Disclaimer: Don't own KP. So sad for me.
A Note from the Authoress: Okay, I know I said this story was going on hiatus, but as soon as I said that, I got inspired. Woops! And, if you actually like this story, you'll be happy to hear that it's now the first in a trilogy, the End of All Hope Trilogy, to be exact. I know the titles of all three novels, but I'm not going to release the title of the next until the last chapter of the preceding. Just cos it'll be something for y'all to think over. ;) I'd say we're about a quarter of the way through this one, which'll probably be the longest, because it has the biggest cast and most character development. Also probably the biggest history lessons.
Along those lines, I know that some things don't make sense yet, but don't doubt me, they will. Chances are if you don't get it, you aren't supposed to quite yet. It's confusing so it'll stick in your minds and when it's touched upon later, you'll go "Oh, yeah!" And in this chapter, you'll see references to a woman named Lilith. She's a mythological figure, and if you don't know who she is, no big. In a while (okay, a long while, but it won't matter until then), the story will address all the various forms of the Lilith myths and the particular one that I (shamelessly) created for this story. So don't worry. :)
The Desert Fox: Thanks! And yeah, it's unusual, just like my mind. ;) Hopefully you'll find the next couple chapters a bit more straight forward. Not necessarily this one, but the next several go back to normal life and less creepy Who The Hell Are These People stuff.
warprince2000: Hahah! You're in luck! Originally I was going to wait a couple months for the next chapter. ;)
Everyone Else: Hope you enjoy! And if you haven't yet, start reviewing!
Chapter Six
"Kim, for once I'm going to ask you to just storm in there," Wade's voice came through the Kimmunicator as Kim and Ron ran through the tunnel leading to Drakken's newest lair. She wondered absently why it always had to be a lair, besides that whole villain canon thing, of course. Wouldn't it be a whole lot less conspicuous if he stationed himself in a roomy ranch style home with an enormous lot? And probably less expensive, too. No, there wasn't time to think about that now. Someone was in there, and it was her job to get them out.
"Are you sure that's safe, Wade?" Ron chimed in from beside her, before she could express the same apprehensions. However it was obviously some attempt at protecting her, although she felt that somehow she'd be protecting him . . . but she didn't want to squash his dreams.
"There's no time for safety," Wade explained. "You guys will undoubtedly get away like you always do, but if you take too much time, the hostage may take a turn for the worse."
"What about those heat signature things you always look for? Can't that help us at all?" Ron queried, really not in the mood to be putting Kim's life in that much danger.
"Everything's blocked. I don't know how. I can't get any reading at all." Wade's face sank even further. "This is the only way to ensure the hostage's safety."
"And if Drakken does something rash in response to our appearance?" Kim asked, raising a questioning eyebrow.
"Then at least we tried," he answered solemnly.
Ron nodded and Kim and Wade said their goodbyes, signing off. Kim shoved the Kimmunicator in her cargo pants' pocket. Ron took her hand instinctively, making her stop just shy of the door, mysteriously unlocked, as shown by the lit icon above the oversized frame. "Ron!" She tried to tug her hand free, but he held on. "We've really not got ti-"
She was silenced by his lips firmly pressing against her own, his hands clasping her body closely to his. She felt her knees go weak and melted against him, momentarily forgetting Drakken, Shego, the hostage, Wade and the mission altogether, her entire being concentrating on the man that held her, and the love he showed. She moaned quietly into him, pressing her body more firmly to his. He held onto her upper arms, running his fingers over the soft fabric of her shirt. And, while she was still dazed, he broke away and ran ahead and into the lair.
Kim stood, stunned, staring after him. Ron was rarely one to be so witty . . . or brave. She knew that he was not implying that she could not handle herself . . . his kiss had said it all. He simply wanted to protect her from harm, even though she was obviously adept enough to handle herself in any situation, and he rather inept. It was a way for him to show his affection; something beyond jewelry and dates and gifts and cheesy love notes. This was something no other man would ever offer her, his life for her own.
Several mechanical doors and random choices as to direction later, he'd finally found something: unfortunately it was what they all were dreading. Ron took a few steps back, stunned. The sight before him caused his stomach to churn, the undeniable stench sinking into his illness. His jaw stood agape, his skin turned a whiter shade of pale. But there was no-one coming to stop his intrusion. Of course there wasn't . . . there was no-one left.
