Sorry! It's been months, I know! But I'm finally done with camp and can therefore write a bit more, because this one (like most of my other stories) was sadly neglected over the summer.

Here's an update: Kim spent six years imprisoned by a Garrison Wiles, whom she jailed for money laundering. Shego bails her out in order to help her rescue her son Brexton. When Kim returns to Middleton, she finds that the world has moved on without her and that Monique and Ron are engaged. Tara has also been murdered, and Brick Flagg, now a cop, is fascinated by the case. Shego and Kim attempt to break into a building where they believe Brexton is being held, but it was a trap. Shego revealed that Wade was the one who gave her the codes.

In all honesty Kim had no idea what Shego was talking about. Wade Load. Another familiar name, another close friend. One that Kim was supposed to have looked up and brought to help on this mission. So she hadn't done that and Shego had done it instead. Okay. No big. No reason for Shego to be in the hysterics she was in, no reason that concerned Wade. Behind them the building hummed with the echo of ricocheting lasers. Kim knelt on the ground, chest heaving for breath—she wasn't used to this kind of action, was sadly out of shape, should have practiced more in that cell. If it were possible to practice anymore than she had. The ground smelt of dirt, sage, and something burning. The lasers. Shego was still in a huddle, sobbing fat tears. It was strange to watch. This wreck of a woman was Shego. Cool, calculating Shego who had blown everything on one fragile hope of getting her son back. After three months of being so studious and careful. One crazy moment of passion. "You talked to Wade Load today?"

Shego nodded vigorously. "Emailed him, to be more exact."

And Ron had told her that he had spoken to Wade since her funeral. "You just randomly emailed Wade and he gave you these codes that nearly got us fried?"

"I believe I just said that," Shego hissed. She had paused in her crying to say what Ron had earlier.

"Why would he give you those codes?"

"It's a long and complicated story, princess."

Wade's little lie about the codes had nearly got her killed as well as Shego. How ironic after her imprisonment that it would be Wade to almost do her in. She would have laughed if the fatigue had left her as much. "Why would he know the codes to this billing?" Silly question. Wade could get into anything. "Why would he give them to you? I don't care if it's a long story. I want to hear it." For curiosity's sake.

Shego lifted her head. She didn't look like herself, but some blotchy, sad creature. "You sure are naïve."

What an insult. Out of all the things one could call another. Naïve. Kim crossed her arm over her chest and frowned. Yeah, well, that wasn't her fault. She had been through more than Shego or anyone could dream. "You're the one that ran like a fool into a laser-equipped building!"

"On your friend's advice."

Kim did not have a reply for that.

Shego smiled faintly, though her eyes failed to look directly at Kim. "That's right. I see how you are thinking. Can't admit the mistakes of a friend. I would have thought more of you. You always had a good head on your pretty little shoulders to match that heart of gold. You saw flaws and you worked around them. Not going to work this time."

"What are you talking about, Shego?"

"I wanted you to get in touch with Wade. It was by pure destiny that I discovered him today. A few simple emails and I could blackmail him into doing anything I wanted." Her voice cracked at the end of the sentence and brought with it a few more tears. "I really will kill him and if you are as smart as I always thought you were you would join in."

Once again out of the loop. That had happened a lot over the past twenty-four hours. "And about what am I not being smart enough?"

Shego, with some effort, pulled herself to her feet. Her crying was returning, still soft and subdued at this point. "I brought you that want ad last night. The one of you."

Kim's breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"Oh, brother. You remember."

"Of course I remember. I just don't see what exactly the hell you are getting at. I know Wade. I've known him for years."

"Apparently not as well as you thought." The night went suddenly silent; the lasers must have given up their victimless attack.

This was crazy talk. "Why would Wade turn me in? He likes his pranks and all but anything more is ridiculous. He was twelve."

"I'm the one that emailed him."

