All-Purpose Disclaimer

Kim Possible loves long walks on the moonlit beach and kicking the ever-loving crap out of bad guys with ridiculous themes. She's looking for a blond, goofy, fun-loving guy who likes hairless pets and hates simians of all varieties.

Kim Possible

The Power of Trust

by Cyberwraith Nine


"More tea, Miss Possible?"

Kim Possible shifted uncomfortably in a leather armchair that cost more than a year's worth of her tuition as she faced down the living mystery in front of her. The skybox high above the pumping, jiving club was totally silent, soundproofed against even such incredible noise. As a result, every rich, rolling word, dripping with regal British breeding, rang clear as a bell. "No, thank you," she said with a plastered smile, clutching a delicate tea cup and saucer rimmed with gold. "I'm fine."

Lord Gregory Fiske, owner of the Monkey's Tale, and their host for the evening, nodded graciously and turned to his other guest. "And you, Miss…?"

"Just Monique." the girl assured him. She took a sip of her tea, made a ghastly face, and set the cup down. "This is quite the place you've got here. Very…themed."

The 'theme' of which Monique spoke consisted of dozens upon dozens of monkey memorabilia packed into the cozy pseudo-office. Statuettes of all kinds- wood, stone, iron and more- lined the walls on rows of shelves. Pictures of monkeys, more species than either girl imagined existed, gleamed behind immaculate glass frames. The one picture that stood out from the rest was a portrait; A young man, accosted in the finest eveningwear and clutching a tobacco pipe between stubby, hairy knuckles. He was flanked by two young boys, each glaring at the other with baleful force.

Fiske caught sight of Kim's examination of the picture and smiled. "My father, Lord Simon Fiske. A great explorer who discovered evidence of the ancient monkey religions of Japan. I'm afraid he passed on his love for the creatures and the culture to his sons."

"But one son took it a little too much to heart," Kim commented. She took the hint from Monique's reaction and set her tea down untouched.

A small noise escaped the back of Fiske's throat. "Yes," he admitted, "My brother did take our father's legacy too far. It is my greatest shame to be forever linked to that horrid criminal. But family is family, and a Fiske remains true to his own."

The twinge in his eye didn't escape Kim's notice as Monique added, "It must be nice having a cheerleader cleaning up after 'your own'."

"Quite," he said between clenched teeth. His gloves dug into the Corinthian leather even as his smile tripled. "I do owe you a debt of gratitude for curtailing young Montgomery's indiscretions. That is why I have agreed to see you, despite my own busy schedule. But if you wouldn't mind, I'd appreciate it if we could get down to business."

Kim nodded, retrieving the Kimmunicator and setting it between them on the coffee table. On the sly, she pressed a control, suppressing a self-satisfied smirk as a small indicator light blipped obediently to her, assuring her that every word Fiske spoke would be recorded with perfect clarity. She then tapped the center control with a grand flourish, activating Wade's prepared program. Her faithful blue device spat up a shimmering hologram of the missing idol. It rotated slowly, casting its perpetual scowl across the gathered memorabilia of its brethren.

"This statue was stolen from a London museum a couple nights ago." At her verbal cue, a second hologram cropped up, a map indicating the museum's location with a blinking red dot.

Fiske leaned in, resting his chin upon his knuckles. "The Idol of Simor," he remarked with ha raised brow.

"You know it?" asked Kim, leaning in as well. She couldn't quite contain the traces of suspicion in her voice.

He scoffed, continuing to scrutinize the projection. "My dear girl, you came to me knowing full well I am an expert in matters of all things monkey. Let's not play these games, where you try to trick me into revealing myself as the mastermind behind your little mystery. Such pitiful displays are beneath us both."

"Uh, sure." Kim pulled back, flushed with embarrassment. She caught Monique giving her a concerned glance before her friend looked to one side, feigning extreme interest in one of Fiske's trinkets. Gathering her shattered wits, Kim asked, "What can you tell us about it?"