He was surrounded by bodies, some lying broken, helpless, as if granted a painless death, others drowning in wine-like oceans, glittering red in the dim light, and still there were suits of skin shriveled up to nothing, as there were no skeletons to retain their form, soaked and floating in puddles of green syntho-goo. Ron gulped and began walking through the mass of bodies and fluid, slowly, carefully, trying not to disturb the scene; walking around was no choice, there was no clean path on the chamber floor.
His steps were wavering, the smell of so much blood causing him to go faint, but he could not stop. He had to see what lay behind the door: more bodies or an arch foe gone completely insane. Either way, there was no turning back. This was his turn to be the hero. It was nothing to do with vanity or pride, but that he knew this was his duty. To whom? He did not know. But he was certain that this was something he had to do for himself: to know, to see . . .
He pressed the button; the door slid open.
And what he saw caused him to grow sick to his stomach once again. Resisting the urge to retch, he took a few steps forward to confirm what he'd thought he saw. There, lying in a pool of blood, was the body of the one and only Dr. Drakken . . . or should they call him Drew Lipsky now? Those thoughts were the only things keeping his mind from the horrifying spectacle before him. His body was twisted at awkward angles, his hands still frozen in agony, his face pained, pitiful. But where's Shego?
He looked round once more. The lair seemed as if it had been mostly empty to begin with, leaving no signs of struggle . . . except that anyone that had been here was dead. He immediately came to the conclusion that Shego was responsible for it all, but after a quick examination of the scene, he realized that this was not Shego's work. She'd never be able to inflict this sort of damage. No, this was someone else. Something else. But her body was not to be found. He cringed, trying his best not to be sick . . . he had to be strong. But for what? For Kim. Yes, that was true motivation; he had to be strong for Kim. Kim . . .
As if on cue, another door, on his right, slid open to reveal Kim, at first unfazed: apparently she'd not found any slaughtered henchmen on her way. But her neutral expression soon faded upon seeing Drakken's body. The color drained from her face as she trembled, her legs buckling beneath her. Swiftly, Ron ran the short distance to her, catching her before she collapsed entirely. She regained her footing and approached the body. She noted the several gashes covering his abdomen, and the way they were arranged as if to form some sort of horrific design. A flower, she concluded. With that, she saw significance in the ruined white lily lying near the villain's corpse. "A lily . . ." she murmured.
Drawing nearer the body, she was overcome with the horrific scene she'd entered, and, in one wave of nausea, collapsed to the ground, throwing up in the blood that was now soaking through her cargo pants. Ron was instantly by her side, holding back her hair, rubbing her back soothingly. She shivered uncontrollably, her body wracked with sobs. Though she'd saved the world countless times, she'd never witnessed such terror with her own eyes, almost to the point that she didn't think it could happen, as if these sorts of things only happened in the movies, and that all villains used silly threats like Drakken, and anything that was serious was easily escapable. But this was the hard truth, the underground of the hero world to which she belonged: the possibility of failure. Even if this was the end of a criminal, this was terrorism, not some effort in ridding the world of villainy, but villainy itself.
She gagged once more, but forced herself to hold it down. She could not seem weak. She could handle this. She could do anything. She whimpered.
Ron carefully gathered her in his arms, crouching in blood himself, cradling her protectively against him, trying not to give in to the tears that came to his own eyes, or the terrible contractions in his gut. Stroking her hair lightly, he continuously murmured, "Sh . . . It's okay, Kim . . . I've got ya . . ." and the like. He ripped a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and set about wiping her mouth clean. When he finished, she smiled slightly up at him.
"Thanks," she whispered.
He simply held her more tightly against himself, rocking her from side to side, humming the tune to their song softly into her ear. He told himself it was in an effort to calm her, but in the end he couldn't deny it was the only way to give himself the strength to take control of this situation. Kim needed him, and he wouldn't let her down.
"Ron . . ." she moaned quietly.
"Hush," he soothed. "Why don't you just go to sleep? I'll handle this."
She moved to protest, but quickly realized that should this be a dream (a dream, a dream, it had to be a dream, that was the only explanation), if she'd go to sleep, when she'd wake up, it would all be gone, and she'd be on her living room couch again, resting in Ron's arms, having fallen asleep watching T.V.. She settled her head against his shoulder and drifted off.
