=All-Purpose Disclaimer=
WARNING! Kim Possible is not intended for ingestion. If swallowed, induce vomiting immediately and call your local Poison Control Center. Do not panic. Do not sue the author for unauthorized usage of characters, locations, etc. Use only recommended dosage (one chapter) as directed. Apply to eyeballs. Laugh and feel outraged as needed.
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Kim Possible
The Power of Love
by Cyberwraith9
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Kim trudged through the doorway of her top secret, state-of-the-art, fancy one-bedroom flat and tossed her book bag aside miserably. Normally, the ever-mindful teen would have placed it neatly aside, preserving the inherent order of her spotless apartment. Though GJ bankrolled the finest cleaning staff for her and Will's convenience, the innate neatness her upbringing had instilled in her was hard to fight. But today, she simply didn't care…
It had been the same story as the day before, except without classes to go to; Not a single blonde hair of Ron to be found anywhere near her, though not for lack of trying. Kim had called all morning until she was certain his cell phone's voice mail was completely full. She had checked all over campus: the bookstore, the student union, the gym, and at Bueno Nacho no less than five times. She had even gone to his apartment and pounded on the door for a quarter of an hour, until one of his neighbors threatened to call the police. And still…
"Nothing." she huffed aloud, sinking into her leather sofa and staring at the blank TV screen. An entire day of searching, and all she had to show for it was a boatload of frustration and a pair of aching feet. "It's like he disappeared off of the planet," she groused to herself, kicking the edge of the sofa with her heel. "How am I supposed to apologize if I can't talk to him?" Naturally, the fabulous apartment didn't answer her.
Sighing, she rolled over, once again staring at the blank monitor. A familiar shape pressed into her thigh from beneath her. That, with the empty screen, prompted a sudden thought. "Wait a minute!" she cried to herself, sitting up with a start. Frantically she began digging in her cargo pocket, laughing with triumph as she withdrew the black casing of her standard-issue GJ Communicator.
Working purely from memory, Kim activated the device's wireless web, surfing through the quickest backdoors in her old site for a direct link to the Kimmunicator. "C'mon…c'mon…pick up." she urged the connection, hunching over the tiny device in anticipation.
The screen hissed with static for a moment before clarifying with a flash. A second later, Ron's beaming face smiled back at her, prompting a small cry of victory. "Hey," he greeted her warmly.
"Ron!" she beamed back at him. She was thrilled beyond words to finally see his face smiling at her again. "Ron, I've been trying-"
"This is Ron Stoppable, former sidekick and savior to humankind in general." he continued, oblivious to Kim's happiness. It was only then that she realized it was a recording he left, probably for people calling for help. "Unfortunately for you," the message continued brightly to a morose Kim, "Team Possible is kaput. Hope your crisis isn't too crucial."
Despite her disappointment, she couldn't help but smile at his classic Ron humor. But that smile disappeared as the message continued…
"So if you need rescuing," he shrugged, "I suggest you call Global Justice and their newest big-headed, back-stabbing turncoat of an agent, and her thick-skulled, Russian-speaking trained monkey." The pleasant look never vanished from his face as he harpooned Kim with the cruel words. In fact, he seemed happier, letting the world know just what he thought of her! "Toodles!" he waved one last time before the screen shut down.
Absently, through the rage that began clouding her vision with a haze of red, Kim became aware of two different noises, a creaking and a grinding sound in the background of her own ringing ears. The former came from her GJ Communicator, whose plastic casing strained beneath her rending fingers. "The latter of the two was coming from her own teeth, rolling across one another as her jaw clenched.
"You little…rotten…" she breathed at the vanished message, trembling with anger. Her hands shook as she tossed the tiny black device over her shoulder in a fit of rage. Here she was, killing herself trying to find him so she could apologize, and he had the 'gall' to say those things about her?
A voice from behind startled her from her anger. "If your Communicator is malfunctioning, we can always repair it." She saw Will standing in her doorway, tapping the former projectile against his palm. "They are expensive, so I wouldn't recommend throwing it away just yet."
"Will!" she gasped, caught a little off-guard by his stealthy entrance. She must have left the door open, for he never would have entered unannounced otherwise. "I…I didn't hear you come in."
"So I gathered." he said, approaching her tentatively. "I'm sorry if I surprised you. Is…everything all right?"
"What? Oh," she said quickly, taking back her Communicator with a sheepish look. "The Communicator's fine, it's just…" She saw his calm, attentive features and had to catch herself before she said more than she wanted to. Sometimes Will seemed so easy to talk to, when it was just the two of them. "Nothing," she decided at last, "It's nothing."
"Very well." He suddenly got an odd look on his face, an expression Kim couldn't recall ever seeing on him before. It looked vaguely like discomfort. "There, uh…There was another reason behind my visit." he admitted.
"You mean besides to see me flip out?"
He grinned along with her, easing the strange tension between them. "Yes," he chuckled softly, but then resumed the expression. Now Kim was even more convinced that he was nervous about something. But what could make Will Du nervous…short of a surprise inspection by Doctor Director, of course. "I, ah, was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat, perhaps?"
Kim considered for a moment; it 'had' been a long, aggravating day, an she certainly didn't feel up to cooking. "Sure," she shrugged. Maybe they could go to Bueno Nacho. That way, if Ron was there, she could tell him exactly how funny his little message was.
Will's face melted into reserved triumph. "Excellent!" he crowed, rubbing his hands together. "I've made reservations for us at The Fancy Truffle. We will depart in one hour, if that is enough time for you to prepare. Oh," he added, "I asked GJ Requisitions to provide you a suitable outfit. I hope it's to your liking."
She blinked, head swimming as Will turned to exit quickly. "Did…Did I just say 'yes' to a date?" she asked, confused. The concept of Will asking her out was a little tough to wrap around, but she was trying valiantly.
Will paused, turning around. His face had returned to its previous, uncomfortable state, mixed with something new; apprehension. "I believe so," he observed carefully, giving her a questioning look. "Was I suitably…smooth?"
She saw the look he wore, and knew at once how others felt when she brought out the 'puppy-dog pout'. Besides, he had clearly put a lot of thought into the evening, and what harm could a single date do? "We'll save that question for the end, shall we?" she said coyly, putting him at ease with a 'come hither' stare.
Will left excitedly, barely keeping the bounce out of his military step. Kim couldn't help but laugh softly at his excitement, wondering if he was standing outside of her door, pumping his fist and congratulating himself. Boys could be so stupid…
With a sigh, she shut the door behind him, then turned and made for the stairs to her room. So preoccupied were her thoughts that she failed to notice the blinking light on her phone, announcing about fifteen messages that waited for her, all from the same number.
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Ron trudged though the doorway of his cozy, self-funded, empty two-bedroom-one-occupant apartment and tossed aside his book bag miserably. The bag bounced against the cheap carpeting, landing in a heap like always. It matched the rest of the tone in the room: messy and laid back, which defined Ron to a 'T'. At the moment, though, laid back was the last thing he felt like, though he 'was' a mess.
He sunk into his futon cushion with a sigh, ignoring the throbbing pain in his feet. It had been a long day of running around campus, searching for his best friend in vain. He had gone everywhere he could think of where Kim might have been; the gym, the bookstore, the student union…so focused was his search that he hadn't even gone to Bueno Nacho all day, despite his extreme burrito deficiency. He had even spent a good portion of his afternoon calling until he was sure Kim's voice mail was full.
A jabbering down by his burning tennis shoes caught his weary attention. Leaning forward, he saw his cell phone wiggling in a pair of tiny pink claws down on the floor. "Hey, my cell phone." He took the device from Rufus, who was grateful to lose the weighty load. "Must have left it here…" he mused to himself.
A tiny digital envelope blinked in the corner of the screen, but he ignored it for the moment. Any voice mail he had was probably from his mother, and she would only call to fuss over him and his financial worries. And speaking of which…
He noticed the time on the tiny digital readout. "Aw, man!" he moaned, dropping back into the seat. Rufus scampered up his leg, chittering curiously as Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna be late for work!"
"Muh?" Rufus blinked his large, luminous eyes at his friend. "Find Kim?"
Ron pocketed the cell phone as he ran for his room, already halfway out of his shirt as he called back, "No time now, buddy. I'll give her a call after work, maybe."
Rufus climbed the back of the couch, watching Ron's clothes fly as the boy changed for work. The mole rat grimaced as Ron reemerged, dressed in a carefully-pressed black suit with a goofy red bow tie. "Wan Kim!" Rufus squeaked insistently, folding his tiny paws.
The look on Ron's face soured for a moment. "I know what you mean, Rufus." Then he forced a smile onto his features, readying himself for the long shift ahead. "Besides," he added, "The Fancy Truffle waits for no man."
The rodent seemed excited at the prospect. "Fancy Truffle, yeah!" he jumped up and down, squeaking enthusiastically.
"Whoa, sorry bud." Ron scooped his little roommate up, setting him down on the counter. "You know I can't take you. Four-Star restaurants have this thing about rodents on their wait staff. Remember Chez Ron?"
"Oh yeah…" Rufus nodded somberly.
"Don't worry, Rufus. Mon's right…" He felt another wistful sigh coming on, and quickly stamped it out. He was tired of feeling bad about the whole situation, and Monique had the right idea; be patient, and talk things over with Kim. "She'll be around before you know it, and then things'll be back to normal."
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Shego tapped her foot impatiently, staring into the open fridge with a hunter's hungry eyes (and hungrier belly to match). She had already torn apart the rest of the henchmen's break room, but nothing remotely edible was forthcoming. Of course, considering the already-dilapidated condition that those slobs kept it in, she wasn't surprised.
"Do we have anything in here that isn't COVERED in GREASE?" she snarled, nearly tearing the fridge door off as she slammed it shut. Sausage, donuts, ham, bacon…There wasn't anything even remotely appetizing 'or' good for her arteries in this wasteland of junk food and dumpy red jumpsuits.