His fingers tapped his upper lip in a thoughtful gesture. "It was carved over two thousand years ago," he said, "Crafted by ancient simian shamen in the Kyoto Mountains. They stood in defiance of the Emperor, believing that true leadership of the Empire should lie with their Chosen One, and so-"

"Whoa, whoa, back up." Monique halted the befuddling procession of facts with an upturned hand and a confused look. "These dudes wanted to put a monkey in charge of Japan?"

Her confusion was met with his own. "I'm surprised Miss Possible hasn't told you of the legend. I imagined her fully versed in the lore, what with her sidekick and all." Both Fiske and Monique turned expectantly to Kim, who found herself a bit off her guard.

"I'm afraid I'm not really sure what you're talking about," confessed Kim. The troubles Monkey Fist stirred up necessitated her passing familiarity with the various totems of monkey magic he threw at them. That hardly qualified her as an expert on the subject. "And what does it have to do with Ron?"

Fiske hummed, intrigued. "Surely you recall your first encounter with my little brother."

She did. "He stole those monkey idols," she reminisced aloud. "He thought they would give him monkey powers, or something…"

"And so they did." A smile teased his lips as he satiated his lips, dry from storytelling, with a sip of tea. The beady eyes beneath his heavy brow shone excitedly as he said, "If the rumors are true, young Mister Stoppable took on the powers of a Monkey Master himself in order to defeat Montgomery."

New possibilities spun through Kim's confused mind. She had witnessed the very things Fiske spoke of, and it still didn't seem quite real to her. "So," she said, "The Idol of Simor can do the same thing as those other idols? It can give a person 'monkey powers'?"

The disbelief in her tone seemed to slight the Englishman. "No," he sniffed. "Though I am loathe to add to your mysteries, Miss Possible, the Idol of Simor was created as a means of safeguarding the powers and position of the Chosen One."

"But what does it do?" pressed Kim.

His helpless shrug was a far cry from the answers she sought. "No one really knows. My own limited experience aside, there simply isn't enough research existing on the cult. I'm afraid you've fallen in with a very eclectic nemesis, my dear."

"Maybe it doesn't do anything," Monique suggested hopefully. With a nervous laugh, she said, "I mean, maybe these shamen just made something for fun. Thought it would look good on the curio shelf."

Fiske scolded her with a derisive snort. "Hardly the pastime of the masters of the mystic monkey arts," said he. Then he paused, as if trapped within an inner debate. When at last his lips parted again, the words they carried were impassioned, not scornful. "There do exist some theories," he admitted. "Some, myself excluded, believe that the Idol acts as a conduit. In the event an undesirable obtained powers via the four statues," and his voice rose to an excited pitch, "The shamen could use the Idol of Simor to channel that power from him and into another, more worthy vessel."

The tail end of his ardent speech struck both girls into silence. It was only when he caught sight of his own upraised, quivering fist that he realized the fire and brimstone slipped into his voice beneath his notice. Gently as he could, he lowered his hand and covered the rips in his glove's knuckles where his meaty fist had split the material.

"Okay." Monique pretended to scratch her face, camouflaging her lips as they mouthed the word 'psycho' to Kim. Feigning a cough, she lowered her hands from her face and gave their host a sugary smile. "Not for the curio shelf, then."

Uneasy silence pervaded the VIP room until Kim cleared her throat and stood. "Well," she said, "This has been a real treat. Thank you for your time and your help. If you should think of anything else-"

He stood, regaining his composure in a flash. "Please, just a moment."

His fingers snapped. Not a half-second later, the room's door swung open in a burst of noise as it admitted one very good reason Kim was glad Ron wasn't still with them. The reason strutted on four-inch stiletto heels. Shapely calves and thighs worked the stilettos back and forth, wrapped in a slinky black dress too short to be considered a miniskirt. The dress' spaghetti straps and generous V neckline left everything but her modesty on display.

"You called, Master Fiske?" the young Asian woman stopped before the three and bowed.

