Special thanks to Katsumara, , Quathis, CajunBear73, BlueLion, JBLShecky, Isamu, Mr. Wizard, Joe Stoppinghem, and bigherb81 for their baddical reviews. This story wasn't forgotten-YAY!

Warmest thanks to flakeflippingsnowgypsy for ripping my original draft to shreds.

I.

"Don't stay up too late," Kim said as she began to climb out the window. She eyed the stack of novels-all probably overdue at the library-on Mariko's desk. She well knew her friend's M.O. of getting in bed on time yet staying up late to read for hours.

"It's barely ten," Mariko said, glancing at the alarm clock on her desk.

"It's ten fifteen," Kim corrected, shooting a look at the same clock.

"Exactly," the teenager nodded. "Barely ten."

Kim sighed. "Wade's had the Sloth since Sunday, and I know how long it takes you to … amble to school, so you need to leave the house extra early. And you told me you were late to school today, Mariko."

"Uh-huh, so what's the big?"

"The big is that I don't want you getting a detention that'll cut into your waltzing time."

"I won't."

"Are you or are you not in Mr. 'Three-Strikes-and-You're-Out's' homeroom?"

"Yeah," Mariko replied as she kicked off her Otterfly slippers and crawled onto her bed with her v-phone, "but I've only got one strike so far this week."

"Only one?"

"Yep."

"What about Monday?"

"Didn't count," Mariko said as she began previewing her messages.

"What do you mean?"

"My hand was on the chair when the bill rang."

"He let that pass?"

"Yep, as long as you're touching a part of your desk, you're safe. It's one of the amendments to Barkin's Law."

Amendments?

"Man, someone's getting soft in his old age," Kim grumbled as she turned to leave.

"Rufina?" Mariko said with a sudden sense of urgency.

"Yeah, what is it?"

"Justy really like likes me, huh?" There was a faint trace of fragility to the girl's otherwise ecstatic smile.

"He does, sweetheart," Kim smiled back. "Pleasant dreams."

II.

Despite the giddiness the idea of Mariko and Justy's first date-as well as the prospect of watching her mother teaching the two to waltz-produced within her, Kim was trying hard to leaven her excitement. It was entirely possible that she would not witness the dance. Not see the next couple of days; not the next couple of weeks, even. The capriciousness of her existence in this second life could be unduly cruel at times. After all, she had missed Mariko's first Christmas, her first week of school, and her very first birthday party. That last one had been rough.

But she also knew she had no right to complain. In addition to the blessings of being present at Mariko's Bat mitzvah and most of the other big events and holidays in the girl's life, Kim knew her entire second life was a gift. That acknowledged, Kim also knew the dangers of letting her hopes climb too high.

As she crossed the front lawn, Kim noticed that Bonnie's car was no longer in the drive.

Had she already gone home? It was barely ten after all.

Oh no. Did they have another fight?

Although she vigilantly tried to maintain as much ignorance as possible about their relationship, Kim had known for a while that things hadn't been going perfectly between Ron and Bonnie.

The sitch really depressed her.

Not the least because from what little she couldn't keep herself from overhearing and observing, the culprit for the discord, more often than not, was Ron. From time to time, he would get into these funny moods where it was so obvious something was bothering him, but he'd pretend nothing was. When Bonnie would press him, he'd clam up. And then it would only be a matter of time, an average of five minutes, before the argument would start.

Ron had kept things from Kim, too, especially when they had first started dating. However, Kim always managed to get him to spill eventually. Bonnie didn't seem to have that ability.

As Kim looked back to the house, she noticed Ron sitting on the darkened stoop by the front door. His arms crossed over his bent knees and his face pointed to the ground, there was no evidence of the elation Kim had heard in his "Booyah" from only a few hours earlier. She reflexively looked back to the spot where Bonnie's car had been.

She approached the edge of his keening and sat down in the grass. There was no moon, and his face was in shadow. She couldn't even tell if his eyes were open. After a few moments, he sighed, but still did not move.

Kim blinked her eyes against a sharp wave of melancholy. She recalled all the nights she had sat outside with him after he and Mariko had just returned from Japan. Some had been depressing affairs, just like this. But many had not.

So not.

III.

"Kim, I've been thinking about what to call the restaurant, and, well, I wanted to run an idea by you," Ron said, his feet tracing a small circle on his mother's back lawn.