After assuring she was all right, he held onto her with one arm and, with the other, reached into Kim's pant pocket and pulled out the Kimmunicator, pressing the button to sign on.
Wade popped onto the screen. "Ron!" He looked down to see Kim lying, slumbering, in his friend's arms. "What happened? What's wrong with Kim?"
Ron gulped. "We've got a major sitch here, Wade." He sympathetically glanced down to Kim, still shaken from the drama. He'd played thousands of violent and gory videogames, although that really was nothing like this. All the same, it gave him an advantage Kim didn't have. "Kim's pretty . . . shook up. I finally got her to calm down."
Wade was about to ask, but Ron knew the question.
"Here," he said quietly. "Look at this." With that, he turned the Kimmunicator away from himself, pointing it at Drakken's body. He couldn't see Wade's reaction, but in a way, he was sort of glad of it. He turned the Kimmunicator back around. "That's what's happened. And there's about twenty henchmen, some human, some synthodrone, in the other room. All dead."
Wade was speechless for a moment, his skin ashen, but finally managed to choke out, "And Shego?"
Ron sighed. "We don't know. I thought first that she was responsible, but it just doesn't make any sense."
Wade nodded solemnly. "I'll . . . need a blood sample, to compare DNA," he explained. "Perhaps the killer lost some blood, too. The police can examine it all further, but if it's someone else we know, then we can start tracking them now."
Ron nodded. "Just a sec," he said and signed off, placing the Kimmunicator in his own pant pocket.
Balancing Kim against him in a rather interesting position, he shed his already ripped mission shirt and folded it into the shape of a pillow, setting it down on the ground. With tender care, he lay Kim down, positioning her head on the shirt in an attempt to keep the blood out of her hair and face. She murmured something unintelligible as he released her. "Shhhh . . ."
He stood quickly, no longer the goofy sidekick, his features serious, his eyes intent. Pulling the Kimmunicator from his pocket, he approached a spot in which it appeared a body had been lying. He ejected the sample tray from the top of the Kimmunicator, leaning down to scoop a large portion of the blood from the ground. He signed on and pressed the send button.
Wade's image appeared on the screen, typing furiously. After a moment, his printer kicked into action. He ripped the paper from the machine, analyzing it closely. "Both Drakken's and Shego's blood present."
Ron's face fell. "Nothing else?"
"No, but Shego's blood is emitting detectable power. Something along the lines radioactive decay. I think she'd been using her powers when the blood was spilt." Had Ron not been in an uncharacteristically serious mood, he'd have countered that with something like 'Duh.' "Let me do a quick scan." Ron sighed and waited as Wade tapped into a conveniently located satellite. "Looks like Shego lost an extremely large amount of blood. There's no way even she could survive this without some sort of miracle."
"But her body . . ." Ron noted.
"That's the weird part, I can't find any traces that would lead us to her body, and there's no way Drakken or any of those henchmen did this to her. I don't know what the police will say, but we've dealt with Shego enough to know that there's an even more powerful enemy out there."
"And Kim's gotta be the one to bring 'em down," Ron stated. It wasn't a question, or even a thought, but an absolute truth.
Wade nodded gravely, typing once more.
Ron sighed, looking over his shoulder to Kim, who was still asleep on his shirt. She tossed around, distressed cries emerging from her lips. He wanted to run to her rescue, to wake her from her nightmare, but he realized it would only be into a more frightening world than the one in which she was currently trapped. She can do anything . . . But apparently this is where she'd have to draw the line. No-one would expect her to deal with this in a calm manner; she was just a teenage girl after all.
He returned his attention to Wade. "Hey, Wade, could you-?"
Wade answered before he could even finish his question. "The authorities are on their way." He looked at his friend sadly for a moment. "Are you going to be okay, Ron?"
"Yeah . . ." he scratched the back of his neck. "I don't know about Kim, though. I've never seen her like this."
Wade looked concerned. "Get her out of there. Take her outside and let her rest. Some fresh air might do her a lot of good."
"Thanks, buddy," Ron said. "Oh, and could you call our parents? Particularly Kim's . . ."
"Already on it," the genius answered. "Wade out," and with that the screen went black.