Kim eyed the ample cleavage on display and unconsciously hugged her own chest as Fiske nodded and said, "Tsuruko, begin calling our contacts- the art dealers, the collectors, and the Asian Archeological Society- and ask for any information regarding the Idol of Simor." He favored the girls with his brightest smile yet. "Should anything turn up, I will be sure to contact Team Possible at once."

Monique caught sight of a small shape near Tsuruko's collarbone. "Nice ink," she commented, eyeing the tiny silhouette of a monkey on the woman's flawless golden skin. Tsuruko said nothing, not even registering Monique's comment, and instead kept her eyes glued to Fiske's feet in ingratiating reverence.

Kim herded her friend toward the door, eager to leave. "You've been a big help, Kim assured him.

He nodded, escorting them to the door. "But of course. That Idol represents a profound part of my heritage, to say nothing of its importance to the scientific community. For all our sakes, I wish you the swiftest of successes." His intact glove wrapped around the doorknob as he gave them a tiny bow. "If there is nothing else?"

"No…wait. Yes." A sudden thought struck Kim, pulled from earlier in their conversation. "That power those other four idols gave Monkey Fist and Ron…once the idols were destroyed, the power disappeared, right?"

It seemed Fiske had been waiting for Kim to ask that very question, for his smile blossomed into a genuine one. "My dear," he said, "The idols channeled a great deal of magic into their users. Once they were gone, the raw force of that power evaporated, to be sure. But once one has been touched by such an amazing force, they will never be the same again."

Team Possible exchanged gratitude and goodbyes with Fiske, then left. As the door swung closed, so too did Fiske's smile seal itself shut into a disaffected scowl. He returned to his armchair and sipped at his tea, too deep in thought to truly appreciate the flavor. The caterpillar brows on his forehead danced together, tangoing with concern.

Tsuruko bent over and retrieved the forgotten cups and saucers. "The girl worries you, Master." Dark waves of raven hair curtained her face when she looked up at him.

His hands folded across his chin. "The wise chess master watches all his enemies' pieces."

The Asian beauty straightened. A flash of contempt marred her delicate features. "Kimberly Possible is nothing," she spat. "Our only concern should be Stoppable." The china trembled in her grasp. "The Pretender-"

"-is but half of the equation. You have studied our opponents, and yet you willfully ignore this." Fiske gazed upon her with disappointment. "You forget yourself, Apprentice."

Shame flooded her anger-clouded eyes as she bowed again. "I have dishonored you, my Master."

He waved the indiscretion away. Whenever she bowed, dressed as she was, his absolution was never difficult to earn. "You are forgiven." The last of his tea vanished, and he handed the cup and saucer off to her. "It matters not, at any rate. She was fishing. And now it is she with the hook in her mouth."

"Your metaphors," she intoned, "As always, bring clarity to my confusion, my Master."

"Patience, Apprentice," Fiske chided her. "You must learn patience. In time, Kim Possible will assist us without ever becoming aware of our true intent."


The door to the apartment swung open at Ron's foot, carrying with it a naked mole rat on the doorknob. Lights stuttered on above them as the slender finger of the girl gathered up in his arms flicked the yellowing switch on their way in. Behind them, Kim and Monique lingered in the doorway.

"Home, ho-ho!" Rufus squeaked in delight as he bounded from the door and scurried up Ron's pant leg.

"Ron-san," Yori sighed, "There is really no need to carry me." Her head rested comfortably against his chest, her eyes half-lidded and her arms wrapped around his neck. Kim had never seen her look so content. Hours ago, the sight would have set her on edge, but now all she felt was cold and empty.

Ron took her over to his bedding on the couch and lowered her to the cushions with uncharacteristic grace. A look of mutual disappointment crossed the electrified air between them as she pulled away. "You have to take it easy," he insisted, brushing the hair out of her face. "You're hurt."

With a squeak, Rufus ran down Ron's arm and clung to the couch with his tiny claws between the cheap fabric, examining her for signs of further breakage or injury. "Rest, uh-huh, uh-huh!" chattered the mole rat in a scolding, motherly tone.