"How are you so sure it's him?" Kim spat out the question with satisfaction. A tad juvenile, maybe, but still plausible and worthy of consideration.

A smile flickered over Shego's face. Whether it was doubt or gloating Kim could not tell. "Why would someone lie about that?"

"Why not? I've seen you villains. Logic isn't always needed."

"Wade Load is smart. You've said yourself. He'd have the power to do all sorts of things. And no doubt he knew where you were that day in Idaho."

It was like a faintly amusing story to which Kim listened in fascination. Wow, but Shego needed some serious help. To even suggest that Wade would do such a thing.

"Look him up and talk to him yourself."

"Gladly."

The possible satisfaction slid from Shego's face as she began marching over the sagebrush. Not another hysterical effort to return to that building, nothing, just sad defeat.

"Hey," Kim said.

Shego paused.

"We'll get Brexton back. I promise."

It was precisely 4:44 AM, at least according to the gaudily ornate cuckoo clock still ticking from Tara Archer's wall. Brick Flagg shined his flashlight over the hideous thing and wondered momentarily why the female gender had such silly taste. All this junk they thought was so cutesy and adorable just made everything disgusting. And then they had the nerve to complain about the way men decorated. Well, it was now 4:45 AM and if that thing had a bird jump out in fifteen minutes he would in the name of everything holy shoot it. He had brought his gun along with him. He shook his head at the clock and turned his flashlight away to scan the carpet. He wasn't exactly sure for what he was looking. Admittedly, he had never been the one most likely to put such time and thought into things, but he liked to tell himself he had improved much since high school. This work was like football. Sometimes one had to rely on intuition, a sixth sense.

There was not much at which to look at this point. The body had been pulled away, though the bloodstains remained just in case more evidence was needed. He hated to think what Tara would say if she saw her carpet in such bloody disarray. He let the beam lie upon it a moment. He had seen the pictures, but pictures never beat the real deal. Then, with a sigh, he swung the flashlight away and headed over to a rolling desk. Papers, books, a desk calendar. Doubtfully anything that had not been checked over yet.

But there had to be something. He would not have awaken this early to break into a house using only his police badge for protection, plus gun, to not find anything. A murderer always returned to the scene of the crime. Isn't that what they always said in movies and television shows? So they were fiction. Fiction had to be based on something. He hated to disturb evidence, so he told himself he was the cop and it was his responsibility to look at all of it. Besides, someone stupid at the station had probably rubbed off any tell-tale fingerprints.

He remembered that note upon which Kim's name had been written. So Tara had known something about Kim after six years. Maybe she had written something else. Amazing to think the two cases were connected. Though it would made perfect sense with Kim showing up when she did.

Kim. Kimberly Ann Possible. The cheerleader that saved the world. Amazing to think she had returned. Brick still did not know quite what to think about that. Fascinating. Cool. Exciting. And a heck of a lot more positive that a murder of another former cheerleader.

The desk revealed nothing. He moved onto the refrigerator. Not to open it—someone had already checked for more severed body parts in there. But sometimes people put stuff on their fridges with cute little magnets that revealed more than was to be expected. A shopping list, a baby shower invitation, a coupon for 25 off lawn fertilization.

Oh, who was he kidding? The force had leapt onto this murder with almost as much fervency as they had on the Possible case. The house had been searched. All evidence that existed had already been discovered.

But none of the discovered evidence related to Kim Possible save that one note.

Brick turned to the bedroom.

It looked as if nothing had gone wrong in that household. There was the bed, soft and flowery and all-around girly. A dresser. A vanity. All very clean and ready to be used, utterly ignorant of any death of the woman that lived there. He checked the top of the vanity, hoping for another note, a photo. He felt like a stalker as he poked among the jewelry and make-up looking for something that probably did not exist outside his own imagination. But it was kind of fun.

And he found something. At least, he thought he found something. There, nestled under bangles and necklaces, were two old photographs. Well, not old, but… he held them steadily under the flashlight beam and frowned at them.

