June 8th. Breakfast time. Mr. & Mrs. Dr. Possible's Residence

In an effort to repay the Possibles for putting up with them for the time spent there, Ron routinely made at least one meal a day. Every time, he would get rave reviews from those that enjoyed his meals. Sometimes people would just 'happen to be in the neighborhood' when Ron was preparing something extravagant. "No biggie', he would always say, and somehow there was always enough to go around. This morning, however, things were different. Kim and Ron had spent the previous night talking into the wee hours of the morning. Afterward, they had spent many hours not sleeping. They lie there in bed, watching the clock tick off the minutes, knowing that each tic brought them that much closer to their date with destiny. Somewhere in the night they had faded into a fitful unconsciousness that gave them no respite from the events that were now only a few hours away.

Yesterday, they had decided to get in the car and drive down to Anaheim and take in Disney Land. That lasted about an hour. Somewhere south of Midleton, the Jeep had developed radiator problems, and they had to limp home. Sometime around noon, they tried again, but for some reason, a comedy of errors ensued and they couldn't seem to get to the train station in time to catch the train southward.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say there was a conspiracy going on." Ron commented as they stood at the train platform watching the train disappearing into the distance.

"I know the feeling." Kim replied, half numb at the continuous stream of bad luck they were suffering.

Today, they sat next to each other at the table, absently picking at the French toast and sausage in front of them.

"Now what do we do?" Kim asked absently as she bit into a sausage.

"Beats me. I mean how can this be happening? Drakken and Shego are still in the hospital. They can't initiate their plan, they can't give any orders, they can't use the tsunami machine, Atlanta isn't going to explode, they can't escape and the giant I-beam can't squash anyone. What are we missing?" Ron was now swinging his empty fork like some deranged conductor.

"Maybe we aren't missing anything." Kim sipped at her coffee dispassionately.

"Huh? I don't get it. We've prevented everything. Drakken's 'Master Plan' can't happen. We're safe. We get to live happily ever after. Case closed; end of story." Ron said with a degree of finality.

"Maybe not. What if the tsunami machine doesn't need Drakken or Shego? What if they were only part of the whole equation. What if our demise wasn't part of anything they did?" Kim said, staring into the swirling vortex that dwelled within her coffee cup.

"You mean that Drakken and Shego were merely 'window dressing' for something bigger and meaner that's still out there. Maybe the Tsunami Machine was just window dressing on this great conspiracy that's trying to get rid of us." Ron gaped as he tried to wrap his mind around what was said.

"Wait a sec. We don't even know if there is a conspiracy. All we've got is a string of bad luck."

Ron gathered up the dishes and deposited them in the sink. Doing dishes by hand rather than throwing them in the dishwasher usually gave him time to think. As the sink filled with warm soapy water, Kim slid up next to him and made sure that there was enough soap in the sink. As the sink filled, she gave a wry chuckle. "You wash, I dry?" she said with a smile on her lips. Like so much of their lives, this too had become a pause in their day that they both relished. As the dishes were washed, scrubbed, and dried they listened to the music of a radio playing in an upstairs bedroom. The time they spent here allowed each of them to just think. They had been together so long that they were probably thinking the exact same things, just not at the same time.

Ron had picked up one of the plates that had been soaking. The grease and syrup residue had almost disappeared. Halfway through scrubbing the residue off, Ron paused.

"I was just thinking." He said, the scrubber stopping in mid-stroke.

"About what?"

"About that MacCarran guy. He told both of us that there was a second reason we had to come back. Maybe that's why things haven't moved on. Maybe we've fixed our deaths but we haven't fixed the other thing."

"That's a great theory, Ron, but I can still remember what's going to happen. I can still remember everything else. And then there's that 'other thing'. Why wouldn't that little weasel tell us what to do? He just said 'Be yourself'. Who else would I be?"

"Well, I know of a cute little brunette that you could be." Ron smirked. His comment earned him a swat on the behind from Kim.

"Comments like that will have you sleeping on the couch, mister."

An hour passed. Then two. The tension and worry was becoming palpable in the air. Ron was lounging lazily on the couch, but the look of deep thought and concern had creased his brow. Kim was sitting cross-legged in the overstuffed papasan, not reading the magazine she had been flipping through for the past hour. Somewhere through the deafening silence the tweebs could be heard vaporizing some unsuspecting alien city.

Finally, in a moment of sheer disgust, Kim threw the magazine across the room. It crashed into the large, plate-glass window somewhere above Ron's head and slid to the floor.