Her smile sucked the strength right out of Ron's knees. "My legs are fine." She pointed to her legs, wrapped tight in olive cargos and unharmed. A series of butterfly patches lined the side of her exposed midriff, clean and white against her golden skin. The taut lines of her stomach trembled at his touch. "It is only a scratch."

"I'll be the judge of that," he harrumphed. Her cool skin bled the warmth from his fingers. "I happened to ace Advanced Anatomy back in high school."

"Really." Yori looked at him with a skeptical smile.

He shrugged. "Actually, it was Health Class, and I got a D."

"D-plus!" Rufus reminded him.

"That's right. I passed, and that's what matters." He shook a reproving finger at her with one eye clenched in a ridiculous squint. "So I'll have none of your sass, Miz Sassypants Sasserson. You'll take your pampering and you'll like it."

A miniscule rumble of approval rolled from Monique's throat as she appraised the pair from the door. Her eyes glistened with the spark of a predator. "New Hotness Ron," she murmured, "Now with forceful, attentive attitude. Wonder what other accessories the new model-"

"Monique." Kim couldn't tear her eyes away from the gut-wrenching scene. The tiny, righteous voice of indignation within her screamed bloody murder, demanding swift, brutal justice against the impudent harlot. Take action, Possible, do something, anything! But she could muster no reaction, not even a twitch. "Don't," she whispered hoarsely.

The plea cut through Monique's bemused detachment, and she bled sympathy. "Kim," she said, "You gotta make a call, one way or the other. If you don't want him, you have to let him go."

The words 'I know' might have ghosted past Kim's lips. She wasn't paying close enough attention to be sure.

Ron and Yori shared a laugh, the intimate kind of chuckle he and Kim hadn't shared in too long. Glancing over, Monique was shocked by Kim's stony demeanor. "He'd be yours if you wanted, you know. Yori wouldn't stand a chance."

Kim watched the ease with which they touched, the way that they looked at each other. "It isn't my choice to make anymore," she mumbled.

The laughter between them died down, and Ron pulled away with Rufus in tow. His endearing smile settled into determination. Sensing his intent, the girls led the way into the hall. Ron caught the door and closed it gently behind him. "What's the sitch?" asked he.

Kim and Monique recounted their interview with the club owner to Ron. The part-timer of Team Possible spoke in animated tones, waving her hands about excitedly. Kim barely spoke a dozen words. At the mere mention of another Fiske, Ron looked like someone had dropped a lead weight on his foot. He fidgeted uncomfortably through Monique's wild account of Fiske's storytelling, until-

"He got this crazy look in his eye," Monique said, goggling her own eyes with her fingers. "And he started going on about this 'Chosen Guy' stuff. He even mentioned you."

"Me?" Ron couldn't fathom the concept. "Name and everything?"

She nodded. "Name and everything. He seemed pretty interested in the 'thing' you and Monkey Fist got going on."

"It's not a 'thing'," he grunted. "I just happen to attract monkey-themed villains, that's all."

"Well," interjected Kim, "I think you've got another one to add to your club, then. Those ninjas didn't appear out of thin air."

Trembling rage seized Ron's fists. "They were testing us."

"We might be in for a tougher fight than with Monkey Fist. I've never seen a monkey ninja fight like that," said Kim.

Monique yawned into the back of her hand, rubbing at the sleepiness in her face without effect. "Maybe they just had something really worth fighting for." Kim went scarlet as Monique rose on her tiptoes and kissed Ron on the cheek. "Night, Romeo. Good hunting, Kim," she added with a wink before swaying down the hall.

Ron rubbed his cheek where Monique's lipstick still tingled. "What was that all about?"

"I don't know," Kim said too quickly.

Her voice dropped off beneath his scrutiny, but he thankfully had no more questions on the matter. Instead, he leaned against the wall, feigning nonchalance as he said, "So what do we do now?"

"Plan?" Rufus squeaked in agreement.