One particularly chunky henchman looked up from his Danish, speaking around a mouthful of crumbs. "What's wrong with our food?" he asked with quivering jowls.
Before she could start listing, the lair's PA system came alive with a crackle of static. "Shego," Drakken's voice echoed, "Shego, report to my lab at once. I repeat, I need to see you in my lab immediately. That is all." The intercom hissed with silence for a moment, and then continued, "She'd better be quick about it. Lousy attitude of hers is really starting to wear my patience. Probably got it from that good for nothing, lazy…wait, why is that light still on? Is the button stuck again? Oh, for crying out-"
'I hate that thing,' she thought as the PA finally quieted with a merciful burst of static. Shego stalked out of the empty break room, heading out into the empty corridor…
…which was not so empty after all.
"Good day, my dear." Señor Senior Senior stood directly in her path, hunched over his gold-tipped cane. He was swathed in the finest red silks, and leered at Shego with an expression that bore an uncomfortable resemblance to that of a buzzard examining a fresh carcass.
Shego scowled, twisting to move around him. "Yeah, hi Pops." But his arm raised to halt her, keeping her in place and deepening her frown. "Uh, excuse me?" she shot sarcastically.
"I wish to speak with you a moment." He placed a hand on her back, leading her in a slow gait down the hall. She bristled at his touch, but repressed the urge to tear his appendage off and feed it to him. "This partnership has benefited us all as of late. There can be no denying that." he stated matter-of-factly.
"I hope there's a point to this…" she growled in warning.
"I fear," he sighed, "That once presented with the prize, our fellow members will not be so cooperatively minded. Perhaps even I…" he paused, emphasizing his words with an unmistakable look, "I myself may be tempted to seize the fruits of our labor. And should that happen, I was wondering which side you would be on…"
Her boots skidded against the metal plating as she halted suddenly. "You're kidding, right?" she asked him.
"You were in my employ once," he reminded her. "And my son is very fond of you. There is no reason we could not come to an understanding, yes?" He watched her absorb his words, digesting them without expression. "Keep it in mind, my dear. I think you would find it a most prosperous and agreeable choice." And with that, he reversed his course, leaving her to walk in silence towards Drakken's lab.
But she hadn't taken a dozen steps before another block stood in her path. Long and his cronies spanned the hallway shoulder-to-shoulder, dressed in simple red tunics and black slacks. Their arms were folded, their faces grim.
Shego eyeballed the trio suspiciously as she approached. Somehow, she knew this was no accidental meeting. "What?" she asked waspishly, adopting a stance similar to theirs.
"Shego," Long began neutrally, "We wish to talk to you about your loyalties to the Legion."
"My loyalties," she snapped, "Are to me." She tapped her fist against her chest as she cut into them with a sharp glare. "And none of 'your' business, either!"
The businessman nodded approvingly. "As are ours," he agreed. Claymore and Falchion gave their silent agreement as their leader said, "And unfortunately, I fear our allies feel likewise. So, I would ask that you think long and hard about which side you would find yourself on, should the unthinkable happen."
Her eyebrows arched as she leaned back a fraction of an inch. "Is that a threat?" she almost laughed. The mirth in her voice was impossible to miss, but it was no concern of hers; the idea that those jar-headed sword jockeys could do anything to threaten her…well, it was hard 'not' to laugh, really.
"Quite the opposite," he offered with an open gesture. "Roddigan Industries is always on the lookout for talented…individuals, such as yourself. We could see to it so you would never worry about money ever again."
"But you'd never betray the team…now would you?" she asked suspiciously.
"Certainly not." Claymore insisted.
"Perish the thought." Falchion added.
"No one is speaking of treachery." Long's eyes grew cold and hard as he added, "We are merely trying to prepare for 'every' contingency." He stepped aside with a gracious bow, his comrades soon following suit. "Merely food for thought, Lady Shego."
Shego left them behind without a word, stalking down the hall and around a darkened corner with growing irritation. That feeling tripled as yet another obstruction stood in her way, keeping her in the dimly lit juncture.
"We need to talk." Monkey Fist said crossly, his arms folded over his chest and brow heavy with unspoken thoughts. The dark hair and black tunic covering his body cloaked him in the shadows of the corridor, making him difficult to find unless he wanted to make himself known.
Killigan stood next to him, sporting no such stealth in his gaudy vest/kilt combo and ridiculous hat. "Aye," he agreed.
"Oi!" Shego slapped a hand over her face, grumbling inaudibly. "What do you two morons want?" she said between her fingers, afraid that she already knew the answer.
"Assurances." Monkey Fist growled back, not backing down.
"Tha's right!" Killigan stepped in, pounding a fist into his palm. "We're th' muscle of this li'l crew, and I don' think th' others take us seriously."
"What do you expect when you wear a miniskirt with 'that' outfit?" Shego smirked. She watched Killigan's face turn fire engine red, pleased that she could push his buttons so easily. It might be the only amusement she got out of the day.
"I's a-"
"Not now." Monkey Fist clamped a hairy palm over Killigan's mouth as he glared at Shego. "You know we're right." he said with deadly seriousness.
"Maybe." Shego allowed with a shrug. She leaned against the opposite wall, saying, "Why tell me about it?"
"You're one of us," the stately warrior explained, removing his (now disgustingly damp) hand from the golfer's trap and wiping it clean. "A grunt. Hired help. Drakken doesn't take you seriously," he said, narrowing his eyes, "And I know that irritates you."
"If ye side with anyone," Killigan warned her, "It should e wit' yet own kin." He tapped a meaty finger against her collarbone for emphasis, bristling at the beard and bushy eyebrows.
"Mmm, okay, number one?" Her eyes poured daggers into him as she yanked his hand away from her green and black jumpsuit. "No. Touching. And second," she grimaced as she split her glare between the two of them, "Does ANYONE remember that we're all on the same side?"
"We haven't." Monkey Fist assured her.
"Bu' they might." Killigan said in no uncertain terms. "Tha's what we want ye t' be ready for, lass."
"Tell ya what, 'laddies'," she growled, backing away from them. "I'll let you know before anyone sticks a knife in your backs, m'kay?" She left them without another word, picking up the pace to make up for lost time. The day was quickly going from bad to worse. All she needed now was…
"Shego." A cornball accent coming from a fake goatee was waiting for her in front of Drakken's door.
Great. Juuuuuust great. "Out of the way, Lucre." she sighed, walking right past him. Lucre was too much of a coward to stand in her way, but she was surprised when he snagged her shoulder as she passed.
"Hold on a minute," he insisted, dropping the phony accent. "There's some business I wanted to discuss with-"
"Lucre, pimples like you should think less about business and worry more about being POPPED!" She brushed his noodle grip aside, continuing on to the lab.
His face immediately paled in terror. "Why? What have you heard?" he asked in a panic, wringing his hands as he ran to catch up. "I knew it! They're going to eliminate me, aren't they?"
"No." she snapped angrily, ignoring him as she reached for the door control. "We're working together…though heaven only knows why." she added in a mutter.
"If that's true," he asked, suddenly becoming smug, "Then why is Drakken siphoning money over from the Hydrofarm project?"
The comment stayed Shego's hand just above the control. She looked back at the store clerk gone awry, searching his face for any sign of duplicity. "What are you talking about?" she asked with piqued interest.
"I'm the best numbers man in this outfit," he bragged with pride, slipping his thumbs beneath the loop of his orange vest. "Drakken's been discrete about it, but I've got my hands on a nice little paper trail."
"Of what?"
"Invoices. Orders. Receipts. Drakken has spent millions of the Seniors' money, and I can guarantee it isn't going to Roddigan for the dome construction. It all spells one big double-cross." He smirked, as if proud of his little investigative accounting.
"Fine. Good. What do you want me to do about it?" Shego barked in his face, growing so angry her fists flared to life with a deadly green glow.
The sudden outburst wiped away any trace of arrogance he had left on his weasely little face. "I w-want you to work-k-k for me!" he whimpered, shielding his head with both arms.
Her anger evaporated into incredulity. Had she heard him wrong? "Are…are you trying to be funny?" she asked, extinguishing her hands.
Seeing that his life wasn't in immediate danger, Lucre calmed down a bit. "That's right," he nodded earnestly, "See, Drakken isn't the only one who can shift funds around." Leaning in, he added, "All the money I've saved with my penny pinching has gone straight into a series of carefully-hidden offshore accounts. Drakken's good, but I'm 'amazing'."
"How much?"
"Millions." he assured her. "And all I'm asking is that if things go screwy and one of them betrays us, you protect me instead of Drakken." He grinned at her.
'Why me?' she rolled her eyes, throwing her hands helplessly into the air. "Fine. Whatever." she sighed.
"Excellent!" he crowed. Then he cleared his throat, slipping back into his stupid accent as he arched his fingers. "I mean, Frugal Lucre is pleased that-"
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, ripping the adhesive strip of hair from his face as she punched the door control. Lucre fumbled with his facial hair as she tossed it over her shoulder, entering Drakken's lab.
Drakken leaned against his expansive lab table, glaring at her with open irritation. Behind him, a vast array of tubes and vials dripped, slowly processing his lethal Bio-Terminator. It would still days before they had enough for their purposes, but the refit on the Soviet missile was going slowly anyway. "What kept you?" he demanded.
"What do you want?" she shot back. She was in no mood for his attitude.
"Shego, I don't trust the others."
She blinked, keeping the belly laughter and snide remarks deep down to herself. "You don't say," she said dryly.
He began to pace the length of the enormous table, raising a finger as he kept his other fist tucked behind him. "They all stink of treachery. Especially Monkey Fist…" he stopped, tilting his head in thought. "Although that could just be normal monkey-smell…" he cringed.
"I can't say I blame you," she began examining her nails casually, throwing him a look. "You never know what 'secret' projects' they might be running behind your back."