"ARRRRGGH!" She screamed at the world in general.

"'Wasamatter, Kim?" Ron asked as he turned his head.

"This isn't working. I can't stand just sitting here and waiting. I swear the waiting is worse than anything else. We've won. But we haven't won yet. I HATE THIS!"

"Calm down." Ron said as he swung his body into a seated position. "I hate this as much as you do. But what can we do? We're in the safest place I can think of. Nothing short of a guided missile could reach us."

"Let's not give the powers-that-be any ideas, shall we?"

"Sorry. All I'm saying is that we just have to wait out a few more hours without getting killed. And if we stay here, someplace completely safe and secure, we'll be fine."

"I'm sure you're right." Kim said sheepishly, acknowledging her own stress and paranoia in the situation. She looked up at Ron who was now walking towards her with a reassuring smile on his face. Suddenly, the older Kim flared up in the back of her mind. She smiled at Ron.

"What's up?" he asked as he saw the smile on her lips.

She took his hand in hers and squeezed gently. "C'mon, future-boy. I want to get one more shot at all the tricks you learned without me." She began to pull Ron toward the staircase that lead up to her old room, now the guest room, that they had been sharing.

With three steps to go, the Kimmunicator beeped. "No rest for the wicked, I suppose." Ron chuckled.

"Don't think you're getting off that easily." Kim chided as she pushed the 'Respond' button on the small, plastic device.

"Hey Wade."

"Hey, Kim. How are you two holding up?"

"What do you mean?" Kim shot a look at Ron. They had agreed not to disclose their 'discrepency' with anyone. Not even their parents. Ron shook his head, indicating that he hadn't told anyone.

"I mean, it might be tough on you guys having to live with Kim's parents while you're back in town. Y'know. All that time on your own, now you're back at home…" Wade was starting to flounder. The expression on Kim's face told him that something else was going on, but as a reflection of his self-preservation instinct, he quickly changed the subject. "Ummm… I called to tell you that there's a couple of problems. First of all, the Navy called. They're having a problem with…"

"Wade, if you use the phrase 'Guided Missile' I'm going to reach through this thing and strangle you." Ron chuckled. "And then I'm going to punch Ron's lights out." Kim finished. Ron gulped in an attempt to stifle his laughter. It didn't help.

"Actually, its not the missiles themselves. It's the targeting system they're connected to. The USS Normandy was testing a new targeting system. Now they can't raise her. The computer monitoring says that the Normandy is going to launch her compliment of gui… those things you don't want me to mention… at San Diego."

Kim scowled. "So what do they want me to do?"

"Well, the way the Navy sees it, you can either go aboard the Normandy and try to stop the computer from launching," Wade started, "Or you can head to San Diego and take out the target."

"Wait, Wade" Ron interrupted. "What target?"

"The Normandy's computer has locked on to a radio beacon of some kind and has identified it as the dummy target ship it was supposed to be aiming for."

"So if we find the beacon, we become the target." Kim reasoned.

"Well, actually, it looks like all you have to do is turn it off or move it. Looks pretty straightforward to me." Wade took a long pull of his soda.

"Hang on a sec." Kim hit the 'mute' button. "Well, partner, which one? The ship or the city?" she asked Ron.

"I say we flip for it. Let chance decide our fate." Ron fished a quarter out of his pocket.

"Heads we go to the boat, tails we head for San Diego." He flipped the coin.

A few hours later.

"San Diego. What is it with this place? Why do we keep winding up here?" Ron complained.

"Remember the conspiracy that didn't exist?" Kim asked as she checked her backpack for the fiftieth time.

Ron nodded solemnly.

"This is it. This is where we both got it. This is the endgame. This is where we figure out if we get to grow old together or if we wind up in pine boxes together. It all comes down to one last chance." Kim was getting more and more stoic as time passed. She glanced at Ron and took his hand in hers, "And whatever happens, we'll be together."

"Together." Ron smiled and paused thoughtfully. "All I know is that I'm never coming back to San Diego as long as I live." Ron declared as he took a swig of his bottle of water.

"Never? It'd be a shame never to get to see Sea World." Kim joked, her face lighting up with a smile.

"OK, maybe for Sea World." Ron smiled back at her.

They waited in silence.

When the helicopter dropped them off, Kim began to scan back and forth with the Kimmunicator and its upgraded software package. After several minutes of sweeping, there appeared a small bleep on the tiny glowing screen.

