I drive the cried-out man home. He insisted on going to his club to "see if everything is runned smoothly" and I told him if things weren't then he should reconsider his staff. With promises to check the biz, he finally relented and let me take him away from the funeral home.

Big Mope's a mess, even more than usual. The usually-flawless kitchen is thick with spiderwebs and dust; dishes piled high and trash scattered about; this place needs a woman's touch. I have to remind myself of some things with a grain of salt: Men are useless only because society lets them be. I start on the laundry but I'm torn between hoping Drew finds himself true love and that he has to learn to live-slash-function alone.

Of course, that's taking for granted that true love exists. For me, jury's still out, but I think if you ever find the person that makes your heart race, palms sweat… don't fucking let them go. I know, I know. "If you love something… set it free." Who cares? I'm selfish. I want. Yes, it really is that simple. Because whomever you love ought to love you back. If not they don't deserve my love.

I open a window for fresh air, shooting my thoughts into the breeze. "Why would they ever want to leave if they fuckin' love you?"

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"You know he takes after Dad," my now-favorite brother comforts, "I just thought after Dad was so accepting, he'd drop it and love you."

"I know, and he still loves me," I recite. "Jim just needs time to get used to it. He wouldn't be so upset if he didn't love me."

My red knight-in-shining-button-down hugs me tight. I remember the days I was a head with change taller than my Taurean brothers (though one is considerably less bull-headed tonight). They really do take after Dad.

I'm released with a shy laugh, "Affirmative, on the condition you don't matter to him, he wouldn't care if you went to Hell." A shy smile follows to coax my wry one, "Thankfully, that isn't the case. Besides, I love you too and I don't want you damned."

A quiet knock interrupts us, "Umm, gotta go!" Tim lets me go and turns to his other half, "Hicka-bicka boo?"

With downcast eyes, Jim returns without his usual exuberance: "Hoosha." Red exits, leaving Green in its wake.

"So… you're gay huh?" I nod. "How can you be so calm about it?"

"I jus- I like who I like." And she's amazing and talented and so smart and sometimes a bit of a jerk but that's okay because she means well, an-

He shakes his head, "I don't mean like that. I'm sorry for the way I left. Sure I didn't really agree - and honestly, I still don't, but it's you're life.

"And it's not all about the morality schtick. Sis, Kim, what about the rest of your life? I mean, you get that there's no biological child between you and the ladies, but what about the rest of the world for you?

"I don't want you to be treated like some second-class citizen. I don't want you to feel ostracized or have to announce your choices to every person you come across. I love you - I do. Only I don't want that life for you."

I squeeze my sibling tight until both he and my arms protest, cooing: "Aww, you do care. I'll figure it out 'nd I'll be okay. I'm Kim Possible."

He chuckles and forces a brave smile for me. "That you are." He squirms out and goes to leave.

"Hey Squirt, I love you too."

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It took 6 hours, but I finished the former-blue-boy's chores. Everything about the house is spick-and-span and inhabitable. Just like Mama would've had it. How a grown man (extra emphasis on 'grown'?) makes such a big mess in 3 days is beyond me. I even made his trash can to be weight-sensitive: after the contents exceed a pre-set upper-limit, the bottom will fall out and allow the bag to drop into a pressurized chute that routes to the neighbor's trash pick-up site. It'll even pull the next bag into the bin, as long as he checks it every roll. Neighbors are bound to be confused, and I look forward to it.

I leave a stack of papers detailing how to use every piece of appliance on the dining room table and write him a quick note sans emoticons (since I know he likes to use them) and tape it to the fridge.

In the setting sun I take a leisurely walk to the club as promised. How long I am I going to run from this? I told her I needed time to think, work it out and all I'm doing is putting it off. This is pathetic: I'm hiding behind Dr D and his mom.