The comment had the desired effect; He froze, glaring at her. "What do you know?" he demanded.
"What do 'you' know?" she countered. Her hands were on her hips as she smirked at her employer. "I'm sure Pops would love to know how you're 'really' spending his money."
The mad scientist examined Shego for a moment, considering something. Finally he shrugged, keeping his tone neutral as he said, "Merely a precautionary measure in case Kim Possible should interfere. Or," he added darkly, "If one of our so-called 'friends' decides they don't want to work to the Legion's common good."
"Ooh, sinister." she commented with a bored expression.
Drakken's twisted, scarred visage scowled once more as he turned on her, waving a finger under her nose. "just make certain you keep your eyes open, Shego." he warned her.
"Oh, believe me," she assured him, keeping a smug look from dominating her pale features, "My eyes are 'wide' open."
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The Fancy Truffle boasted a quiet, romantic atmosphere that no other restaurant in the tri-city area could hope to match. Located at the top of Upperton Towers high above the cityscape, it rotated slowly so its patrons could enjoy the view of gods to accompany their first-class cuisine. The establishment catered to a limited crowd, those rich or famous enough to afford the ambiance.
And it so happened that a certain Global Justice agent with an expense account had developed a taste for the place.
"Mr. Du!" the restaurant's owner rushed to greet one of his best customer. He was a portly man with a crisp tux, a bad comb-over and a bushy mustache, and tended to alternate between a light and a heavy French accent. He waddled to the pair entering his quaint rooftop restaurant, already sensing a new influx of government cash that brought a smile to his chubby features. "So nice to see you!"
Will was dressed smartly in a dark blue suit with matching tie, looking like a million dollars as he traded greetings with the shorter man. "Jean Pierre, it's been too long."
"I'll say. I have children to provide for!" The two chuckled together until Jean Pierre noticed the tagalong hanging near Will's arm. "And who is this lovely vision?"
Kim was too busy taking in the sprawling room to notice she was being talked about. The opulence, the view, the delicious aromas…it was all overwhelming to her. Deep down, she still felt like a Bueno Nacho girl. But tonight, in the atmosphere of such luxury, she felt like a princess.
She was dressed the part too; a tight black dress clung to her in all the right places, with a modest neckline and a sexy slit that ran up to mid-thigh. Her arms were covered in a pair of white satin gloves, and wrapped with the folds of a creamy silk scarf that was draped across the back of her neck. Her hair was done up in an attractive bun, held aloft with a clasp she had found waiting with her dress, featuring a trio of sparkling stones that she secretly hoped were real.
"This is Kimberly Possible," Will introduced her formally (Kim was beginning to suspect that Will did 'everything' formally in public). "She's my new partner."
"Mademoiselle," Jean Pierre took her gloved hand and delicately kissed her knuckles. "You have excellent taste, both in company and in dining."
She blushed, feeling her face grow hot. "Th-Thank you," she stammered.
"Come, let's find you a table near the window, shall we?" He led the young couple off across the gray carpeting, weaving between tables until they reached a cozy, candlelit corner for two pressed right up against the spotless plate glass. The city spun slowly beneath them, offering a clear view of the night life of Upperton. "I'll find your waiter at once," the owner told them graciously with a bow and a smile. Then he walked away, calling out with a far less amiable tone. "Ronald! Ronald, you lazy boy!"
Kim allowed Will to pull her chair out for her, disentangling herself from the scarf as she sat down. Her eyes were glued to the skyline as she gasped, her breath stolen by the view. "It's incredible," she murmured appreciably.
"Yes," he agreed, hanging his jacket from the back of his chair before seating himself. "Made even more so by the company, I think."
Her blush returned, which she hoped he couldn't see in the dim glaze of candlelight. "You really 'are' smooth." she smirked, forcing her facilities back under control.
"One of my talents," he grinned back, leaning forward. "One of many." His hand flicked forward, prestidigitating a rosebud from thin air. She gasped again as he handed the bud to her with a sly smile, and gently arranged it in her hair so it stuck out of her bun. "You look beautiful," he said as she finished her handiwork, gazing at her across the tiny candle flame.
"Th-thanks." she stuttered, growing even warmer about the cheeks. It was surprising how quickly he had reduced a strong-willed, independent young woman to a pile of gibbering embarrassment.
Lucky for her, their waiter chose that moment to toddle on over, saving Kim from further self-humiliation. She glanced gratefully over at the corn-topped attendant…and promptly did a double-take.
"Good evening, folks," Ron greeted them amiably as he prepped his order pad, "Welcome to The Fancy Truffle. My name is Ron, and I'll be your server this evening." He looked up from the notepad, recalling the kitchen's specialties that night. "Today, the house specialty is holy crap…" He lost his composure, trailing off as he caught sight of his customers. "Kim?"
"Ron?" she hissed, feeling a plethora of emotions swelling to the surface. Foremost among them was surprise; Ron, with a job? "What are you doing here?"
"Working! What are you doing here?" he shot back in kind, gripping his pad so hard his fingers left indentations in every page.
"Eating." Will said flatly, glaring at Ron. He seemed immensely irritated by Ron's sudden appearance. "Now, are you going to take our order or not?"
"I…You…" Ron couldn't believe it. He had spent the entire day, busting his butt to find her, and she was on a date with none other than Will Du-fus. His teeth gnashed as he gripped the pad tighter still, taking the pen from behind his ear. "Fine," he said through a painfully forced smile. "Can I start you off with something?"
Will suddenly smiled at Ron, giving the young waiter cause for suspicion. "Gazpacho soup sounds good. Kim?"
"Uh," she was still reeling from the shock, trying to sort out her mixed emotions. "Soup sounds fine, I guess…" She let will pick the entrée as well, unable to force the words on her menu into focus.
"Soup for two…coming up." Ron managed to get out between his teeth.
He staggered off, leaving Will and Kim to ponder out the situation. Kim seemed confused, but her old annoyance with Ron was quickly returning. She had spent the entire day, busting her butt to find him, and here he was raking it in at some hoity-toity restaurant. "I can't believe it."
"Well," Will shrugged with an odd smile on his face, "I suppose a career change was inevitable, wasn't it?"
A few moments later, Ron came back with two bowls of red liquid on a round black tray, balancing them carefully with surprising grace. He set the bowls down in front of each of them, pulling away with exaggerated flourish. "Gazpacho soup for two. I'll be back in a few minutes with the rest of your order."
Ron started to walk away, but stopped as Will called out, "Oh, waiter?" He returned to the table with a tight-lipped smile and a questioning look. Gesturing to the soup, Will said with a straight face, "Excuse me, but our soup is stone cold. I think there's been some mistake."
"What?" Ron picked the bowl up again, feeling the cool porcelain press against his skin. "Oh. Um, I'm sorry…" He seemed sheepish and angry at the same time, and quickly took the bowls away before Kim even had a chance to dip her spoon in. "I'll take these back right away."
Kim watched Ron disappear deeper into the restaurant with the two bowls, then shot Will a confused look. "Didn't you know that-"
"Oh, I know." Will nodded, the strange smile still in place. "But I suspect 'he' doesn't."
Will was proven right as an annoyed shouting match started up from the kitchen's double doors. A few moments of shouting later, Ron emerged from the doors with a sour look on his face, and the same two bowls of soup, untouched by the indignant, scolding chef. He set the bowls down in front of them with a loud *clank*, glaring spitefully at Will.
"Say," Ron said in a mocking, sing-song tone, "Mr. Russian-expert…"
"I'd hardly call myself an expert," Will said nonchalantly, blowing on his nails. He eyed the soup with disinterest, looking up at their waiter with a pointedly smug look. "Didn't you heat it up?"
"Here's a fun fact; Gazpacho soup is served 'cold'. But I bet you knew that, didn't you?" Ron leaned over the table, trying to look menacing. Unfortunately, his hand squashed into the small tray of butter that had come with their complimentary bread.
"I had no idea." Will said with conviction, keeping a straight face. He looked around Ron, inviting Kim to play along. "Kim, did you know that?"
Kim was having a hard time keeping her laughter down. She covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking with silent mirth. Ron shot her a dirty look, but she shot one right back at him. She was still plenty peeved at him for the horrible message he had left on the Kimmunicator, and a little practical joke wouldn't hurt him any.
"We'll take our main course when it's ready," Will told Ron, taking his spoon and dipping it into the soup. The real irony was, he possessed a taste for Gazpacho that went back to his first trip to Russia, several years back. When Ron continued to glare at the two, he arched an eyebrow. "Don't you have other tables to wait on?"
Ron left with a grumble, allowing Kim and Will to share in muffled laughter. She felt a little better now that she had gotten her own dig in, and would apologize for the prank later. She was feeling a little grateful to Will, not only for the night out, but also for the opportunity to tease Ron a little.
And then he did it again…
"Excuse me?" Will eyed the meals Ron delivered them, snorting scornfully. "This isn't what we ordered." He gestured to the two steaks sitting in front of them, shaking his head. "No, this is all wrong."
"What?" Ron flipped through his order pad, frowning. Kim couldn't help but frown, too. What was Will saying? Ron had gotten the orders spot-on. Finally finding the page, Ron pointed to it, showing Will the shorthand. "Look; two steaks, medium, with steamed vegetables.
"You must have heard wrong." Will told him, his voice like velvety steel. "I said 'medium well,' with potatoes and carrots. This," he gestured to the assortment of greenery at the side of his supposedly undercooked steak, "Doesn't look like that order."
The twitch at Ron's eye was a clear sign of the tidal wave of anger he was repressing. "Well then…" he said neutrally, avoiding the massive urge to pick up the steak knife and commit second degree murder, "I'll just take these back and fix the order."
And again…
"No, no, no. All wrong." Will insisted, gesturing to the steaks. "Does this look like medium well to you?"