"We watch Fiske." Her eyes lingered on the floor, dull and lifeless. "There's no love lost between him and his brother. I think Fist got it right on the first try. I'll set up a ride with Wade and start tailing him tomorrow."

"Alone?" Ron's surprise became irritation at her slight nod. "Since when are you a solo gig?"

Her emerald eyes turned to ice as she looked up, straight into his freckled fury. "You've had other things occupying your time lately, Ron."

"What is your deal, Kim?" he demanded, throwing his hands into the air. "When are you going to get off our backs?"

"Maybe when you start telling me the truth." Kim met his bluster with a cold gust of defiance, though the tone of her voice never strayed from its accusative calm. "Maybe when you tell me why she's really here, or how you really know her. Maybe," she said, getting into his face, "When you stop lying and start acting like a friend."

"You…" Ron's argument began falling apart in his very hands, but he struggled onward. "You never trust me."

"How can I?" The ice in Kim's throat cracked. "You never trust me."

The point was won to Kim, and so Ron was forced to switch tactics on the fly. "Everything is about you, isn't it? Your little sidekick comes into this blind lucky, one-in-a-million piece of good fortune, a girl who actually likes him, and you can't leave it alone, can you?"

"What happened to you in Japan?" Kim would not let him stray from the argument. She would not be denied. "It changed you."

Even Rufus gasped as Ron said, "I'm not just your sidekick anymore, Kim." The little naked mole rat fainted dead away off of Ron's shoulder, plopping onto the brown carpet below.

A lum caught in Kim's throat, shattering the ice. Her voice died on its way out, barely a whisper. "No," she croaked, "I guess you aren't." She looked him up and down, impassive, as if examining a used car for defects. "She brings out something in you," remarked Kim, "and I'm not sure I like it."

Words tumbled from his mouth before Ron even realized what he was saying. "Then maybe I should take it somewhere else." Foul silence settled between them. The only sound Ron heard was Kim's sharp intake of breath. She looked at him expectantly with wide, horrified eyes. "I…Yori's asked me to go back to Japan. With her. To…study abroad."

Something inside Kim screamed and died. She tried so hard to remember Monique's speech about fighting, but all she could hear were Ron's awful words rotating around and around inside her screeching mind. "May…maybe that would be best," she managed.

Ron tasted bile in the back of his throat. He staggered back as if struck by a devastating blow. Any number of things came to his mind. He wanted so badly to explain everything to Kim, to apologize for being a pigheaded jerk, to tell her why it was so hard to be around both her and Yori at the same time, how torn and awful the feelings he had for them both made him. He wanted to tell her the truth more than anything, but all his mouth could make was a grunted, "Whatever," before his legs carried him back into the apartment.

Kim felt a gust of air as the door slammed behind him. Her hand reached out, grabbing at the wall to keep her from toppling over. A wave of nausea clenched around her stomach as the strength fled from her legs, transforming them into rubber. The cool wall felt good against her hot face, pressing against her flushed cheeks. The professional within her tried to break through the emotional tidal wave. Get the Kimmunicator. Call Wade. Set up a ride for tomorrow. Get it in gear, Possible.

Rufus, revived from his shock, crawled up onto Kim's knee and poked her in the leg. "Huh? Kim?" His tiny head tilted, looking up into her despondent face.

"I will," she answered her inner demands aloud, closing her eyes against the overwhelming heat burning in every one of her joints. Everything between the points of fiery pain was deadened and unresponsive. "I just need to rest…" Her head sunk to her knees, where Rufus nuzzled his whiskered nose against her face and whimpered. Limp tendrils of red spread across her legs, blanketing her face in darkness. "Just until it stops hurting."

Inside, Ron stumbled into the kitchen. Nothing seemed clear anymore as his eyes burned and blurred. He caught himself on the counter's edge, leaning heavily until the world decided to hold still.

"Ron-kun? Is that you?" Yori's voice called from the living room, "Are you all right?"

He crossed the room with leaden steps, making it to the couch through some small miracle. "I'm fine," he lied, digging his fingers into the cushioned back.