They were high school photos. Not yearbook quality, just the kind of photos girls took of each other with personal digital cameras and all that jazz. One was the entire cheerleading squad at a booth at Bueno Nacho. Tara was in the foreground, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a soda. She wore her cheerleading uniform, though around her shoulders lay the varsity jacket of whomever she had been dating at whatever time the photo had been taken. The other girls were there: Hope, Bonnie (still looking as nasty as ever), and, of course, Kim. The other was of Kim and Ron Stoppable after the graduation ceremony.

Nothing disastrous in these photos. Brick knew how girls were when it came to snapping photos. Had to get every single solitary soul on that camera. He was tempted to toss them back into the jewelry box.

But why exactly were they out? Did Tara just get sentimental to see a picture of Kim after so many years? Sometimes Brick liked to look back at high school. Who didn't? However, as of late he had realized just how many pointless years he had spent there. He liked to think he had grown up past that. College had been a lot more fun, anyway. All that analytical crap and all. It was fun to use.

Or maybe he was just being bored and paranoid and wanted to solve a mystery. He could pretend it was a valid question: Why did Tara have out pictures of Kim? Why did she have Kim's name written down? He stared at the photos, silently demanding them to reveal something important. Instead his mind just wandered back to high school. Did Tara still possess any letterman jacket from any boyfriends?

Jacket. Closet. Maybe she had more photos in the closet. Maybe he was wrong and she had millions of photos from high school and randomly pulled them out. He strode over to the closet and opened it.

Something cold and heavy whacked his head from behind it.

Brick fell against the half-opened closet door, swearing and desperately reaching back to his head. His fingers came back wet, warm, and sticky. He stared at the blood for what seemed to be ages though it could not have been. His head swam, but adrenalin was already flowing down to the hand that held the flashlight. Good, heavy flashlight. He straightened and turned, flashlight-wielding arm spinning the fastest back around in the dark room. It was like holding a light saber.

Whoever it was aimed again. Through the corner of his eye he saw the figure, tall, dark, and all-around indistinct, shadowy arms swinging the object of bluntness. Brick ducked as it neared his head. The flashlight seemed to pop up with his arms and whack itself against the object. It tumbled to the ground with a heavy thud. The figure tumbled back onto the bed for only a moment before regaining composure and springing up.

The flashlight beam passed over its face. It wore a hood, but the build suggested it was a male. Brick stepped forward, swinging the flashlight again. His head was killing him. This bastard needed just as much pain.

But he was ready. The figure grabbed the flashlight and yanked. Brick held tight, though his other arm reached for the figure's shoulder. He took, squeezed it, and attempted to force the jerk onto the floor. For a moment the man did not resist; hand still grasped the flashlight, though. Brick tore it away. "You're under arrest."

It was like a cue in a stage play. The man sprang up from under Brick's hand and flipped backwards over the bed.

Damn it. "You're under arrest!" he yelled again, clambering for his gun. His hands reached his holster, and he realized the gun wasn't there.

The cold and heavy object. Damn it all again. How had this punk gotten…? It didn't matter. A quick glance at the floor did not reveal the gun and the man was heading toward the door. With a yell Brick tore after him.

The attacker stopped before the door. The hood had slipped back a little to reveal, again, nothing particularly distinct. A long nose, a flash of light brown hair. Definitely a man's.

"You're under arrest. This is breaking and entering. On a police scene."

The man reached for his jeans pocket and pulled out a knife. A simple, innocent knife, probably left over from Boy Scouts. Brick had half a dozen like it at home, stuff he had never gotten rid of, and the desire to laugh was overwhelming. It was only through sheer will power it didn't happen.

"Put that down," he demanded.

"What do the police know?" The voice was raspy, like someone recovering from a sore throat.

Now that was definitely worth a laugh. What moronic criminal would ask such a question? "About what?" He moved forward quickly, ready to grab the guy.