And again…
"These are the limpest carrots I have ever seen." Will shot at Ron, as if it were his fault personally. He picked the plates up, handing them back forcibly. "I am not satisfied."
Kim's stomach was rumbling. "They look fine," she pleaded, reaching for the plate.
Unfortunately for Kim's stomach, Will had pushed Ron one plate too far. He threw the food down on the ground, shattering the dinnerware and spreading meat drippings all over his nice shoes. The restaurant suddenly grew quiet as Will stood up slowly, squaring off against Ron.
"I've taken your food back 'twice' already." Ron jabbed a finger at the agent, growing red around the collar. "Stop screwing around with me, Du."
"Is that a threat, Stoppable?" Will shot back, tearing the napkin from his collar and throwing it in Ron's face. Ron tore the cloth aside furiously, fumbling with the material before he worked it from his eyes. His hands curled into fists, aching for the chance to wipe the superior look from Will's face. He wasn't above taking a few teeth with it, either.
Kim shot up in a hurry, putting herself between the two and laying a hand on each of their chests. "All right, guys, that's enough." She didn't want to see a fight break out between the two. Besides…she had been training with Will all week, and knew his fighting style inside and out. Compared with the amazing skills Ron had been fronting against Shego, she was afraid she was going to have a massacre on her hands.
"You should listen to her, Stoppable." Will said in a low growl. "She doesn't want you to get hurt."
Kim frowned at him. "That's not what I-"
"Excuse me!" Jean Pierre rushed over, pushing his way through the crowd that had gathered around the two combatants. There were several muted cries of protest from some of the men observing, before their dates elbowed them back into line, as the owner forcibly pulled Ron away from the impending fight. "What is going on here?"
"Jean Pierre," Will regained his composure almost instantly, smoothing back his ruffled hair. "We're having a little disagreement, that's all."
"Oh really." He glanced back and forth between the two, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I believe I can handle this. Not to worry, Mr. Du, Ms. Possible." With that, he turned smartly to Ron and yanked the nametag from his lapel. "Ronald, you're fired." Then, just as quickly, he turned back to the pair, offering them an apologetic look. "I'm terribly sorry, we'll get this cleaned up and have a fresh set sent to you…gratis, of course."
"F…F…Fired?" Ron said, jaw hanging in disbelief. "Y-your firing me? After what this-"
"Ronald," Jean Pierre said sharply, not even turning around to face the boy, "Your uncle and I happen to be very close friends, so I'm sure we all would rather I not have to call the police to escort you off the premises, yes?"
Ron's mouth flapped open a few more times as he tried to find his voice, but it had fled entirely. Trembling with rage, he tore the bow tie from his shirt and threw it onto the ground, then turned on his heel and stomped off. The crowd around them parted immediately; none of them wanted to even catch Ron's eye at the moment. None of them dared…
Kim felt her stomach lurch as Will and Jean Pierre continued to discuss the incident in low tones. Suddenly, the prank wasn't funny any more. "Ron, wait!" she cried, running after him as best she could in high heels.
She caught up to him just outside the restaurant, where he waited impatiently for an elevator to take him to the bottom of Upperton Towers. His foot tapped at a furious pace against the polished, gleaming tile, and his face hadn't drained of its bright red hue yet. He barely afforded her a glance before turning back to the metallic elevator doors, tapping his foot even faster as she approached.
"Ron," she huffed, kicking aside her blasted heels and padding up to him barefoot. "Ron, I'm really-"
"Awfully intense training, huh Kim?" he snapped with his back still turned to her.
"What?" She had no idea what he was talking about, and said as much.
It seemed just the opening he was waiting for. He whirled upon her, and Kim was horrified to find a man she didn't even recognize: He looked a little like Ron Stoppable, the boy she had grown up with, but his face was far to angry, and his voice was much too cold and sharp. "You know," he said snidely, "When you signed on for Global Justice, I didn't think they'd teach you to be a pompous jerk like Will."
"Hey, look," she said, recoiling slightly from the attack, "I'm sorry about what happened in there, Ron, really, but-"
"Stuff it. Stuff you, Kim." He couldn't even bring himself to call her 'KP' at the moment. "Ever since you moved into the Will-cave, you've been nothing but a snob and a jerk to me, and I've had it up to the cummerbund with it!" He tore the offending apparel off as if to prove the point, tossing it aside.
"I've been distant? 'I've' been distant?" she heard her own voice rising now, totally out of her control as her own ire and indignation superceded the sympathy she felt for him. "Ron, ever since I joined, you've been treating me like I'm the enemy!"
"Well, then I guess I've been treating you just about right, haven't I?" he asked snappishly. Usually when Kim was angry, he backed down quick, but not this time. He jabbed a finger at her, growing dangerously close to her face as he continued to shout, "You don't have the time for a decent 'hello' for me, but you clearly have plenty of time for Will."
"Maybe it's because 'he' doesn't yell at me for doing something 'he' suggested. Ever think of that?" Kim retorted.
Ron threw his arms out wide, looking up at the ceiling. "Well heck, Kim, I don't know why I was so worried about you, then. I guess I'll stop bugging you now that you've got a great replacement lined up for me!"
"Will is 'not' your replacement!" she said heatedly.
"No, of course not," Ron sneered. "You two are on a date. I guess that would make him an upgrade to the better model. It's no wonder you just dumped the old one as-"
He never got the next word out as a flash of white struck him on the cheek, knocking his whole head aside. He blinked, wondering why the world was canted at such an extreme angle, or why his face suddenly hurt so much.
"How. Dare. You." Kim said in a low, dangerous voice. "How 'dare' you accuse me of…of…of that!" Her body had lost all feeling, shaking with unadulterated fury as she faced him down. "I have stuck by you through some pretty dumb mistakes, Ron Stoppable…How 'dare' you accuse me of…of…"
"Say it." Ron whispered. "Forgetting me?" He could no longer look at Kim, could not move his head since the blow. In all their years, in all the arguments they had ever had, even when she had been under mind control…Kim had never hit him like that before.
The elevator arrived in a timely fashion, announcing itself with a cheery bell tone as the doors slid open. Kim glared at Ron wordlessly for a second. She could hear Will calling her name, his feet pounding against the floor. It would only be a moment before he arrived. "Go." she said, locking eyes with him.
The word hit Ron like a jackhammer, knocking the wind from him as surely as an uppercut from her satiny glove would have. "Well…well fine!" he mustered his voice back, stumbling into the elevator. "Go on, then! Who needs you!"
As the doors closed, Ron caught a glimpse of Will, standing some distance back. Ron could see an infuriating look of triumph on the agent's features before the doors mercifully slid shut, leaving him all alone.
He sunk back against the wall of the elevator as it began its descent. His stomach lurched, but it wasn't any side effect of the acceleration. Tears were welling up in his eyes as he clutched at his hair, curling up in the corner.
He drew his knees to his chest, forcing his tears into the folds of his pants. "I do…" he murmured.
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"I'm really sorry I ruined the evening, Will." Kim said tonelessly as they stood outside of her door. She felt nothing inside, as if a large block of ice had replaced all of her organs, choking her, freezing her, making her feel horrible.
He fidgeted uncomfortably, trying his best to appear at ease and failing miserably. "No," he shook his head, "I should be the one to apologize. I…"
"What you saw back there…" Kim sighed, closing her eyes before any of the tears she was holding back could escape, "Well, I guess it was coming. It was just a matter of time."
"I must admit, even I was a little surprised…" he offered gently, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She offered him an encouraging smile that she did not feel in the least. All she wanted to do now was to go to bed, and pretend that the night had never happened. "Me too…" she said dully. Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears, like the tinny tones of a useless doll. "Well…goodn-"
"Kim." His voice was pleading, even desperate, as his hand stayed its place on her arm. "There…there was a reason I asked you to dinner tonight. It may be the wrong time, but…"
"Is everything all right?" She prayed that it wasn't another crisis. Was he kicking her out of GJ for all the trouble they had been having with Ron? "Will?"
"I love you."
The ice inside of Kim cracked with the force of the words. He had spoken so quickly, so murkily, and yet she knew it was no joke. The cold drained right out of her, leaving in its place a terrible void that tugged at her very soul. "W-what?"
"I'm sorry." he apologized profusely, taking her hands in his. "I know this is the worst time to bring it up, but…I feared that if I didn't say it, I would burst."
"What are you talking about?" she asked in a slightly fearful manner. "You…"
"Love you, yes." he said hurriedly. "I…As I said, I have been watching your career, your activities…you…for quite some time. At first, I was envious. Then, I grew accepting. Then I admired you. And from that…" He shrugged helplessly, looking at her with round, soulful eyes.
If there was anything she didn't need at the moment, it was definitely this. "Oh, Will," she murmured, looking apologetic. "I…"
His finger found its way to her lips, silencing her. "Please," he begged, "Do not answer now. I realize that with everything that happened tonight…well," he said, "I can understand how it would take some time."
She didn't know what to say, though she felt herself nodding and giving him a tiny smile. It was as if she was watching the scene play out from a great distance. Something warm and slightly moist brushed her cheek, and it was only as Will walked away that she realized it had been his lips. With clumsy hands, she fumbled her door open, collapsing on the other side once it had closed behind her.
Kim felt herself falling, and collided with the floor without a sound. Her back leaned against the door as she reached up with a shaky hand, pulling her hair free of its bun. The beautiful beret hung uselessly in her limp grip as she stared at the glittering stones, unable to move, unable to think. Her face stared back at her, refracted in the center stone, and beside it, two other faces haunted her in the other gems…different faces, but all-too familiar.
With a shuddering sigh, Kim let go of her emotions at last, feeling the turmoil pour out of her in thick, salty streams that smeared her careful makeup. Though she was utterly exhausted, she knew that sleep would not come to her that night.