He was, of course, addressing her picture. The same picture he had kept in his kit box at Yamanouchi. Most nights, after the kids and his mother had gone to bed, he would quietly exit through the door to the porch to sit beneath the stars. Before long, he would take the picture from his wallet, stare at it silently for a moment or two, and then begin to talk to it. About Mariko, about the restaurant, about the rest of the children, about Rufus, about anything at all.

"I'm all ears," Kim replied eagerly.

Of course, she would talk back to him. In a weird way, it didn't matter that he was looking at her snapshot when he spoke. She was, after all, wearing the same outfit as she was in the photo. Furthermore, these "chats" almost felt real. At certain points, the flow of his questions and her answers seemed so natural that Kim could half-convince herself that they really were having a conversation.

However, she had to be careful about this. Not only was there the obvious emotional hazard to the delusion, there was a significant physical peril as well. Whenever Ron got really excited, he became prone to unexpected shifts in direction, exultations, mad dog cheer routines, etc. More than once, she had been following him too close and a sudden gesticulation had sent her flying. She knew to keep her distance tonight because talking about the restaurant always made him "dangerous."

"How would you," he began rubbing the back of his neck, "how would you feel if I, well, if I named it after you?"

In retrospect, it was an immanently obvious choice; however, when he suggested it, Kim was taken by surprise.

"Wow, Ron, that's …," Kim could feel the flush rising in her cheeks.

"Now before you shoot it down, hear me out," he told her picture. "There are a lot of good reasons. Point 'A' is the marquee appeal. You are bar-none the most famous person to ever come out of this town. Point two, it's got a great ring to it. Kimberly's just sounds like a swanky place. Point 'C' and this is crucial, a key factor …"

His lengthy pause allowed Kim to get a better grip on her emotions. Not only what he was saying but his mannerisms as he spoke the words were reminding her so much of the old Ron, her Ron, that it was becoming difficult not to cry.

"A very crucial, key factor that I can't remember," he admitted finally.

That did it. The laughter released her grip on the tears.

"But, anyway, the big reason is," she heard him continue as she dried her cheeks, "it really is your restaurant, KP."

He had stopped moving. And he continued to silently stand in his mother's yard for what seemed several minutes. Finally, he told the photograph, "There's no way this would be happening without you."

As wonderfully sad as Ron's words made Kim feel, a part of her disagreed with his choice. In the first place, it seemed wrong to name an eating establishment after someone who detested cooking. Mostly, however, it was because she knew Ron was wrong-it was his restaurant, not hers. Maybe she, or rather her money, had played an important role in his realizing of his dream so quickly; still, it was wrong that she should, in effect, take all the credit.

The sitch brought to mind her failed attempts to promote Team Possible during the last year of her life. If the Little Diablo incident had taught her anything, it was that she couldn't save the world on her own. Although Drakken had never meant it that way, he had been right: she wasn't all that. But working together, Team Possible was. It had been a hard lesson to learn, but she finally had.

The problem was that other people were harder to convince. Despite the times she went out of her way to tell reporters about Ron and Wade and Rufus, the stories always ended up being "Kim Possible" stories. And Ron's restaurant seemed destined to become another example of this.

Ron sighed heavily and collapsed into a lotus position on the grass. "I don't know, KP," he explained to the photo. "Maybe it isn't such a hot idea. I mean, what if, you know, what if the restaurant crashes and burns? I'd hate to saddle you with a legacy of culinary failure."

Although that was exactly the culinary legacy she knew she had earned, Kim sincerely doubted any restaurant associated with Ron would be a failure. Still, she was relieved he was having second thoughts, no matter the motive.

"Maybe I should just go with what Mariko and Justy came up with," he said, stroking his goatee thoughtfully.

"That would be so perfect, Ron!" Kim had had no idea that Mariko had Justy had suggested a name, but she immediately fell in love with the idea of the kids doing the honors. "You should definitely go with it. Whatever-"

"The Nosh Hut," Ron pronounced confidently to the star-filled night sky.

Uh … okay.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "That's just missing something." He glanced down at the photo as he began to stand. "But don't you worry; the Ronster'll figure something out." He placed the photo in his wallet, put the wallet in his rear pocket and walked back toward the house.

Kim needed to rush to make it back inside before Ron could shut the door. She normally didn't hesitate when she saw he was going inside, but this was the first time she had heard Ron address himself by a nickname since the morning of the day she was killed.