Ron sagged his way over to Kim, bending forward to scoop her up in his arms. She moaned quietly upon being moved but did not wake. "Sh . . ." he whispered. Her fingers immediately sought to latch onto him, clinging to his bare skin. Her precious weight nestled firmly in his arms, her sweet breath blowing against his shoulder, he lightly brushed his lips against her forehead and began to carry her out into the morning sun.
Shego had been taken to Lilly's home. She called it a home, because it seemed absolutely nothing like a lair. However, 'home' wasn't a very appropriate word either. She resided in a rather large estate, a mansion of sorts that looked to be about three hundred years old, stationed not too far from London, as she'd been told (she'd been unconscious most of the trip there, to the point she wasn't sure exactly how they'd gotten there).
When she'd regained enough of her strength (which was fairly quickly, as she was Shego, the 'undefeatable' former superhero), she'd spent her days exploring the large house. It was eerie, to say the least, although not empty, as many of those sorts of houses are. The manor was home to about a hundred people, from children to the elderly, all quiet, all freakishly devoted to Lilly's happiness. There were no servants. They did anything Lilly needed to be done, and when she'd introduced the mysterious green woman to the gathering, they'd catered to her every need as well. Shego'd considered asking why they acted so, but every time she hovered near the topic, the mysterious woman would dismiss it with a wave of her hand.
And as strange as the days in this strange place were, the nights were even stranger, full of meditation and prayer and lit candles and locked doors. She knew they all adjourned to the basement every midnight, even though every seemingly private room (except hers, of course) was securely locked. She could only guess what occurred during those hours, but she did not intrude, no, she'd changed. She still mourned Drakken's death. Why? She wasn't sure. But those moments of solitude, safe from anyone trying to tend to her every need, were the only chances she had to weep freely, unconcerned with the fate that had befallen her.
Yes, she cried. She'd never loved Drakken in that way . . . no, there was no sexual tension between them (the thought of the man naked was enough to make her cringe and wish she'd never been born to even think it), but there was deep companionship. As much as they'd put each other down, and argued, and outwardly despised one another, they'd truly cared for each other. She wouldn't consider him like a brother, nor like a father, but more than a friend, as if there were a platonic bond that could not be broken; not even now that Drakken was dead.
Drakken was dead. There, she'd said it. It was the first step in coming to terms with it, albeit a small one. And upon this realization, she forced herself to stop crying. He was gone; there was no changing that. Her tears were of no use, except perhaps to sting at her eyes and cause her even more pain. No, mourning was not, could not be the answer.
This had been her philosophy all the time, whether she knew it or not. Lamentation was not a just response, but vengeance was. She would have revenge on Lilly for his death, and the only way to do that was to infiltrate her forces, break deep into this cult of hers and start an internal rebellion. And, along the way, she could play the double agent, pretending to be the woman's friend, helping her on her way to world conquest (wasn't that what she had said her plans were? Of course they were, what else?), only to stab her in the back, quite literally, when the time came. From there, she would have both revenge for Drakken's demise and control of the entire world. It was an ingeniously simple plan; and it would work.
The first step was, naturally, to gather as much information as she could muster on this woman known only as Lilly. Lilly . . . it was an odd name for a villain, surely, but Shego saw it as more of a trademark, as wherever the woman went, she had a white lily tucked behind her ear, pinned to her clothing, or clutched in her hand. She wondered about this but quickly brushed the thought away; it would not help her any in her quest. She looked elsewhere, but there were no records of her she could recover from the internet (she dared not stray far from the mansion, lest Lilly grow suspicious) without a last name. She searched the house, as she'd been given free reign there, even to Lilly's private study. But any door that was locked was to be remained locked; no exceptions.
One evening when everyone else was busy with their midnight rituals, she crept into Lilly's study, leaving the lamps unlit, her eyes glowing green in the darkness, seeing clearly as if in broad daylight. She'd been in this room countless times before, but never wanted to examine any of its contents with much scrutiny, wary of Lilly's knowledge of her intentions.
She first went to examine the bookshelves, stacked with everything from ancient scrolls to brand new books, published within the past several years. The presence of some of the books brought great amusement to Shego, as they were various novels of great popularity in modern days, seeming a bit out of place in a person such as Lilly's private library. The Well of Lost Plots . . . The Queen of the Damned . . . Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone . . . The Tombs of Atuan . . . The titles continued in such a trend, until a new, slightly disturbing and more specific theme took over. The Book of Lilith . . . Lilith – The First Eve: Historical and Psychological Aspects of the Dark Feminine . . . True Vampires: Blood-sucking Killers Past and Present . . . Shego stopped for a moment, considering opening one of the books to see what truths they may hold. But no, that was too easy; she'd ask Lilly herself. Of course, she knew the basic tales of Lilith, but, obviously, her new host had an excessive interest in the myth, and probably knew more than any of these books could tell her. She made a mental note to bring up Babylonian mythology when they took supper together the next day.