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WARNING! Kim Possible is not intended for ingestion. If swallowed, induce vomiting immediately and call your local Poison Control Center. Do not panic. Do not sue the author for unauthorized usage of characters, locations, etc. Use only recommended dosage (one chapter) as directed. Apply to eyeballs. Laugh and feel outraged as needed.
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Kim Possible
The Power of Love
by Cyberwraith9
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Kim trudged through the doorway of her top secret, state-of-the-art, fancy one-bedroom flat and tossed her book bag aside miserably. Normally, the ever-mindful teen would have placed it neatly aside, preserving the inherent order of her spotless apartment. Though GJ bankrolled the finest cleaning staff for her and Will's convenience, the innate neatness her upbringing had instilled in her was hard to fight. But today, she simply didn't care…
It had been the same story as the day before, except without classes to go to; Not a single blonde hair of Ron to be found anywhere near her, though not for lack of trying. Kim had called all morning until she was certain his cell phone's voice mail was completely full. She had checked all over campus: the bookstore, the student union, the gym, and at Bueno Nacho no less than five times. She had even gone to his apartment and pounded on the door for a quarter of an hour, until one of his neighbors threatened to call the police. And still…
"Nothing." she huffed aloud, sinking into her leather sofa and staring at the blank TV screen. An entire day of searching, and all she had to show for it was a boatload of frustration and a pair of aching feet. "It's like he disappeared off of the planet," she groused to herself, kicking the edge of the sofa with her heel. "How am I supposed to apologize if I can't talk to him?" Naturally, the fabulous apartment didn't answer her.
Sighing, she rolled over, once again staring at the blank monitor. A familiar shape pressed into her thigh from beneath her. That, with the empty screen, prompted a sudden thought. "Wait a minute!" she cried to herself, sitting up with a start. Frantically she began digging in her cargo pocket, laughing with triumph as she withdrew the black casing of her standard-issue GJ Communicator.
Working purely from memory, Kim activated the device's wireless web, surfing through the quickest backdoors in her old site for a direct link to the Kimmunicator. "C'mon…c'mon…pick up." she urged the connection, hunching over the tiny device in anticipation.
The screen hissed with static for a moment before clarifying with a flash. A second later, Ron's beaming face smiled back at her, prompting a small cry of victory. "Hey," he greeted her warmly.
"Ron!" she beamed back at him. She was thrilled beyond words to finally see his face smiling at her again. "Ron, I've been trying-"
"This is Ron Stoppable, former sidekick and savior to humankind in general." he continued, oblivious to Kim's happiness. It was only then that she realized it was a recording he left, probably for people calling for help. "Unfortunately for you," the message continued brightly to a morose Kim, "Team Possible is kaput. Hope your crisis isn't too crucial."
Despite her disappointment, she couldn't help but smile at his classic Ron humor. But that smile disappeared as the message continued…
"So if you need rescuing," he shrugged, "I suggest you call Global Justice and their newest big-headed, back-stabbing turncoat of an agent, and her thick-skulled, Russian-speaking trained monkey." The pleasant look never vanished from his face as he harpooned Kim with the cruel words. In fact, he seemed happier, letting the world know just what he thought of her! "Toodles!" he waved one last time before the screen shut down.
Absently, through the rage that began clouding her vision with a haze of red, Kim became aware of two different noises, a creaking and a grinding sound in the background of her own ringing ears. The former came from her GJ Communicator, whose plastic casing strained beneath her rending fingers. "The latter of the two was coming from her own teeth, rolling across one another as her jaw clenched.
"You little…rotten…" she breathed at the vanished message, trembling with anger. Her hands shook as she tossed the tiny black device over her shoulder in a fit of rage. Here she was, killing herself trying to find him so she could apologize, and he had the 'gall' to say those things about her?
A voice from behind startled her from her anger. "If your Communicator is malfunctioning, we can always repair it." She saw Will standing in her doorway, tapping the former projectile against his palm. "They are expensive, so I wouldn't recommend throwing it away just yet."
"Will!" she gasped, caught a little off-guard by his stealthy entrance. She must have left the door open, for he never would have entered unannounced otherwise. "I…I didn't hear you come in."
"So I gathered." he said, approaching her tentatively. "I'm sorry if I surprised you. Is…everything all right?"
"What? Oh," she said quickly, taking back her Communicator with a sheepish look. "The Communicator's fine, it's just…" She saw his calm, attentive features and had to catch herself before she said more than she wanted to. Sometimes Will seemed so easy to talk to, when it was just the two of them. "Nothing," she decided at last, "It's nothing."
"Very well." He suddenly got an odd look on his face, an expression Kim couldn't recall ever seeing on him before. It looked vaguely like discomfort. "There, uh…There was another reason behind my visit." he admitted.
"You mean besides to see me flip out?"
He grinned along with her, easing the strange tension between them. "Yes," he chuckled softly, but then resumed the expression. Now Kim was even more convinced that he was nervous about something. But what could make Will Du nervous…short of a surprise inspection by Doctor Director, of course. "I, ah, was wondering if you wanted to grab a bite to eat, perhaps?"
Kim considered for a moment; it 'had' been a long, aggravating day, an she certainly didn't feel up to cooking. "Sure," she shrugged. Maybe they could go to Bueno Nacho. That way, if Ron was there, she could tell him exactly how funny his little message was.
Will's face melted into reserved triumph. "Excellent!" he crowed, rubbing his hands together. "I've made reservations for us at The Fancy Truffle. We will depart in one hour, if that is enough time for you to prepare. Oh," he added, "I asked GJ Requisitions to provide you a suitable outfit. I hope it's to your liking."
She blinked, head swimming as Will turned to exit quickly. "Did…Did I just say 'yes' to a date?" she asked, confused. The concept of Will asking her out was a little tough to wrap around, but she was trying valiantly.
Will paused, turning around. His face had returned to its previous, uncomfortable state, mixed with something new; apprehension. "I believe so," he observed carefully, giving her a questioning look. "Was I suitably…smooth?"
She saw the look he wore, and knew at once how others felt when she brought out the 'puppy-dog pout'. Besides, he had clearly put a lot of thought into the evening, and what harm could a single date do? "We'll save that question for the end, shall we?" she said coyly, putting him at ease with a 'come hither' stare.
Will left excitedly, barely keeping the bounce out of his military step. Kim couldn't help but laugh softly at his excitement, wondering if he was standing outside of her door, pumping his fist and congratulating himself. Boys could be so stupid…
With a sigh, she shut the door behind him, then turned and made for the stairs to her room. So preoccupied were her thoughts that she failed to notice the blinking light on her phone, announcing about fifteen messages that waited for her, all from the same number.
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Ron trudged though the doorway of his cozy, self-funded, empty two-bedroom-one-occupant apartment and tossed aside his book bag miserably. The bag bounced against the cheap carpeting, landing in a heap like always. It matched the rest of the tone in the room: messy and laid back, which defined Ron to a 'T'. At the moment, though, laid back was the last thing he felt like, though he 'was' a mess.
He sunk into his futon cushion with a sigh, ignoring the throbbing pain in his feet. It had been a long day of running around campus, searching for his best friend in vain. He had gone everywhere he could think of where Kim might have been; the gym, the bookstore, the student union…so focused was his search that he hadn't even gone to Bueno Nacho all day, despite his extreme burrito deficiency. He had even spent a good portion of his afternoon calling until he was sure Kim's voice mail was full.
A jabbering down by his burning tennis shoes caught his weary attention. Leaning forward, he saw his cell phone wiggling in a pair of tiny pink claws down on the floor. "Hey, my cell phone." He took the device from Rufus, who was grateful to lose the weighty load. "Must have left it here…" he mused to himself.
A tiny digital envelope blinked in the corner of the screen, but he ignored it for the moment. Any voice mail he had was probably from his mother, and she would only call to fuss over him and his financial worries. And speaking of which…
He noticed the time on the tiny digital readout. "Aw, man!" he moaned, dropping back into the seat. Rufus scampered up his leg, chittering curiously as Ron rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I'm gonna be late for work!"
"Muh?" Rufus blinked his large, luminous eyes at his friend. "Find Kim?"
Ron pocketed the cell phone as he ran for his room, already halfway out of his shirt as he called back, "No time now, buddy. I'll give her a call after work, maybe."
Rufus climbed the back of the couch, watching Ron's clothes fly as the boy changed for work. The mole rat grimaced as Ron reemerged, dressed in a carefully-pressed black suit with a goofy red bow tie. "Wan Kim!" Rufus squeaked insistently, folding his tiny paws.
The look on Ron's face soured for a moment. "I know what you mean, Rufus." Then he forced a smile onto his features, readying himself for the long shift ahead. "Besides," he added, "The Fancy Truffle waits for no man."
The rodent seemed excited at the prospect. "Fancy Truffle, yeah!" he jumped up and down, squeaking enthusiastically.
"Whoa, sorry bud." Ron scooped his little roommate up, setting him down on the counter. "You know I can't take you. Four-Star restaurants have this thing about rodents on their wait staff. Remember Chez Ron?"
"Oh yeah…" Rufus nodded somberly.
"Don't worry, Rufus. Mon's right…" He felt another wistful sigh coming on, and quickly stamped it out. He was tired of feeling bad about the whole situation, and Monique had the right idea; be patient, and talk things over with Kim. "She'll be around before you know it, and then things'll be back to normal."
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Shego tapped her foot impatiently, staring into the open fridge with a hunter's hungry eyes (and hungrier belly to match). She had already torn apart the rest of the henchmen's break room, but nothing remotely edible was forthcoming. Of course, considering the already-dilapidated condition that those slobs kept it in, she wasn't surprised.
"Do we have anything in here that isn't COVERED in GREASE?" she snarled, nearly tearing the fridge door off as she slammed it shut. Sausage, donuts, ham, bacon…There wasn't anything even remotely appetizing 'or' good for her arteries in this wasteland of junk food and dumpy red jumpsuits.