Her lustrous hair danced as she shook her head. "No, you are not." She considered him with her almond-shaped amber eyes, and came to a decision. "Come here." Ron circled the couch and knelt before her, letting her take his hands with gentle firmness. Yori pressed his palm against the butterfly patch on her stomach, unable to prevent the slight hiss from escaping between her teeth. She waved off his concerned confusion and commanded, "Close your eyes." Once his eyelids fluttered shut, she did the same. "Now," she whispered, "Find your center."

Ron felt the world slip away. The floor dissolved beneath him, and the air boiled away as he and Yori fell into a place without sound, a place without light. Even their bodies vanished, leaving only the connection he felt with her.

"Feel your center," Yori's dismembered voice echoed. "Let it spread to every part of you."

Warmth began trickling all throughout him, filling every last nook of his soul. Once it spread, it began funneling itself into the point where his spirit connected with hers. The sensation felt unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was fire and electricity surging together, but since he had no body, it could not hurt him.

"Now," she urged him from rose petal lips that no longer existed, "Find the tear. Will it to close."

There it was, a rend defacing the fabric of her spirit. Cautiously, he grasped at its edges and pulled, trying to draw it closed. The tear would not budge.

Yori grunted in pain. "No, Ron-kun," she whimpered, "Do not force it. Command. The spirit can overcome the substance."

Her pain gave spurred him into action. With renewed focus, he ceased his ham-fisted astral pawing and tried again. This time, he focused his wayward thoughts. His entire being became a single thought: Mend.

"Yes," Yori cried as the rend knit itself whole again. His energy poured into her being, stimulating every fiber of her soul into new life. "Yes, that's it!" With one final burst of power, the process completed, sending a wave of cool ecstasy into them both.

Ron opened his eyes, feeling drained and disoriented as the physical realm reasserted itself. His whole body ached, but the soft smile he saw on Yori's face gave him the strength to return it. "What was that?" he asked in a hush.

Yori's smile grew. She released his hands, reluctant to let him go, and slipped her fingers beneath the edge of her wound's dressing. "See for yourself," she said, and peeled the butterfly patch away.

Ron's eyes widened at the fresh, pink skin where her nasty cut had been. It might have been a trick of the light, but he thought he saw lingering wisps of red and orange teasing the line of new flesh. Already, the pinkness of her scar faded fast to match the rest of her golden skin. "How did you do that?" he asked breathlessly.

"I did not." Yori retook his hands and pressed them into her stomach. "You did. I simply guided you along the right path." She saw the hesitation in his eyes and squeezed his hands, dipping her head to meet his gaze. "This is but a fraction of the power you carry." Then she frowned, unable to grasp his attention away from his inner demons. "What is it?"

His fight with Kim still fresh on his thoughts, Ron said, "We may have found the guy who took the idol."

The gloom in his eyes confused her. "This is not good?"

Ron swallowed. "Kim is asking a lot of questions. She wants to handle this alone. She doesn't trust us."

"Oh." Yori could think of nothing else to say.

"Can't we just tell her?" Ron exploded with the words, unable to contain them any longer. Now he squeezed Yori's hands, desperate to find her eyes with his pleading look. Yori's face fell with sympathy, inciting him to whine louder. "We can trust her! KP's-"

"Ron-san. Don't." Yori looked away, lest his disappointment sway her. "I am bound by the same oath as you are. The secrets of Yamanouchi are not ours to share. You know this."

"Yeah." He brushed the hair from his face and stood up. "But we can't let her face this alone." His disappointment gone, now only resolve shone clear on his round face. "I won't let her."

A hint of smile returned to Yori's features. "What happened to the meek sidekick," she asked, "Who came to Japan without knowledge enough to differentiate a katana from a casaba?"

"He had an excellent sensei," he said with growing strength, "Who taught him who he really is." Ron turned to Yori, his soft countenance stony and cold. "I've made my choice, Yo-chan. Starting now, the Champion of Yamanouchi is on the job."

To Be Continued