Kim Possible and all related characters and indicia are owned by the Disney Corporation. Supergirl and all related characters and indicia are owned by DC Comics/Warner Bros. This work of fan fiction is written for pleasure, not profit.

Duff Killigan sat back and opened the sports section of the Daily Planet. His eyes wandered aimlessly across the columns of scores and season records without anything piquing his interest. Not even the PGA Tour results, normally the first thing he looked at, held any interest for him. The big Scotsman sighed heavily and put down the paper.

"How did it come to this?" he asked himself.

"I'm sorry, sir, where you talking to me?"

Killigan looked up with a start. One of the lackeys assigned to him was standing nearby with a pot of coffee in his hands. Killigan shook his head.

"Nay laddie, I was just talkin' to meself." The youngster assumed an exaggerated expression of understanding. "Would you care for more coffee?" he asked. Killigan nodded. When his cup was full the lackey set the pot on the table. "Are you finished with this, sir?" A gesture indicated the remains of Killigan's breakfast.

"Aye."

As the lackey began to clean up, Killigan picked up his coffee. 'How did it come to this,' he asked himself again, this time taking care not to speak out loud. His latest scheme had ended disastrously. His lair had been destroyed, his minions captured, and his piles of ill-gotten wealth confiscated by the combined efforts of Scotland Yard and teen superhero Kim Possible. Blind chance had allowed him to escape, when the agent guarding him had been distracted just long enough for Killigan to knock him out, seize a jet pack and fly away. Or rather, skim away. His flight had been the most hair-whitening experience of his life, as it had involved wave-hopping across the North Sea at night, in lousy weather to boot. He'd landed in Belgium half frozen and made his way from there to the U.S. Dead broke, he'd been forced to take a job with an established criminal enterprise. Which was how he'd ended up in Metropolis playing gardener for Intergang.

That was part of the reason for his unease. After so long as a criminal mastermind, to take the role of a subordinate was...odd. Not that Killigan felt he was treated like a lackey: far from it. Bruno Mannheim, the man who ran Intergang, was unfailingly polite to Killigan, had given him a seat at the table of Intergang's governing council, paid him well (in the form of a generous cut of the proceeds from Killigan's agricultural undertakings) and not only allowed but encouraged Killigan to diversify his criminal portfolio, as it were, by setting up his own scams, or investing in existing Intergang operations. And all he had to do was supervise the growing of a few hundred thousand marijuana plants. It was so easy that it was a little unnerving.

The other reason for his unease was that he was in Metropolis, home of that annoying, oversized Boy Scout in blue, Superman. How Intergang managed to avoid the notice of the Man of Steel was something Killigan couldn't quite figure out. Mannheim had put it down to the pains Intergang took not to draw attention to themselves, as well as their moles in the Mayor's Office and the Metropolis Police Department, but Killigan could never quite shake the feeling of being exposed.


Kara Kent was so excited she could hardly contain herself. She was in the living room of her 'cousin' Clark's Metropolis apartment, about to be charged with keeping an eye on things while he was 'out of town on business'. It was just the fifth time she'd been allowed to do so, and the first without Martha Kent along as a chaperone. Not, of course, that she wouldn't mind having her 'aunt' along. Martha and her husband Jonathan, Clark's adoptive parents, had taken Kara into their hearts and home without a second thought, for which Kara was and always would be grateful. Kara felt her eyes begin to mist. She blinked hard, as much to drive back unpleasant memories as tears. Even after a year on Earth, thoughts of the death of her family and the destruction of her homeworld could still reduce her to a weeping mess. Fortunately, such episodes occurred less and less often, and she was able now to remember happy times without breaking down. A smile flickered across her face. One such happy memory was the look on Clark's face when he heard her reaction to his statement that she was old enough now to come to Metropolis by herself.

"You do realize, Clark, that I'm actually twelve years older than you are, right?" Clark had goggled at her, then shook his head with a smile. "In absolute terms, maybe," he'd agreed, then hit back with a jest of his own. "And you do look very good for a lady pushing fifty."

Kara smiled to herself, then glanced at her watch. "Hey, Clark!" she called. "You'd better step on it. Lois'll be here any minute." That made her chuckle. The last time Clark had 'gone out of town on business' he'd really been headed into space with the Justice League, in his role as Superman. This time he was going to Europe for a week to cover an economic conference in Madrid, along with fellow reporter (and love interest) Lois Lane. Which meant he'd be crossing the Atlantic in a passenger jet, since Lois wasn't 'in the know' and Clark's boss had had her make the travel arrangements. And since Lois had insisted on picking Clark up at his place, instead of meeting him at the airport, Clark was frantically engaged in the unaccustomed practice of last minute packing.

"How close?" Clark called from his bedroom.

Kara's eyes narrowed as she looked through the wall with her x-ray vision. "She's just two blocks away. You have maybe two minutes 'til she rings the bell."