One particularly chunky henchman looked up from his Danish, speaking around a mouthful of crumbs. "What's wrong with our food?" he asked with quivering jowls.
Before she could start listing, the lair's PA system came alive with a crackle of static. "Shego," Drakken's voice echoed, "Shego, report to my lab at once. I repeat, I need to see you in my lab immediately. That is all." The intercom hissed with silence for a moment, and then continued, "She'd better be quick about it. Lousy attitude of hers is really starting to wear my patience. Probably got it from that good for nothing, lazy…wait, why is that light still on? Is the button stuck again? Oh, for crying out-"
'I hate that thing,' she thought as the PA finally quieted with a merciful burst of static. Shego stalked out of the empty break room, heading out into the empty corridor…
…which was not so empty after all.
"Good day, my dear." Señor Senior Senior stood directly in her path, hunched over his gold-tipped cane. He was swathed in the finest red silks, and leered at Shego with an expression that bore an uncomfortable resemblance to that of a buzzard examining a fresh carcass.
Shego scowled, twisting to move around him. "Yeah, hi Pops." But his arm raised to halt her, keeping her in place and deepening her frown. "Uh, excuse me?" she shot sarcastically.
"I wish to speak with you a moment." He placed a hand on her back, leading her in a slow gait down the hall. She bristled at his touch, but repressed the urge to tear his appendage off and feed it to him. "This partnership has benefited us all as of late. There can be no denying that." he stated matter-of-factly.
"I hope there's a point to this…" she growled in warning.
"I fear," he sighed, "That once presented with the prize, our fellow members will not be so cooperatively minded. Perhaps even I…" he paused, emphasizing his words with an unmistakable look, "I myself may be tempted to seize the fruits of our labor. And should that happen, I was wondering which side you would be on…"
Her boots skidded against the metal plating as she halted suddenly. "You're kidding, right?" she asked him.
"You were in my employ once," he reminded her. "And my son is very fond of you. There is no reason we could not come to an understanding, yes?" He watched her absorb his words, digesting them without expression. "Keep it in mind, my dear. I think you would find it a most prosperous and agreeable choice." And with that, he reversed his course, leaving her to walk in silence towards Drakken's lab.
But she hadn't taken a dozen steps before another block stood in her path. Long and his cronies spanned the hallway shoulder-to-shoulder, dressed in simple red tunics and black slacks. Their arms were folded, their faces grim.
Shego eyeballed the trio suspiciously as she approached. Somehow, she knew this was no accidental meeting. "What?" she asked waspishly, adopting a stance similar to theirs.
"Shego," Long began neutrally, "We wish to talk to you about your loyalties to the Legion."
"My loyalties," she snapped, "Are to me." She tapped her fist against her chest as she cut into them with a sharp glare. "And none of 'your' business, either!"
The businessman nodded approvingly. "As are ours," he agreed. Claymore and Falchion gave their silent agreement as their leader said, "And unfortunately, I fear our allies feel likewise. So, I would ask that you think long and hard about which side you would find yourself on, should the unthinkable happen."
Her eyebrows arched as she leaned back a fraction of an inch. "Is that a threat?" she almost laughed. The mirth in her voice was impossible to miss, but it was no concern of hers; the idea that those jar-headed sword jockeys could do anything to threaten her…well, it was hard 'not' to laugh, really.
"Quite the opposite," he offered with an open gesture. "Roddigan Industries is always on the lookout for talented…individuals, such as yourself. We could see to it so you would never worry about money ever again."
"But you'd never betray the team…now would you?" she asked suspiciously.
"Certainly not." Claymore insisted.
"Perish the thought." Falchion added.
"No one is speaking of treachery." Long's eyes grew cold and hard as he added, "We are merely trying to prepare for 'every' contingency." He stepped aside with a gracious bow, his comrades soon following suit. "Merely food for thought, Lady Shego."
Shego left them behind without a word, stalking down the hall and around a darkened corner with growing irritation. That feeling tripled as yet another obstruction stood in her way, keeping her in the dimly lit juncture.
"We need to talk." Monkey Fist said crossly, his arms folded over his chest and brow heavy with unspoken thoughts. The dark hair and black tunic covering his body cloaked him in the shadows of the corridor, making him difficult to find unless he wanted to make himself known.
Killigan stood next to him, sporting no such stealth in his gaudy vest/kilt combo and ridiculous hat. "Aye," he agreed.
"Oi!" Shego slapped a hand over her face, grumbling inaudibly. "What do you two morons want?" she said between her fingers, afraid that she already knew the answer.
"Assurances." Monkey Fist growled back, not backing down.
"Tha's right!" Killigan stepped in, pounding a fist into his palm. "We're th' muscle of this li'l crew, and I don' think th' others take us seriously."
"What do you expect when you wear a miniskirt with 'that' outfit?" Shego smirked. She watched Killigan's face turn fire engine red, pleased that she could push his buttons so easily. It might be the only amusement she got out of the day.
"I's a-"
"Not now." Monkey Fist clamped a hairy palm over Killigan's mouth as he glared at Shego. "You know we're right." he said with deadly seriousness.
"Maybe." Shego allowed with a shrug. She leaned against the opposite wall, saying, "Why tell me about it?"
"You're one of us," the stately warrior explained, removing his (now disgustingly damp) hand from the golfer's trap and wiping it clean. "A grunt. Hired help. Drakken doesn't take you seriously," he said, narrowing his eyes, "And I know that irritates you."
"If ye side with anyone," Killigan warned her, "It should e wit' yet own kin." He tapped a meaty finger against her collarbone for emphasis, bristling at the beard and bushy eyebrows.
"Mmm, okay, number one?" Her eyes poured daggers into him as she yanked his hand away from her green and black jumpsuit. "No. Touching. And second," she grimaced as she split her glare between the two of them, "Does ANYONE remember that we're all on the same side?"
"We haven't." Monkey Fist assured her.
"Bu' they might." Killigan said in no uncertain terms. "Tha's what we want ye t' be ready for, lass."
"Tell ya what, 'laddies'," she growled, backing away from them. "I'll let you know before anyone sticks a knife in your backs, m'kay?" She left them without another word, picking up the pace to make up for lost time. The day was quickly going from bad to worse. All she needed now was…
"Shego." A cornball accent coming from a fake goatee was waiting for her in front of Drakken's door.
Great. Juuuuuust great. "Out of the way, Lucre." she sighed, walking right past him. Lucre was too much of a coward to stand in her way, but she was surprised when he snagged her shoulder as she passed.
"Hold on a minute," he insisted, dropping the phony accent. "There's some business I wanted to discuss with-"
"Lucre, pimples like you should think less about business and worry more about being POPPED!" She brushed his noodle grip aside, continuing on to the lab.
His face immediately paled in terror. "Why? What have you heard?" he asked in a panic, wringing his hands as he ran to catch up. "I knew it! They're going to eliminate me, aren't they?"
"No." she snapped angrily, ignoring him as she reached for the door control. "We're working together…though heaven only knows why." she added in a mutter.
"If that's true," he asked, suddenly becoming smug, "Then why is Drakken siphoning money over from the Hydrofarm project?"
The comment stayed Shego's hand just above the control. She looked back at the store clerk gone awry, searching his face for any sign of duplicity. "What are you talking about?" she asked with piqued interest.
"I'm the best numbers man in this outfit," he bragged with pride, slipping his thumbs beneath the loop of his orange vest. "Drakken's been discrete about it, but I've got my hands on a nice little paper trail."
"Of what?"
"Invoices. Orders. Receipts. Drakken has spent millions of the Seniors' money, and I can guarantee it isn't going to Roddigan for the dome construction. It all spells one big double-cross." He smirked, as if proud of his little investigative accounting.
"Fine. Good. What do you want me to do about it?" Shego barked in his face, growing so angry her fists flared to life with a deadly green glow.
The sudden outburst wiped away any trace of arrogance he had left on his weasely little face. "I w-want you to work-k-k for me!" he whimpered, shielding his head with both arms.
Her anger evaporated into incredulity. Had she heard him wrong? "Are…are you trying to be funny?" she asked, extinguishing her hands.
Seeing that his life wasn't in immediate danger, Lucre calmed down a bit. "That's right," he nodded earnestly, "See, Drakken isn't the only one who can shift funds around." Leaning in, he added, "All the money I've saved with my penny pinching has gone straight into a series of carefully-hidden offshore accounts. Drakken's good, but I'm 'amazing'."
"How much?"
"Millions." he assured her. "And all I'm asking is that if things go screwy and one of them betrays us, you protect me instead of Drakken." He grinned at her.
'Why me?' she rolled her eyes, throwing her hands helplessly into the air. "Fine. Whatever." she sighed.
"Excellent!" he crowed. Then he cleared his throat, slipping back into his stupid accent as he arched his fingers. "I mean, Frugal Lucre is pleased that-"
"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, ripping the adhesive strip of hair from his face as she punched the door control. Lucre fumbled with his facial hair as she tossed it over her shoulder, entering Drakken's lab.
Drakken leaned against his expansive lab table, glaring at her with open irritation. Behind him, a vast array of tubes and vials dripped, slowly processing his lethal Bio-Terminator. It would still days before they had enough for their purposes, but the refit on the Soviet missile was going slowly anyway. "What kept you?" he demanded.
"What do you want?" she shot back. She was in no mood for his attitude.
"Shego, I don't trust the others."
She blinked, keeping the belly laughter and snide remarks deep down to herself. "You don't say," she said dryly.
He began to pace the length of the enormous table, raising a finger as he kept his other fist tucked behind him. "They all stink of treachery. Especially Monkey Fist…" he stopped, tilting his head in thought. "Although that could just be normal monkey-smell…" he cringed.
"I can't say I blame you," she began examining her nails casually, throwing him a look. "You never know what 'secret' projects' they might be running behind your back."
