all that stands between me and an army of mutant spiders are some tiny sticky-toed lizards?"
And so it went, all the way down to Can Tho, except for those stretches when Ron just stared out the window in horrified silence.
VII.
The weekend itself passed in a blur of work and play.
The delegation was primarily interested in visiting catfish and shrimp farms, theoretically investigating the degree to which the government subsidized these industries.
But there was plenty of time for side trips. Kim accompanied them to a small rice paper factory, where the translucent rounds laying drying in the sun on bamboo racks.
Later they saw a banana candy business, the sweet smell of fruit mingling with that of sesame paste as an entire extended family worked together in mixing and packaging the sticky treats under the watchful gaze of the deceased grand-father, whose picture, set among candles, incense sticks, and baskets of fresh fruit, presided over the affair from a small altar mounted on the wall.
Then there was a visit to an enormous orchard redolent with the scent of custard apple, guava, sapodilla and rambutan.
And finally, a trip to the famous Cai Rang market, where innumerable tiny boats flogged their wares – mountains of tropical fruits and fresh vegetables, prepared meals and soft drinks, smuggled cigarettes and rice wine – in a floating free-for-all.
The two evenings at the hotel – where Ron was basically holed up, marinating by the pool, playing endless rounds of billiards with the under-utilized hotel staff, and trying to avoid thinking about the spiders - were pleasant. A quick dip for the couple, followed by drinks under the ceiling fans of the open-air bar, then dinner of succulent delta fish.
There was one unpleasant moment when Ron, not thinking, made the mistake of discussing with the waiter the seasonal specialty – field mouse. The fallout from Rufus' response required much iodine and several ice packs for Ron. For the naked mole rat there were numerous plates of cheese and shrimp chips to assuage his anger over his owner's cavalier attitude towards Rufus' rodent brethren.
Sooner than they had imagined it was Sunday and time to return to Ho Chi Minh City. They had set back out from the hotel in the Suburbans, anticipating arrival in the city before nightfall. However, they had found themselves creeping along behind a steady stream of trucks bringing agricultural products in to the city markets and they were still deep in the delta as the daylight began to dim.
What now? thought Kim as the two-car convoy suddenly ground to a halt. She heard their driver's sudden intake of breath and peered forward through the windshield.
And could not believe her eyes.
Nor could Ron believe his.
"KIM!" he cried out in horror and disbelief.
There, before them, astride the road, was Ron's worst nightmare (other than that of accidentally consuming Rufus) come to life.
An enormous – easily eight foot tall – spider, with at least two or three others visible behind it.
Their driver threw the car into reverse and, gravel spitting from under the wheels, attempted to back up. Without warning the lead spider sprayed the hood with what looked like fluid but was of course spider silk, effectively stopping them in their tracks.
A voice rang out through the twilight.
"Don't bother trying to ethscape!"
Why is that voice familiar?, thought Ron. Something about the lisp…
"You may have defeated my giant cock-a-roaches, but you will find my arachnid minions much fiercer foes!"
And there, striding out from between the eight-legged monstrosities, was a distantly remembered figure – the pompadour with just a bit more gray, but the blue-tinted goggles and buck teeth right out of the past.
Kim, frozen in terror at the sight of these really big bugs, just gaped. Ron looked at his petrified wife, then back at the figure confronting them through the windshield.
Chester Yapsby?