"Bingo." Kim whispered.

Ron was massaging his temple trying to alleviate a headache that had been moving in ever since they had started this mission. This mission. The one we aren't supposed to be on. The one I'm supposed to stuff Kim in a closet for. Man. I'm already screwing this up. I can't let this end badly. I have one chance at this. No hesitation. Just do it. That's it… just do it. If I just do the right thing and not hesitate, nothing can go wrong.

"Hey, Ron! Lets go! We need to get out of here; we got things to do before things get out of hand." Kim shouted at Ron from the fire escape, where she was already half a story down.

"Coming!" he shouted back as he ran toward the edge of the roof.

Within fifteen minutes, they were on the third floor of a low-rent apartment building. The kimmunicator said that they were within five feet of the signal. Kim pointed at the battered wooden door and readied herself to crash through it. In an uncharacteristic move and a sudden burst of speed and force, Ron threw himself at the door. The door responded by disintegrating into a pile of splinters and shrapnel. Ron fell onto the floor of the room. Kim looked at him in disbelief for a moment and then stepped over his prone form to get a better look at the room. She surveyed the room quickly.

The room beyond was empty. Almost. Set in the center of the room was a small wooden table. Atop the table was a fruit basket. The basket was filled to overflowing with apples and oranges and other assorted fruits. In a calligraphic hand, the words 'Dr. Drakken and Shego' were written on a small envelope taped to the top of the basket. With a careful and suspicious hand, Kim crossed the short distance from the door to the table. Behind her, she could hear Ron picking himself up from the ground and dusting himself off. Kim opened the card with a gentle hand. A folded piece of paper fell to the ground. Within the card was a note written in the same elegant hand.

To my dearest enemies:

It is a pity that every game must have a winner and a loser. This time I have won and you have lost. Thank you so very much for playing, but this time, my dear Doctor Drakken, you and that gorgeous sidekick of yours have lost. Now I have the Pan-Dimensional Vortex Inducer and you have something else.

Best Wishes,

Doctor Dementor.

PS—message continues on the next page

Kim looked at the note card. By this time, Ron had picked up the small, folded slips of paper that had fallen. He was looking at them with a confused look.

"What do they say?" Kim asked him.

Ron handed the slips of paper to her. Taking them in her gloved hand she looked at them. The first one had a large number '3' written on it in heavy red ink. The second had a large number '2' written in the same hand. Kim's eyes went wide as she realized what they meant. As if by telepathy, Ron noticed her expression and made the connection as to the significance of the numbers. The pair immediately turned and began to run; but not in the same direction. Ron made a furious dash for the window and the fire escape beyond. Kim was sprinting for the doorway they had entered from.

The poorly constructed window frame and thin glass exploded as Ron threw himself onto the fire escape. He hit the wrought-iron railing with a bone-crunching thud as the ral caught him squarely in the belly. Pausing for an instant as he winced in pain, Ron glanced up. Far away, he could see a cluster of white and silver streaks with long wisp-like contrails moving over the city. The missiles were already on the way. Ron threw himself over the first railing of the fire escape. Instinct had taken over. Adrenaline was now flowing through his veins; the ancient fight-or-flight reflex was in command of his body. He could feel each stair pounding beneath his feet as he decended toward the street level.

But then, as quickly as it began, a voice in the back of Ron's head voiced a different opinion. Quite simply, it said: 'No'. Ron stopped. The voice spoke up again. 'Not this time. You are not a coward.' Ron turned around and began to race up the stairs.

"Why aren't I afraid?" Ron asked himself as the stairs passed beneath him two at a time.

"Because fear is what you feel when you don't know what's going to happen next. We know what happens next. We lose. Everyone else wins. Even Kim." The voice told him.

"We only get one chance at this. So make it count." Ron whispered to himself. As he heard himself say it, he wasn't really sure what version of himself was saying it. But whoever it was, they were giving him the confidence to do this.

Before he could say or do otherwise, Ron was at the shattered window. Then he was inside the room. He xould see his hands take the fruit basket in hand and flip it over, looking for the beacon. Nothing. Panic began to set in. Ron flipped over the table. Still nothing. Ron looked around, fear was beginning to take hold. There. Over the door was a small black box taped to the wall. Ron lept up and grabbed it. All he could see was a blinking red LED. No switches, no buttons, no nothing. Ron paused for the briefest of moments deciding how to poen the smooth plastic box. With a mighty swing, he smashed the opaque plastic box to the floor, utterly destroying the housing. Ron gripped the circuit board inside, and with herculean effort, broke the small silicon wafer into as many pieces as he could manage.