IV.

"Are you okay?"

Kim looked up. "Yeah, I'm fine," she answered quickly, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeves.

"Are you sure?" Mariko asked, touching her shoulder.

"Uh-huh," she replied, smiling. "Actually, I feel pretty good."

"You're crying." Anxious doubt persisted in the teen's eyes.

"Yeah, but it's because of something good."

"Okay. Just wanted to be sure."

Kim looked past Mariko and saw Justy sitting at the computer desk, his back to them. A few seconds earlier she had been sitting on the frozen roof and now she was in the same position on her young friend's bed. This particular leap was, in a certain light, the most inconvenient one she had undergone; yet, it was also the most welcome.

"How long was I gone?" Kim asked. "Did I miss all of Hanukah?"

"Nope. This is only the second night. It's Christmas Eve."

"Oh good. So it's only been a day."

"Yeah, but what a day."

"Really?" Kim asked, believing she knew what Mariko was alluding to.

"Are you talking to Rufina?" Justy asked.

"So the drama." Mariko whispered in Kim's ear. "Yeah, I am," she answered Justy. She turned back to Kim and said quietly, "I'll explain later."

"Tell her I said 'hello,'" Justy said over his shoulder. He was very intent upon the screen on Mariko's desk.

"Hi, Justy," Kim called. "Merry Christmas!"

"She wished you a Merry Christmas," Mariko said, turning to face him.

"Merry Christmas, Rufina!" he answered.

Although missing the holidays would have been bad, Kim was more concerned about missing Mariko's Bat mitzvah. For the past few months the thirteen-year-old had been spending a good chunk of her free time with Rabbi Katz, brushing up on her Hebrew. Silently reading and even writing the language was "no big"; however, pronouncing it was proving to be a challenge. Kim guessed the reason for the difficulty lay in the fact that Hebrew was one of the very few languages that had not been taught at Yamanouchi.

Mariko had explained that her father had been trying to help. On the plus side, he remembered how to correctly pronounce what he could recall about the language. Unfortunately, what he recalled was highly idiosyncratic and unhelpful—the months of the year and how to tell someone what time it was (only from noon to midnight).

Kim glanced to the darkened bedroom window.

"What time is it? Shouldn't you guys be leaving for my parents' house soon?"

"I'll go remind dad. The party's probably slipped his mind."

"I doubt he'll ever let Snowman Hank slip his mind," Kim countered.

"I think Dr. R is a little more important than Snowman Hank," Mariko said with a look that managed to be both impish and grossed out.

"Really?" Kim asked.

"Uh- huh. Like I said, so the drama."

The girl exited the room, calling out as she hurried down the hall, "Daaaaad! We're going to miss Mr&MrsDrP's party!"

As soon as she left, Justy switched his attention from the computer screen to the open doorway. He sat perfectly still-didn't even blink.

Kim sighed. She had known for years that Monique's son was in love Mariko. She was certain they would make a great couple and, at times like this, part of her desperately wanted to tell Mariko about how Justy felt. Yet, she always held back. It was best, she felt, not to push or guide something as precious as a first love.

After what seemed a long moment, they both heard Mariko holler, "Hey, is it safe for me to come in? I mean you guys are decent and all?"

"Knock it off, Mariko," Ron called back.

The exchange made Justy blink. And made him a little embarrassed, too. Yet he composed himself and returned his forlorn gaze to the door.

Kim got off the bed and walked over to stand by the young boy's side. She inexplicably felt compelled to place her hand on his shoulder. At first she fought the urge, but then she tentatively reached out her arm.

The pins-and-needles sensation she remembered from years earlier returned, but it was different somehow. Less intense. Still when Justy began to flinch slightly, Kim drew back her hand and quickly walked back to Mariko's bed.

"Why did I do that?" she asked aloud as she sat on the side of the bed.

Upon looking up, she gasped. Justy was looking at her. Right at her. However, his eyes wavered to the right a few seconds later, and Kim started breathing again.

Rubbing the shoulder blade Kim had almost touched, he scanned her side of the room, a troubled expression on his face.

"Ready to go?" Mariko announced.

Her voice made both of them jump.

"Whoa!" Mariko said looking from one to the other. "Is everything okay in here?"

"Fine," Kim said and Justy nodded.