The comment had the desired effect; He froze, glaring at her. "What do you know?" he demanded.
"What do 'you' know?" she countered. Her hands were on her hips as she smirked at her employer. "I'm sure Pops would love to know how you're 'really' spending his money."
The mad scientist examined Shego for a moment, considering something. Finally he shrugged, keeping his tone neutral as he said, "Merely a precautionary measure in case Kim Possible should interfere. Or," he added darkly, "If one of our so-called 'friends' decides they don't want to work to the Legion's common good."
"Ooh, sinister." she commented with a bored expression.
Drakken's twisted, scarred visage scowled once more as he turned on her, waving a finger under her nose. "just make certain you keep your eyes open, Shego." he warned her.
"Oh, believe me," she assured him, keeping a smug look from dominating her pale features, "My eyes are 'wide' open."
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The Fancy Truffle boasted a quiet, romantic atmosphere that no other restaurant in the tri-city area could hope to match. Located at the top of Upperton Towers high above the cityscape, it rotated slowly so its patrons could enjoy the view of gods to accompany their first-class cuisine. The establishment catered to a limited crowd, those rich or famous enough to afford the ambiance.
And it so happened that a certain Global Justice agent with an expense account had developed a taste for the place.
"Mr. Du!" the restaurant's owner rushed to greet one of his best customer. He was a portly man with a crisp tux, a bad comb-over and a bushy mustache, and tended to alternate between a light and a heavy French accent. He waddled to the pair entering his quaint rooftop restaurant, already sensing a new influx of government cash that brought a smile to his chubby features. "So nice to see you!"
Will was dressed smartly in a dark blue suit with matching tie, looking like a million dollars as he traded greetings with the shorter man. "Jean Pierre, it's been too long."
"I'll say. I have children to provide for!" The two chuckled together until Jean Pierre noticed the tagalong hanging near Will's arm. "And who is this lovely vision?"
Kim was too busy taking in the sprawling room to notice she was being talked about. The opulence, the view, the delicious aromas…it was all overwhelming to her. Deep down, she still felt like a Bueno Nacho girl. But tonight, in the atmosphere of such luxury, she felt like a princess.
She was dressed the part too; a tight black dress clung to her in all the right places, with a modest neckline and a sexy slit that ran up to mid-thigh. Her arms were covered in a pair of white satin gloves, and wrapped with the folds of a creamy silk scarf that was draped across the back of her neck. Her hair was done up in an attractive bun, held aloft with a clasp she had found waiting with her dress, featuring a trio of sparkling stones that she secretly hoped were real.
"This is Kimberly Possible," Will introduced her formally (Kim was beginning to suspect that Will did 'everything' formally in public). "She's my new partner."
"Mademoiselle," Jean Pierre took her gloved hand and delicately kissed her knuckles. "You have excellent taste, both in company and in dining."
She blushed, feeling her face grow hot. "Th-Thank you," she stammered.
"Come, let's find you a table near the window, shall we?" He led the young couple off across the gray carpeting, weaving between tables until they reached a cozy, candlelit corner for two pressed right up against the spotless plate glass. The city spun slowly beneath them, offering a clear view of the night life of Upperton. "I'll find your waiter at once," the owner told them graciously with a bow and a smile. Then he walked away, calling out with a far less amiable tone. "Ronald! Ronald, you lazy boy!"
Kim allowed Will to pull her chair out for her, disentangling herself from the scarf as she sat down. Her eyes were glued to the skyline as she gasped, her breath stolen by the view. "It's incredible," she murmured appreciably.
"Yes," he agreed, hanging his jacket from the back of his chair before seating himself. "Made even more so by the company, I think."
Her blush returned, which she hoped he couldn't see in the dim glaze of candlelight. "You really 'are' smooth." she smirked, forcing her facilities back under control.
"One of my talents," he grinned back, leaning forward. "One of many." His hand flicked forward, prestidigitating a rosebud from thin air. She gasped again as he handed the bud to her with a sly smile, and gently arranged it in her hair so it stuck out of her bun. "You look beautiful," he said as she finished her handiwork, gazing at her across the tiny candle flame.
"Th-thanks." she stuttered, growing even warmer about the cheeks. It was surprising how quickly he had reduced a strong-willed, independent young woman to a pile of gibbering embarrassment.
Lucky for her, their waiter chose that moment to toddle on over, saving Kim from further self-humiliation. She glanced gratefully over at the corn-topped attendant…and promptly did a double-take.
"Good evening, folks," Ron greeted them amiably as he prepped his order pad, "Welcome to The Fancy Truffle. My name is Ron, and I'll be your server this evening." He looked up from the notepad, recalling the kitchen's specialties that night. "Today, the house specialty is holy crap…" He lost his composure, trailing off as he caught sight of his customers. "Kim?"
"Ron?" she hissed, feeling a plethora of emotions swelling to the surface. Foremost among them was surprise; Ron, with a job? "What are you doing here?"
"Working! What are you doing here?" he shot back in kind, gripping his pad so hard his fingers left indentations in every page.
"Eating." Will said flatly, glaring at Ron. He seemed immensely irritated by Ron's sudden appearance. "Now, are you going to take our order or not?"
"I…You…" Ron couldn't believe it. He had spent the entire day, busting his butt to find her, and she was on a date with none other than Will Du-fus. His teeth gnashed as he gripped the pad tighter still, taking the pen from behind his ear. "Fine," he said through a painfully forced smile. "Can I start you off with something?"
Will suddenly smiled at Ron, giving the young waiter cause for suspicion. "Gazpacho soup sounds good. Kim?"
"Uh," she was still reeling from the shock, trying to sort out her mixed emotions. "Soup sounds fine, I guess…" She let will pick the entrée as well, unable to force the words on her menu into focus.
"Soup for two…coming up." Ron managed to get out between his teeth.
He staggered off, leaving Will and Kim to ponder out the situation. Kim seemed confused, but her old annoyance with Ron was quickly returning. She had spent the entire day, busting her butt to find him, and here he was raking it in at some hoity-toity restaurant. "I can't believe it."
"Well," Will shrugged with an odd smile on his face, "I suppose a career change was inevitable, wasn't it?"
A few moments later, Ron came back with two bowls of red liquid on a round black tray, balancing them carefully with surprising grace. He set the bowls down in front of each of them, pulling away with exaggerated flourish. "Gazpacho soup for two. I'll be back in a few minutes with the rest of your order."
Ron started to walk away, but stopped as Will called out, "Oh, waiter?" He returned to the table with a tight-lipped smile and a questioning look. Gesturing to the soup, Will said with a straight face, "Excuse me, but our soup is stone cold. I think there's been some mistake."
"What?" Ron picked the bowl up again, feeling the cool porcelain press against his skin. "Oh. Um, I'm sorry…" He seemed sheepish and angry at the same time, and quickly took the bowls away before Kim even had a chance to dip her spoon in. "I'll take these back right away."
Kim watched Ron disappear deeper into the restaurant with the two bowls, then shot Will a confused look. "Didn't you know that-"
"Oh, I know." Will nodded, the strange smile still in place. "But I suspect 'he' doesn't."
Will was proven right as an annoyed shouting match started up from the kitchen's double doors. A few moments of shouting later, Ron emerged from the doors with a sour look on his face, and the same two bowls of soup, untouched by the indignant, scolding chef. He set the bowls down in front of them with a loud *clank*, glaring spitefully at Will.
"Say," Ron said in a mocking, sing-song tone, "Mr. Russian-expert…"
"I'd hardly call myself an expert," Will said nonchalantly, blowing on his nails. He eyed the soup with disinterest, looking up at their waiter with a pointedly smug look. "Didn't you heat it up?"
"Here's a fun fact; Gazpacho soup is served 'cold'. But I bet you knew that, didn't you?" Ron leaned over the table, trying to look menacing. Unfortunately, his hand squashed into the small tray of butter that had come with their complimentary bread.
"I had no idea." Will said with conviction, keeping a straight face. He looked around Ron, inviting Kim to play along. "Kim, did you know that?"
Kim was having a hard time keeping her laughter down. She covered her mouth with her hand, shoulders shaking with silent mirth. Ron shot her a dirty look, but she shot one right back at him. She was still plenty peeved at him for the horrible message he had left on the Kimmunicator, and a little practical joke wouldn't hurt him any.
"We'll take our main course when it's ready," Will told Ron, taking his spoon and dipping it into the soup. The real irony was, he possessed a taste for Gazpacho that went back to his first trip to Russia, several years back. When Ron continued to glare at the two, he arched an eyebrow. "Don't you have other tables to wait on?"
Ron left with a grumble, allowing Kim and Will to share in muffled laughter. She felt a little better now that she had gotten her own dig in, and would apologize for the prank later. She was feeling a little grateful to Will, not only for the night out, but also for the opportunity to tease Ron a little.
And then he did it again…
"Excuse me?" Will eyed the meals Ron delivered them, snorting scornfully. "This isn't what we ordered." He gestured to the two steaks sitting in front of them, shaking his head. "No, this is all wrong."
"What?" Ron flipped through his order pad, frowning. Kim couldn't help but frown, too. What was Will saying? Ron had gotten the orders spot-on. Finally finding the page, Ron pointed to it, showing Will the shorthand. "Look; two steaks, medium, with steamed vegetables.
"You must have heard wrong." Will told him, his voice like velvety steel. "I said 'medium well,' with potatoes and carrots. This," he gestured to the assortment of greenery at the side of his supposedly undercooked steak, "Doesn't look like that order."
The twitch at Ron's eye was a clear sign of the tidal wave of anger he was repressing. "Well then…" he said neutrally, avoiding the massive urge to pick up the steak knife and commit second degree murder, "I'll just take these back and fix the order."
And again…
"No, no, no. All wrong." Will insisted, gesturing to the steaks. "Does this look like medium well to you?"