But the man moved first. Like a desperate crab he grabbed Brick's forearms. He was strong, surprisingly strong for someone of such a mediocre build. Brick gasped and pulled back, tried to dig into the carpet with his feet, but his right leg hit the side of the vanity. He twisted his hands around the guy's arms—an automatic reaction, but it worked. The man crashed into the mirror with an ear-splitting shatter. All light in the room collected on the tiny pieces of mirror that collapsed around them. Brick squeezed his eyes shut against the glass.

It was a bad move in other ways. He tried to maintain his grip, but the man pulled away. Instantaneously Brick felt the cool flicker of metal against his throat. From a silly Boy Scout knife.

"Try anything else and I will cut," came the hiss.

Brick kicked his leg out hard.

The man grunted and the knife blade came forward. There was one terrible moment of pain before the knife fell over his chest. Brick knocked it away and punched the man square in the face just as the window opened.

"What in the world?"

"Kim?" Brick reached for the flashlight—it had wound up on the floor. Kim was climbing through the open window as if she belonged there. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard noise. I… I guessed I missed something."

She had indeed. The attacker was unconscious and lay on the carpet at Brick's feet. He himself panted. His neck stung from the cut. The back of his head did not feel much better. "This dude attacked me."

Kim dropped on the floor. "I can see that. Who is he?"

Brick bent over and flipped the hood back. No one he recognized. "Seen him before?"

Kim studied the face for a moment before shaking her head. "I thought you weren't supposed to be here."

Yeah. That was going to create some trouble back at the station. "I heard a disturbance."

"Whatever." She looked strange in the moonlight. More like a ghost than anyone else in the world would have admitted. And tired. "I'll say you helped me."

Not fair. "I'm the one that took him out."

"And you could lose your job for it. What really happened?"

His head was really killing him, but he gestured at the closet. "I was about to go through her closet to look for photos and he came up behind me…"

Kim frowned. "Is there anything in the closet? Wouldn't the cops have already looked there?"

He didn't know. He knew he just hurt. Aftermath was not fun. "I assume so. But… but she mentioned you on that note. And in the jewelry box…"

"The smashed one?" Kim turned back to the remainders of the vanity disaster. "

He nodded. "There were photos of you from high school. One of you and the squad. One of you and Ron Stoppable." He cringed. Wait. She was on that whole shocker wedding thing about Ron. "I'm sorry."

Kim quickly shook her head. "No, no. It's all right. I… why would Tara have those photos out?"

He shrugged and reached again to the back of his head. It was still oozing blood. "Feeling sentimental. Or maybe she knew you were alive. Or something."

Kim started at that. "How would she know that?"

"I don't know. I… here, hand me the photos."

For the first time since she had arrived she finally looked at him. "Brick, you're drenched in blood."

"Like I don't know that."

"You need to see a doctor," she continued. "I'll say you were with me. We'll talk about this in the morning."

He grimaced. Yeah, a doctor would be good. "It's nearly morning already. Kim, where have you been?"

" Wyoming. It's a long story." She shoved open the door. "I hope you didn't mean that about the past six years."

"I'm sick of everyone talking about that."

"So am I," she muttered. "Did you drive?"

"Kim, I'll be fine." He certainly didn't feel fine. He probably had a concussion, for all he knew.

The rest of the house seemed like a museum after the mess of Tara's bedroom. They passed it through it silently before exiting out the front door. Outside, it was dark. Darkest before dawn.

"So you came back from Wyoming to wander the neighborhoods of Middleton?" he asked.

She shook her head, then nodded.

"Make up your mind."

"I was taking a walk," she said. "Stretching my legs. Thinking." I seem to be doing a lot of that lately."

Speaking of thinking… He swore. "We forgot the guy that tried to kill me."

Kim sighed, and they headed back inside.

By the time they had the half-conscious inside his car, Brick almost thought it was funny. Almost.