Now she's mad. I could've saved myself some words and called her 'loose'; she'd probably be only just as pissed. She slapped me like the sissy-girl I know she isn't, which only serves as further proof that I really upset her. I deserved it. Sort of. I still feel I had a good point, I maybe didn't use the best phrasing ever. You lost your cool. Don't do that. I knew better, I chastise.

How far do I want to go with Kimmie? I'm scared to lose this. It'd be such a waste, all the effort invested into nurturing this strange relationship. She said she 'wants me' but what the fuck does that entail? She "wasn't sure" but does that mean she has no idea or that she's jumping between a few options?

What if, at the end of the day, after all this soul-searching she and I 've been at, we want different things from each other? All I know for sure is there's attraction. Does she want to go long-term? Would it be a one-night thing or is she interested in a friends-with-benefits type deal? Physically I know my long-time sparring partner can keep up. Could she handle it?

A wave of heat flushes through me, warming me more thoroughly than the indigo cashmere: body rebelling to remind me I'm due for a good romp. Mmm, god how long has it been? I enjoyed some of the best cunnilingus I've ever had about a week before Miss Priss came to me the first time some 6 months ago. I shiver at the memory. Damn I came so hard.

It was a challenge - I went down to the bar and a sexy lady slides into my booth to tell me, "Baby, you make me so hot I can make you finish in less than 5 minutes."

"5 huh?" Needless to say I never turn down a dare like that, "I'll buy you a drink if you win that bet."

"If you win, I'll take us back to my place to make good on that finish." She kissed me deep and next thing I know my skirt's hiked up and she's under the table, pointing at the clock, "Pay attention."

That was a good night. I won the first round.

This is not a good night. This is a running-night.

I pull the door open and find the inside in a lesser version of disarray as the mess I just remedied.

"Alright, who's in charge and whose ass do I have to kick to get some order in here?"

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Prof Aldridge announced our class is redoing the midterm tomorrow, something about she won't let our whole grade the final. I sigh relief: my chance at redemption.

I drop off my "Change of Major" forms at the Dean's office. No more criminal justice. I'm not here to police the world. GJ does that. I just want to be happy again.

Apparently, this dimension is warped enough that I think I could find that sort of happiness in the arms of a thief, one I've had arrested multiple times no less.

I started to beat myself up about being too forward with Shego, but I realized I couldn't accept the blame for the sitch. There is no blame in this sitch. We broached the topic like mature adults and she needs more time. I can give her that much. Hell, myself, I'm drowning in time. I wish it didn't hurt so much while I waited.

Shego should simply spike my feelings and let me move on. She's too good for me. I couldn't handle someone as wild as her. My track record? Josh Mankey - totally most laid-back guy ever. Brick Flagg - moron. Ron Stoppable - not exactly bad-boy material. Mmm, but there was that one episode… Ron-bad can not top Shego-bad. She's a bored genius. The world's lucky she never really tried to be very evil, even if she pretends to - but seriously? how hard can anyone be trying if they're following Drakken? A very bored genius, indeed. An adrenaline junkie like myself, likes to test her skills.

In the past when we still played, I've felt her waiting for me: taking it a bit slower to break in or intentionally tripping a silent alarm - always a silent one - for another round. She tries new moves all the time which is the main reason I get past her defenses, but she eventually masters that style and moves on. I smile in remembrance: the most intense fights are always the ones where she rehashes and mixes old styles she's moved on from. Sure, she gets frustrated and flares up, but doesn't everyone get annoyed with learning new things?

I wonder what she's up to now. Is she really thinking about it or is she laughing at poor, confused Kim Possible -the girl who can do anything except get a date? Is this some more advanced, more sadistic variant of our old cat-and-mouse games? She always gets to be the cat, with her Cheshire grin and teasing smirk. It's not fair. Could the plasmatic woman be this cruel to string me along, a puppet at her feet, pulling at my heart to make me dance? Sometimes I wonder from the way she's treated Dra- Drew in the past.

I think I really want this: I want to date Shego. Sure I'd said it before, but it was frivolous. Now that I've come out to my closest friends and family. Now that I've considered the ramifications of my actions and desires. Still, I've never been less ready for anything in my entire life.

