My thanks to Boris Yeltsin, neithan, spectre666, Mr. Wizard, Katsumara, CajunBear73, Shrike176, Quathis, Eddy13, screaming phoenix, Michael Howard, Danny-171984, acosta perez jose ramiro, Aeetos, noncynic, campy, and Molloy for reviewing and to everyone for reading.
As always, leave a review and I'll send a response.
My thanks also to campy for proofreading this chapter.
KP © Disney; original characters © the author
I.
"You are so flawed," said Kim, who was sitting cross-legged on her bunk.
"Am not!" DNAmy protested. "The Otterpottamous™ was adorable!"
"So not," Kim replied. "Now the Bunnyroo™ was adorable."
"Do you have one?"
"No," Kim answered wistfully. "Just a Dinophant™, Rhinobear™ and, of course, Pandaroo™."
"Super star edition?" Amy asked.
"No, just the regular kind but he's ferociously cute. I've had him forever. So," Kim asked eagerly, "When you were president of the Cuddlers Club® did you ever get to see the Zebrador Retriever™?"
"Not only did I see one, I touched one, too!"
"No way!" an excited Kim exclaimed.
"Uh huh!"
"What was it like?" she asked in reverential tones.
"Plush heaven!"
"Ooooo!" Kim cooed. "You are so lucky."
"Not as lucky as you," Amy replied sadly. "You get to see your honey-bunny, even if he doesn't know he's your honey-bunny, all the time. Mine won't even talk to me."
The plush-obsessed geneticist stopped when she saw the sour expression on her new cellmate's face. "That frown says something has you down."
"I'd rather not talk about it," Kim mumbled, not wanting to talk about her evermore-confusing Ron sitch.
"I bet you'd tell Tiny," Amy said tetchily. "You tell her everything."
"That's so not true," Kim replied with a roll of the eyes.
"Is too," Amy countered petulantly. "You like her more than you like me," she added before she turned her back on Kim and pouted.
Kim sighed, fell back onto her pillow, and looked at the ceiling of her cell. "I so don't need this right now."
II.
Jack Hench reclined in his leather chair and grinned with satisfaction as he contemplated the very positive impact Kim Possible's long-term incarceration would have on the bottom line. Without the meddling teen constantly apprehending his clients, he'd have more clients to whom he could sell more destructive (and expensive) gizmos and supply more highly trained (or at least costly) henchmen than ever before to the Evil Community.
And all it would take was one phone call, one he usually dreaded making but this time anticipated with relish.
III.
Hank lost no time picking up the receiver when he saw the ID of his caller: I. Will Fleesum, the law firm's managing partner.
"Perkins, I need to see you in my office ASAP," the senior lawyer barked.
"Yes, sir!" Hank replied. "I'll be right up."
He hung up his phone, jumped out of his chair, and ran to the elevator. He was grateful that moments after he pressed the up button, a car appeared; he was eager to reach the managing partner's office as quickly as possible so he could make a good impression.
It wasn't long before Hank was on the top floor of the skyscraper where the senior partners' offices were located, standing before Fleesum's assistant. "I'm here to see Mr. Fleesum," Hank announced with pride – it was highly unusual for a junior associate like himself to be summoned to the managing partner's office.
"Go right in," the unimpressed woman said.
Hank walked in through the door and into an office that was larger than his apartment, and possibly the split-level ranch in which he'd grown up. Fleesum had his back turned to him and was looking out the plate glass picture window at downtown Middleton. The young attorney couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to sit in the managing partner's oversized chair.
"You can't have it," Fleesum said.
"Excuse me?" Hank replied.
Fleesum spun around and appraised his visitor. "My chair. You can't have it. I know you want it, Perkins."
"Oh no, sir, I'm quite content where I am."
"Then you're a useless drone without any ambition who's fired."
"Actually, sir, the view from up here is quite nice and I wouldn't mind earning seven figures a year."
"Even if that means climbing over my cold, dead body?"
"Sir, if it will get me a better review, I'll even climb over your still-warm body."
Fleesum grinned, then rose, and walked over to a pair of leather armchairs. "I like your attitude, Perkins," he said as he dropped into one of the seats. "Now park yourself."
Hank took a seat and looked expectantly at his boss.
"What comes to mind when I say Hencho?" Fleesum asked.
"The nation's leading supplier of human and technological resources to the allegedly extra-legal community," Hank replied quickly.
Dunham arched an eyebrow. "Anything else?"
"Twelve point two million dollars in annual billings, sir."
The managing partner nodded approvingly. "And how much in annual billings does Kim Possible represent?"
"If we creatively maximize the time we charge for, perhaps twenty thousand dollars."
"So which client is more important to the long-term financial prospects of the firm?"