Clark emerged with a suit bag slung over his shoulder. "How do I look?"

Kara regarded him critically. Clark had forgone his usual suit and tie, and wore slacks and a sport coat. Kara nodded approvingly. "Tastefully stylish," she commented, and Clark grinned.

"All right then, I'm out of here." He paused. "You sure you'll..." Kara cut him off with a wave.

"The 'fridge is fully stocked, I have the emergency numbers, the money you gave me is in my purse, and nothing I can't handle will happen while you're away," she assured him. "Get going you worry wart," she commanded as she bustled him out the door.


Kim's mother had just handed her an ice cream cone, along with a sternly worded command: "When he makes his move, put this on." He, of course, was Josh Mankey. Josh had just made it to second base, and was clearly considering a try for third. Kim was puzzled that her mother wasn't upset, but then, it was only a baseball game. A phone rang. Kim looked down to see the top of third base tilt back. Ron, wearing his trademark goofy grin and an oddly familiar shirt, tie and vest combo, stuck his head up through it and held out a cordless phone.

"For you, K.P."

Taking the handset Kim spoke into it. "Hello?"

"POSSIBLE!" Mr. Barkin bellowed, "Where are your clothes?"

Stunned, Kim looked down. All she had on were a bra and panties. The whole stadium erupted in laughter. Her image appeared on the Jumbotron and the announcer's voice rang out, "Ladies and gentlemen, today's guest of honor: Kim Possible, the girl who can do anything!...Except remember to get dressed before she leaves the house!" The laughter swelled to a roar. Desperately, Kim looked for somewhere to hide. Ron, now wearing a baseball uniform, beckoned from the dugout, still holding a ringing phone. The ringing grew louder, louder, painfully louder...

Kim's eyes snapped open. The phone on her nightstand was jangling. With a sigh of relief she answered it.

"Hello?"

"This is your six o'clock wake up call," a female voice explained. "Good morning."

"Oh, right, thanks."

Kim yawned, stretched, and looked over at the other bed. Ron had either not woke up at all, or had gone right back to sleep when the phone quit ringing. She chucked a pillow at him.

"Get up Ron; it's time to go work out." She threw back her covers and got up. Ron rolled over and covered his head with a pillow.

Kim glared at him. With a sharp tug she pulled the clothes off his bed. "Ron. Get. Up. Now."

Ron threw his legs over the edge of his bed and sat up. He rubbed his sleep encrusted eyes and muttered something Kim figured she was better off not understanding. "I'm going to go get dressed," she said, jerking her thumb toward the bathroom. "Be ready when I get back." She turned and padded off. Behind her, still grumbling, Ron began to obey.

Kim emerged from the bathroom to find Ron waiting for her. He looked like he was still half asleep, leaning against the far wall, slurping coffee from a steaming mug. He looked up and said, "Blarg murphel phlerg," then pushed past her into the bathroom.

Ron had perked up considerably after a few minutes in the health club. Whether that was because the time he'd spent on the treadmill had gotten his blood flowing, or because an attractive woman was doing her warm-up stretches in front of him, Kim couldn't say. 'Probably both,' she thought with an amused grin. Her own mood had improved considerably, and only got better as she cranked up the speed on her own treadmill.

Kim and Ron were both wide awake, and drenched in sweat, by the time they turned their attention to the free weights. A hard morning workout had been slowly making itself a part of their daily routine over the past year, with a good run before school and a trip to the weight room after cheerleading practice. Ron, who had been, if not flabby, at least soft at the start of their sophomore year, had shed his incipient gut and gained some muscle mass. He'd grown too, gaining enough height that Kim was starting to have to look up at him.

'Speaking of incipient guts,' Kim said to herself, 'I'd better do some crunches, to burn off all that barbeque I ate last night.' Old Pete's Rib Shack had been as good as Ron had said, maybe even better. Ron had stuffed himself, of course, as had her father and brothers. Kim hadn't eaten as much, in terms of quantity of food consumed, but only her mother had made a real effort to limit herself. Kim had happily pigged out along with the men.

Kim ate sparingly when she and Ron joined the others for breakfast in the Continental Room. "Saving room for lunch, K.P?" Ron asked, eying her sparsely laden plate.

"That's exactly right," she grinned. While Mrs. Dr. Possible went to her conference, where Mr. Dr. Possible and the Tweebs would join her for lunch, Kim and Ron were going to hit the downtown area, see the sights, check out the Modern Art Museum, and have lunch at a deli Ron had recommended.

"That, and I'm making up for last night," she added.

Ron gave her a speculative look. "I thought that was what the extra tough workout you put me through this morning was for."

"That was to get you ready for all the bags you're going to be carrying for me," Kim declared, holding up her newly acquired debit card. "In the morning, culture. After lunch, shopping!"