And again…
"These are the limpest carrots I have ever seen." Will shot at Ron, as if it were his fault personally. He picked the plates up, handing them back forcibly. "I am not satisfied."
Kim's stomach was rumbling. "They look fine," she pleaded, reaching for the plate.
Unfortunately for Kim's stomach, Will had pushed Ron one plate too far. He threw the food down on the ground, shattering the dinnerware and spreading meat drippings all over his nice shoes. The restaurant suddenly grew quiet as Will stood up slowly, squaring off against Ron.
"I've taken your food back 'twice' already." Ron jabbed a finger at the agent, growing red around the collar. "Stop screwing around with me, Du."
"Is that a threat, Stoppable?" Will shot back, tearing the napkin from his collar and throwing it in Ron's face. Ron tore the cloth aside furiously, fumbling with the material before he worked it from his eyes. His hands curled into fists, aching for the chance to wipe the superior look from Will's face. He wasn't above taking a few teeth with it, either.
Kim shot up in a hurry, putting herself between the two and laying a hand on each of their chests. "All right, guys, that's enough." She didn't want to see a fight break out between the two. Besides…she had been training with Will all week, and knew his fighting style inside and out. Compared with the amazing skills Ron had been fronting against Shego, she was afraid she was going to have a massacre on her hands.
"You should listen to her, Stoppable." Will said in a low growl. "She doesn't want you to get hurt."
Kim frowned at him. "That's not what I-"
"Excuse me!" Jean Pierre rushed over, pushing his way through the crowd that had gathered around the two combatants. There were several muted cries of protest from some of the men observing, before their dates elbowed them back into line, as the owner forcibly pulled Ron away from the impending fight. "What is going on here?"
"Jean Pierre," Will regained his composure almost instantly, smoothing back his ruffled hair. "We're having a little disagreement, that's all."
"Oh really." He glanced back and forth between the two, raising an eyebrow. "Well, I believe I can handle this. Not to worry, Mr. Du, Ms. Possible." With that, he turned smartly to Ron and yanked the nametag from his lapel. "Ronald, you're fired." Then, just as quickly, he turned back to the pair, offering them an apologetic look. "I'm terribly sorry, we'll get this cleaned up and have a fresh set sent to you…gratis, of course."
"F…F…Fired?" Ron said, jaw hanging in disbelief. "Y-your firing me? After what this-"
"Ronald," Jean Pierre said sharply, not even turning around to face the boy, "Your uncle and I happen to be very close friends, so I'm sure we all would rather I not have to call the police to escort you off the premises, yes?"
Ron's mouth flapped open a few more times as he tried to find his voice, but it had fled entirely. Trembling with rage, he tore the bow tie from his shirt and threw it onto the ground, then turned on his heel and stomped off. The crowd around them parted immediately; none of them wanted to even catch Ron's eye at the moment. None of them dared…
Kim felt her stomach lurch as Will and Jean Pierre continued to discuss the incident in low tones. Suddenly, the prank wasn't funny any more. "Ron, wait!" she cried, running after him as best she could in high heels.
She caught up to him just outside the restaurant, where he waited impatiently for an elevator to take him to the bottom of Upperton Towers. His foot tapped at a furious pace against the polished, gleaming tile, and his face hadn't drained of its bright red hue yet. He barely afforded her a glance before turning back to the metallic elevator doors, tapping his foot even faster as she approached.
"Ron," she huffed, kicking aside her blasted heels and padding up to him barefoot. "Ron, I'm really-"
"Awfully intense training, huh Kim?" he snapped with his back still turned to her.
"What?" She had no idea what he was talking about, and said as much.
It seemed just the opening he was waiting for. He whirled upon her, and Kim was horrified to find a man she didn't even recognize: He looked a little like Ron Stoppable, the boy she had grown up with, but his face was far to angry, and his voice was much too cold and sharp. "You know," he said snidely, "When you signed on for Global Justice, I didn't think they'd teach you to be a pompous jerk like Will."
"Hey, look," she said, recoiling slightly from the attack, "I'm sorry about what happened in there, Ron, really, but-"
"Stuff it. Stuff you, Kim." He couldn't even bring himself to call her 'KP' at the moment. "Ever since you moved into the Will-cave, you've been nothing but a snob and a jerk to me, and I've had it up to the cummerbund with it!" He tore the offending apparel off as if to prove the point, tossing it aside.
"I've been distant? 'I've' been distant?" she heard her own voice rising now, totally out of her control as her own ire and indignation superceded the sympathy she felt for him. "Ron, ever since I joined, you've been treating me like I'm the enemy!"
"Well, then I guess I've been treating you just about right, haven't I?" he asked snappishly. Usually when Kim was angry, he backed down quick, but not this time. He jabbed a finger at her, growing dangerously close to her face as he continued to shout, "You don't have the time for a decent 'hello' for me, but you clearly have plenty of time for Will."
"Maybe it's because 'he' doesn't yell at me for doing something 'he' suggested. Ever think of that?" Kim retorted.
Ron threw his arms out wide, looking up at the ceiling. "Well heck, Kim, I don't know why I was so worried about you, then. I guess I'll stop bugging you now that you've got a great replacement lined up for me!"
"Will is 'not' your replacement!" she said heatedly.
"No, of course not," Ron sneered. "You two are on a date. I guess that would make him an upgrade to the better model. It's no wonder you just dumped the old one as-"
He never got the next word out as a flash of white struck him on the cheek, knocking his whole head aside. He blinked, wondering why the world was canted at such an extreme angle, or why his face suddenly hurt so much.
"How. Dare. You." Kim said in a low, dangerous voice. "How 'dare' you accuse me of…of…of that!" Her body had lost all feeling, shaking with unadulterated fury as she faced him down. "I have stuck by you through some pretty dumb mistakes, Ron Stoppable…How 'dare' you accuse me of…of…"
"Say it." Ron whispered. "Forgetting me?" He could no longer look at Kim, could not move his head since the blow. In all their years, in all the arguments they had ever had, even when she had been under mind control…Kim had never hit him like that before.
The elevator arrived in a timely fashion, announcing itself with a cheery bell tone as the doors slid open. Kim glared at Ron wordlessly for a second. She could hear Will calling her name, his feet pounding against the floor. It would only be a moment before he arrived. "Go." she said, locking eyes with him.
The word hit Ron like a jackhammer, knocking the wind from him as surely as an uppercut from her satiny glove would have. "Well…well fine!" he mustered his voice back, stumbling into the elevator. "Go on, then! Who needs you!"
As the doors closed, Ron caught a glimpse of Will, standing some distance back. Ron could see an infuriating look of triumph on the agent's features before the doors mercifully slid shut, leaving him all alone.
He sunk back against the wall of the elevator as it began its descent. His stomach lurched, but it wasn't any side effect of the acceleration. Tears were welling up in his eyes as he clutched at his hair, curling up in the corner.
He drew his knees to his chest, forcing his tears into the folds of his pants. "I do…" he murmured.
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"I'm really sorry I ruined the evening, Will." Kim said tonelessly as they stood outside of her door. She felt nothing inside, as if a large block of ice had replaced all of her organs, choking her, freezing her, making her feel horrible.
He fidgeted uncomfortably, trying his best to appear at ease and failing miserably. "No," he shook his head, "I should be the one to apologize. I…"
"What you saw back there…" Kim sighed, closing her eyes before any of the tears she was holding back could escape, "Well, I guess it was coming. It was just a matter of time."
"I must admit, even I was a little surprised…" he offered gently, laying a comforting hand on her shoulder.
She offered him an encouraging smile that she did not feel in the least. All she wanted to do now was to go to bed, and pretend that the night had never happened. "Me too…" she said dully. Her voice sounded hollow in her own ears, like the tinny tones of a useless doll. "Well…goodn-"
"Kim." His voice was pleading, even desperate, as his hand stayed its place on her arm. "There…there was a reason I asked you to dinner tonight. It may be the wrong time, but…"
"Is everything all right?" She prayed that it wasn't another crisis. Was he kicking her out of GJ for all the trouble they had been having with Ron? "Will?"
"I love you."
The ice inside of Kim cracked with the force of the words. He had spoken so quickly, so murkily, and yet she knew it was no joke. The cold drained right out of her, leaving in its place a terrible void that tugged at her very soul. "W-what?"
"I'm sorry." he apologized profusely, taking her hands in his. "I know this is the worst time to bring it up, but…I feared that if I didn't say it, I would burst."
"What are you talking about?" she asked in a slightly fearful manner. "You…"
"Love you, yes." he said hurriedly. "I…As I said, I have been watching your career, your activities…you…for quite some time. At first, I was envious. Then, I grew accepting. Then I admired you. And from that…" He shrugged helplessly, looking at her with round, soulful eyes.
If there was anything she didn't need at the moment, it was definitely this. "Oh, Will," she murmured, looking apologetic. "I…"
His finger found its way to her lips, silencing her. "Please," he begged, "Do not answer now. I realize that with everything that happened tonight…well," he said, "I can understand how it would take some time."
She didn't know what to say, though she felt herself nodding and giving him a tiny smile. It was as if she was watching the scene play out from a great distance. Something warm and slightly moist brushed her cheek, and it was only as Will walked away that she realized it had been his lips. With clumsy hands, she fumbled her door open, collapsing on the other side once it had closed behind her.
Kim felt herself falling, and collided with the floor without a sound. Her back leaned against the door as she reached up with a shaky hand, pulling her hair free of its bun. The beautiful beret hung uselessly in her limp grip as she stared at the glittering stones, unable to move, unable to think. Her face stared back at her, refracted in the center stone, and beside it, two other faces haunted her in the other gems…different faces, but all-too familiar.
With a shuddering sigh, Kim let go of her emotions at last, feeling the turmoil pour out of her in thick, salty streams that smeared her careful makeup. Though she was utterly exhausted, she knew that sleep would not come to her that night.
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