And I miss the occasionally-green lady a lot more than I thought possible. She disappeared after a quick fight and dropping me off with a cryptic message; I don't even know where she is now.

I don't know what she does in her down time, but for now I seriously need to study. It's her serve, I only have to be there when it happens.

What if she honestly says no?

I'd have to let her go.

I'll burn that bridge when I get there.

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I whip the henchm- employees into shape, cleaning and cooking. They scrambled like maniacs, it's okay. The place was full of shy people so I went up and sang a really crappy rendition of Oasis' "Wonderwall" to boost the crowd's confidence. Thank god it worked. It's a shitty night if I'm the only one performing.

Now the big work is done, I help myself to the bar: sitting back and watching schlub after schlub make a fool of him- or herself. When volunteers started to wane once more, I put forth the announcement that performers would get a free drink. The impact made everything a little chaotic and more to my tastes.

Having not had the opportunity to discharge plasma recently, my skin has taken on a greenish hue, prompting me to cover with makeup. The less-exotic look draws the other sex like moths to a flame, meaning I have to get more forceful with my rejections as the night grows old and the boys grow ballsy (read: 'drunk'). I'm getting bored of this scene.

"It's been one week since you looked at me/ cocked your head to the side and said 'I'm angry'/ Five days since you laughed at me saying/ 'Get that together come back and see me'."

Well, I mentally sigh my defeat, you heard the brotha'. Time to go home. I gather my shit and grab my keys.

Time to swallow more of my pride.

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A "Knockity-knock knock!" precedes actual knocking on my window and I jump up to open it to who I know is in the shadows. I look around in vain.

"Boo!" I jump - okay, fall- back from the window, "Hah I gotcha!"

"You're drunk." More a question than the statement I intended it to be. It sounded strange coming my mouth, especially since I haven't had anything to drink. "What are you doing here?"

"Just a smidgeon. Don't worry, I walked." She surprises me with a hug. "Mama Lipsky bought the farm."

She lets go just as suddenly, pressing her lips hard against mine. Momentarily excited, I kiss her back but she quickly takes absolute control of our contact and shoves me down on the bed. "It's been a shitty week, help me make it better." I push her away. This isn't right. I almost forgot myself.

Nimble fingers claw at my buttons and I fight them off me to firmly state, "No." She locks her lips on mine again, biting down playfully; I refuse to give up my stance, "Stop."

Warm pain erupts through me as she nips my lower lip harshly, "What's stopping you Kimmie? This is what you want isn't it?" She sounds bitterer than the copper in my mouth. "I know you've been thinking about me, dreaming about me when you lay in your bed. I know you want me. Why are you fighting it now?"

I mumble through dabbing at my face with the corner of my shirt, "Shego, you're drunk."

She whines un-Shego-like. "Kimmie, you already said that. But look!" she touches her nose with one stretched finger, "I'm sobering up quick." You really think you mean it, don't you?

"What are you doing here?"

"I already told you, I want you."

"No, you said you wanted my help making it better."

"Aren't they the same thing? I dunno, I mean I want you all the same. I want you in my life and I want you with me." She sighs tiredly, snarling, "What more do you want?" before passing out.

I grab her before she falls off the bed and tuck her in under the covers. I've never seen her like this and it scares me a little.

Now I understand what the look in her eye meant, and I'm more terrified than ever.

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AN:

"One Week" by Barenaked Ladies

Also, in the last chapter, I didn't really know how to integrate Mama Lipsky back in without screwing up the every dynamic (and she was dying ANYWAY…). As for Kim's side, I didn't mean to undermine her dilemma, but to show that it's not all sunshines on her end either ('coming out' can't be fun); I also figured this could reflect on the religious differences between Tweebs: sexual prejudice is a big issue and it felt silly to let Kim go absolutely unscathed. Feel free to PM me if you want to discuss more.