"Well, let's get ramblin'."

"Is Bonnie going, too?" Kim asked.

"Yes," Mariko said as she leaned over the desk to switch off her computer.

"I'll just stick around here, then."

"What?" Mariko asked. "But why?"

"I'd feel like a fifth wheel." Then she added, "Don't worry, I'll be fine."

"You're sure?"

"What's going on?" Justy asked.

"Yes, I'm sure," Kim nodded.

"Rufina says she isn't going," Mariko explained. She looked hard at Kim. "What's wrong, Rufina?"

"Nothing. Really, I'm fine."

"Well, okay."

There wasn't anything wrong. Kim still needed some time to recoup from the previous evening's momentous event, especially since, for her, it had occurred less than a half hour ago. And she was certain that the Possible Christmas extravaganza was not the place to do it. She would very likely be able to see her family before the end of the holiday season. Besides, there really wouldn't be enough room in the car.

She passed the hours in the Stoppables' living room, sitting beneath the tree. It was a Christmas tree, but Ron and Mariko called it their "Hanukah Bush." Of course the handful of dreidel and menorah ornaments was overwhelmed by the number of Santas and reindeer. The string of lights in the shape of Snowman Hank characters was a new addition. Without any direct sense of purpose to her thoughts, she allowed her mind to orbit about Ron, Bonnie, and Justy.

When Ron, Bonnie, and Mariko came back (Justy had gone home with his parents Kim learned), the girl couldn't wait to pull Kim into her room to tell her the big news.

"Your dad and Bonnie are an item?" Kim guessed.

"Yeah," Mariko said with a mixture of relief and disappointment. She gave Kim a shrewd look. "Man, you are good."

"I have my sources," Kim admitted, bemusedly.

"So, you're, like, okay with it?"

"Uh-huh," Kim nodded. "You can love more than one person, right?"

"Yeah. But I was kinda worried about how you'd take it."

"How do you feel about it?"

"I think it's pretty cool," Mariko said after a moment's thought. "Dad's crazy happy," she said with a broad smile.

"Good. He deserves to be."

She finally kissed Mariko goodnight sometime after midnight. The time they spent chatting made her feel so good, made everything seem so right, that it wasn't until she was crawling out the window that Kim realized that she didn't recall hearing Ron drive Bonnie home.

However, the feelings that possibility produced where quickly pushed aside when she turned the corner of the house.

Rom was sitting alone in one of the backyard swings.

The rusty support chains creaked as the swing swayed slightly under his weight. As she drew closer, his roaming gaze suggested that he was searching for a particular star or constellation in the night sky. However, a quick glance confirmed her suspicion that the night was as completely overcast as it had been in the living room's picture window hours earlier. There were no stars.

Kim looked back to the house and saw the darkened window of Ron's bedroom. If Bonnie had stayed over, Ron would have had to sneak out to avoid waking her. This thought severely depressed her.

The creaking suddenly stopped and, before she could finish turning around, Kim heard Ron snort.

He was vigorously wiping his nose on his sleeve.

Honey.

Although Kim knew that there was nothing she could do for him, she got as close to him as his boundary would allow. The keening was excruciating and more than once she tottered within a hair's breadth of colliding with his boundary. Yet she stayed by his side for more than an hour until he finally got up and walked back inside.

V.

Snap out of it, Possible! This sitch is so different. He just learned that his little girl is in love, for goodness sake!

Kim knew that dwelling on unpleasant memories never helped. It only allowed their melancholy to seep into the present. She was all the more irritated with herself because she had let it happen again.

She looked up at her best friend and commanded with as much good humor as she could muster, "Spill." A few beats later, "Come on, what's the ish? You can tell me."

Unfortunately, the sound of her voice only made his silence seem all the more impenetrable. As her smile faded, she said with faltering effort, "Come on, honey, you can tell me, can't you?"

She didn't expect him to answer. It had been years since they had "talked."

Kim couldn't recall exactly when that had begun to change. It was curious how in this life, even more than in her first, the years seemed to melt into one another. However, she knew it was at some point after the restaurant had opened and Mariko had begun elementary school and the rest of the children had found their new homes. That was when Ron had started talking less and less to her photograph.

Eventually, he stopped talking to it at all. He would just stare at the photo for long periods. And then he stopped taking it out altogether. She wasn't even sure that he kept in his wallet anymore.