"One could argue Kim Possible," Hank said, surprising his boss. "The positive press generated from defending her is worth a small fortune. However, there is a downside to that coverage."
"Oh?" Fleesum said, steeping his fingers.
"It might give pause to clients in the allegedly extra-legal community, potentially reducing revenue from a reliable and lucrative source."
"So, back to my question: Kim Possible or Jack Hench?"
"Hench," Hank answered.
"That kid you working with really the legal prodigy everyone says he is?"
"Yes," Hank said. "He wrote a paper for his corporate law class about the Commerce Clause that—"
"So if the firm's needs required you to remove yourself from the Possible case, she'd still have decent legal representation?"
"Yes, she would."
"Good," Fleesum said as he leaned back in his chair. "Because as of right now, you're off that case and working with the Hencho team."
"Me?"
"Jack Hench specifically asked for you," Fleesum said as he rose from his chair and indicated Hank should do the same. The old lawyer walked his young protégé to the door. "Do us proud, Perkins. And, even more important, make sure to run up those billable hours."
"Will do, sir," Hank said enthusiastically.
IV.
Earl looked at the battered punching bag, sighed, and shook his head.
"Second one this week," he said to Merle.
"Yep," Merle said laconically.
"You have any idea who this Ron person is?"
"Nope," Merle replied, as he helped Earl take down the abused piece of gym equipment.
The two guards stood in silence. Then Earl began to fidget.
"I get to tell her, don't I?"
"Yep," Merle said, glad he wouldn't have to break the news to Kim about the disciplinary action her latest assault on the bag had earned her. Seniority, he reflected, did indeed have its benefits.
V.
"Like the hair net, Princess," Shego gibed as she approached her long-time foe.
"So not in the mood," Kim replied darkly. She'd been working the food-service line for almost two hours. Her feet hurt, the food smelled gorchy, and she hated the hair net, which was not only a fashion disaster but, in reviving memories of the time she had to work the cafeteria line at school, reminded her of Ron, who she still wanted to both bust and buss.
"So don't care," Shego replied. "I'll have some of the stew."
"Here," Kim grumbled as she slapped down a ladle of the brown glop onto a plate and handed it to her long-time foe.
"You know what? I'd rather have the spaghetti," Shego said as she handed the meal back to Kim.
"Sorry, one plate per person," Kim said.
"Fine, I'll have one plate of the pasta," Shego snarled.
"You already have the stew. Enjoy," Kim said before she looked away from Shego and down the line of hungry inmates. "Next."
Shego glared at Kim through narrowed eyes; then she had an idea. "Wrong, Kimmie. I don't have the stew. You do!" And with that, she hurled her lunch right at the teen's chest.
Kim looked down at her stained apron and jumpsuit. "I can't believe you did that!"
"Believe it. And be grateful," Shego snarked. "It's an improvement over your usual look. See you later, loser!"
Kim fumed, wanting nothing more than to vault the food service station and take Shego down. But she knew she couldn't afford to be involved in a brawl, not with her trial just days away.
Tiny, who had watched the incident unfold, felt no such compunctions. She rose from her seat and walked up to Shego.
"I think you owe Kim an apology," Tiny said in a quiet, even voice.
"Yeah, right," Shego replied dismissively.
Tiny laid a hand on Shego's shoulder. "Now."
"Hand off the shoulder now, Sister," Shego growled.
"Or what? You'll throw some food at me?"
"No, I'll throw you!" Shego said. With the speed of a trained ninja, she reached up, grabbed Tiny's forearm, spun, and, using her comet-powered strength, threw the large woman over her shoulder.
VI.
"Hey!" Ron protested as the video monitor went dark.
Rufus responded with a scowl. Then he began jumping up and down on one of his human's legal texts as he angrily chittered. "Case!"
"What?" Ron said testily. "I not only don't get a date because of KP but now I can't even play Zombie Mayhem because of her?"
Rufus glared at his human, his expression one of anger and disappointment. "Kim best friend," he squeaked.
Ron looked at Rufus, then at a picture of himself with Kim taken in a carnival photo booth; his shoulders sagged and he tossed aside his controller. "I know, I know, she is," he said as he reached for his notes. "And I promised her I'd do my best and the Rondo keeps his promises."
"Yeah," Rufus agreed, giving his human a paw's up.
"Okay, let's see what kind of legal goodness we can find in State of Colorado versus Destructoman," Ron said as he began paging through his materials. He had just found the case he wanted when his phone rang.
"Hola, Ron Stoppable, Esquire," he said.
"Ron, it's Hank."
"Hank, my man, whassup?"
"Well, er, um, it's about the Possible case …"
"Coolio!"
"… We need to talk."
To Be Continued …