Ron smiled a satisfied smile.

But Mother Nature has rules to follow. A missile in flight still has to go somewhere. The Normandy had launched 8 of her missiles. Five crashed into old, dilapidated buildings. One put a crater in the Santa Monica freeway. Two found their original target.

Ron was standing up. He had let the inert lumps of plastic that had once been an integrated circuit fall to the floor. He had taken two steps toward the door when the world exploded around him. This time, the pain wasn't nebulous and formless like it had been when he was shipped across thirty years. This time the pain was sharp, focused and all around him. Brick walls exploded around him. Masonry and drywall were reduced to a lung-choking powder. Steel pipe became shrapnel. Even the fire escape that had once been his friend came hurling towards him in a million jagged, burning pieces. The only thought Ron had before he was blown through an intervening wall was 'Oh, shi…'

Blackness.

More blackness.

Ron opened an eye. It hurt. His front hurt. His sides hurt. His head hurt. He opened his other eye. It wouldn't open. It felt swollen. It hurt. Wait. Pain. I'm in pain. If I'm in pain, I'm not dead. Ron tried to smile at this nugget of wisdom. His face hurt too much to smile. He coughed. He tasted blood. His ears were ringing. He could feel sunlight on his face. He could feel something underneath him. With his one working eye, Ron looked down and saw a massive, dark-red piece of steel. An I-beam. Not just any I-beam, but a very special one. One that would not be claiming any lives today. Not today, not ever. For what it was worth, it was a small victory.

Ron lay draped over the I-beam for what felt like hours. More likely only a few minutes, but when you're in pain, time slows down. I should scream, he thought. I can feel that I'm probably bleeding out. This is my last chance. I have to do this in case Kim is still out there.

Ron screamed. It wasn't strong, it wasn't loud, but it still counted as a scream. And a painful one at that. Ron went back to waiting. As he waited, the hallucinations began. There was the armadillo that tried to explain the changes in the new tax code to him. There were the snakes that tried to steal his boots. There was even the swarm of tiny green horses that wanted Ron to get off their I-beam. And then there was the angel.

No. It wasn't an angel. Angel's aren't cut and bleeding. Angels aren't standing there wearing only a bras and half a pair of pants because their shirt is now a sling, and their pants are now a tourniquette. It was Kim. A little beaten, bruised, battered and burned; but it was Kim.

She climbed up and helped Ron off the I-beam. As they sat their and listened to the rescue vehicles approaching, Kim turned to Ron and said, "I told you we could beat this one. See we're both alive and its…"she glanced at her watch. It didn't survive the devastation. "Well, its time to go home."

Ron rolled his head loosely and looked at her. "Thanks partner. I told you we could pull this one off."

"Even after I told you not to take any chances, you went and did all this?" Kim chided him, her pain creeping into her voice.

"Hey, I did all this for you. Don't you believe in second chances?"

The End.

EPILOG

It was a glorious spring day. Everything was perfect. Perfect sunshine, perfect temperature, perfect everything.

Ron glanced out at the people sitting in the park. The massive vases of flowers stood in perfect formations at the front of the rows. In front of him, he could see Stoppables and Possibles sitting in the crowd. Ron fidgeted with his bowtie one more time. It hadn't gone anywhere. The music began. He turned and took the arm that was offered to him.

Minutes later, the priest was finally reaching the important part.

"Do you, Christina Kimberley Stoppable take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

"I do." Her voice was tiny, but strong. Her parents had given her that strength.

"And do you, James Eugene MacCarran take this woman to be your wife?"

"I do"

And with those words, Christina Stoppable, daughter of Ron and Kim Stoppable was married. She married a man that would never know what his future might have been. But if the past were an indication of the future, she might.

Author's notes

Sorry it took a while to finish this last chapter. Two moves and a new job will do that to you.

I wasn't happy with chunks of this, and the epilog seems too slipshod. But you get the idea. One of my betas made me rewrite MacCarran's final role. Maybe when I get some time, I"ll redo the epilog.

Anyhow, I hope you enjoyed the story. I enjoyed writing it for you. I promise I'll write more when I get another idea.

As for now, I have another story to finish so that I'm not lynched in my sleep.

Have a better one.

Horatius.