And, of course, once he and Bonnie had begun dating, Ron ceased coming out at night.

This didn't surprise Kim; it made sense. Especially on the nights Bonnie slept over.

To pass her evenings, Kim would take long walks around Mount Middleton and the surrounding hills. Soaking up the mosaic of sublime sensations offered by a walk in the forest without henchmen to worry about was a pleasure she could not enjoy in her first life. And, certainly, her visits to her parents' house every evening to check on her sister made her feel good.

You're doing it again, Possible!

Kim forcibly shook off the encroaching sense of nostalgia and looked back toward Ron. She was flabbergasted by what she saw.

He was smiling. Shading his eyes from the porch light's glare with his hand, he scanned the sky for a few moments. He then swiftly walked back to the door, cracked it open, flipped off the light and then returned to the edge of the stoop to look at the sky again.

As her eyes adjusted to the moonless night, Kim noticed how distinct and bright the stars were. In fact, she could make out Ron's expression in the light they provided. She noticed a touch of wistfulness to his smile, but it was a smile nonetheless.

Ron seemed to have found what he was looking for, because his gaze stayed fixed for some minutes. Kim turned to look but couldn't decide for certain what he was looking at. The constellations in that direction weren't very discernable; the stars almost seemed to be tangled in that part of the sky. She gave up and contented herself with looking into his eyes.

"Yeah," he said quietly after a few moments. He turned and, fumbling with the knob, went back inside.

Maybe they didn't have a fight. Maybe he just saw Bonnie off and decided to look at the stars.

Kim watched Ron's silhouette through the living room's large picture window as he went from room to room, shutting off the lights and making his way to bed. Although she remained guarded against rashly optimistic assumptions, she couldn't deny that Ron's face had conveyed a sense of … well, of contentment. The instant she thought that word, a negative impulse tried to undercut it. However, she refused to let burgeoning doubt quash her hope or ruin the close of what had become a wonderful day.

Maybe.

She left it at that.

She turned her thoughts to her evening's destination. Although the lake at the opposite side of town was one of her favorite places to wander, a sunrise as seen from the top of Mount Middleton seemed more appropriate for some reason. She found herself thinking about the upcoming dance. The image of Justy wearing Ron's father's baby blue tux occurred to her as she turned away from the Stoppable's front yard and-

She spun around. As she strained her ears against the thick silence, her eyes skirted the front of the house and traced the expanse of the yard from the tree line to the house next door and then doubled back.

She ran.

Within seconds, Kim was around the side of the house and scaling the vinyl siding to Mariko's window ledge. She didn't breathe until she could hear the girl's snores. She peered inside and intently watched the girl sleeping for a minute. Then two. Finally, she moved on to inspect the remaining doors and windows. Only after ascending the tall oak that sheltered the roof and provided adequate if not great perimeter coverage over the entire home did Kim begin to seriously reflect upon what may or may not have happened.

She had not seen anything alarming; not exactly. Rather, when she had turned her head, she sensed that some small, yet distinct, aspect of the scene had shifted. Almost as if something that hadn't been there a moment earlier had suddenly become visible.

Or maybe the opposite.

Perhaps some foreign element had been inconspicuously present for minutes and had abruptly vanished or moved from her view.

Kim didn't know which of these possibilities was more chilling.

The ominous silence was broken finally by a far away bird's call. Then Kim was startled by the barking of a dog a few streets off. After a few moments, she could make out the faint sounds of traffic on the Lowerton cloverleaf some miles away. These sounds and dozens of other minute signals compelled her to assume that nothing out of the ordinary had actually occurred. As the night slowly ebbed away, these signs became more numerous and persuasive.

Yet Kim kept vigil over the Stoppable home for hours. Even after she had effectively convinced herself that there was nothing to worry about, she found that she just couldn't bring herself to climb down from the branches of the tree.

Some time before dawn, Kim realized that a specific noise kept her from truly letting down her guard. Every time she thought about this sound, she was taken right back to the vertiginous moment of panic when the Unknown might or might not have shifted beneath the moonless shadows.

Ironically, it wasn't something she had actually heard this night. Rather, it was something from the far past that she feared she might hear. That might, in the next instant, shatter the peace of the moonless, starlit evening.

Until dawn broke nine hours later, the dread of hearing this sound did not completely leave her.

It was the clatter of samurian armor.