Moving away from the small library, Shego approached a painting hanging on a nearby wall – the room was decorated with an excessive number of paintings, drawings, sketches and photographs. She was no art historian, but she could only guess the painting dated back centuries, obviously some point in time prior to the Italian Renaissance. However early and crudely done it was, the face was distinct: an image of Lilly herself, dressed all in black, standing alone before a dreary background, holding onto a splotch of white. She took a closer look; it was undoubtedly Lilly, or else an amazing coincidence. "Huh . . ." She continued along, through several other paintings bearing remarkable resemblance to the mysterious woman, and others that, too, looked just like her, save for her skin and hair, which were fair and colorful, respectively.
The paintings started to follow a pattern . . . one of each woman in every style, the ones of Lilly always bearing the signature white flower to which her name belonged, always in some dark, demonic setting; and those of the other woman consistently containing the image of a dark rose. The new woman, too, seemed to be a dark figure, but with a glimmer of hope in her eyes, as if she was always standing in her own shadow, although living in a world of light.
Finally, she came across a statue positioned in the corner of the room, shrouded from view by the intense darkness. Squinting, she used her powers to see the object. An ancient Greek sculpture, obviously authentic, it was a breathtaking piece of art depicting two women . . . the two women from the paintings. Their faces were identical, and, both formed from white plaster, they seemed to be exactly the same, save for their distinctive positions. The first held a lily in her hands, her eyes downcast, while the second looked toward the heavens, a delicate rose dangling from her fingers. Entwined about the two was a snake, resonant of the serpent whose shape Lucifer had taken to seduce the first woman, Eve, to induce the fall of mankind. His venom-dripping jaws to downcast eyes, his tale end wrapped round, as if to suffocate, the other's neck.
The ironic part was that the statue was Greek in origin, but Judeo-Christian in composition, obviously dating back far before the birth of Christ.
She stared.
The books on Lilith, the vampiric vibes, the paintings, the statue . . . she'd surely found some things of great importance, but why would Lilly leave such clues out in plain sight? Or did she want Shego to find them? The woman was mysterious; Shego didn't know how clever she may or may not be; only that she commanded great amounts of brute force, both physical and supernatural.
A vampire . . .
No, that was silly. Vampires didn't exist! But she couldn't help but remember the theory on how Lilith was not only the first woman, but the first vampire, nor could she forget how Lilly's smile glinted with the points of two sharpened canines . . . fangs. And to top it all off, the woman sported the clothing of the stereotypical Goth teenager, although leaning toward the styles sported by many female vampires in their modern representations, such as in horror movies and M rated videogames. But her skin was dark . . . as if containing a natural tan that gave her the appearance of a Native American. Perhaps some vampire trademarks really were all media hype . . . but that still didn't make any sense: she was surrounded by blood in the lair, and yet she seemed to have no reaction or lust caused by it.
All the clues were misleading. Perhaps she just had a penchant for dark myths, and kept this library for amusement, not research. After all, if she was a vampire, she'd not need read about them, would she?
Shego left the room as unnoticed as she'd entered. She'd taken a step forward and a thousand steps backwards, but that was all right. She had time; apparently Lilly had all the time in the world. Perhaps she could share the secret to immortality . . . after all, Shego was quick-healing, powerful and magical; all that was missing was invincibility . . . no, that wasn't it. All she needed was immortality.
Ron sat, cold, on the edge of the back of an ambulance, wearing only his boxers. Upon arriving, the authorities saw the two teens covered in blood from the scene and requested that they remove it immediately, as it would be key in their investigation. And so there sat a nearly naked Ron Stoppable, a bloody and sleeping Kim Possible leaning against him. There had been a female paramedic on the team that'd arrived, and he was waiting for her to return to undress Kim, but apparently that wasn't going to happen for a while.
He sighed. He truly didn't have the heart to wake her, afraid she might have a similar reaction as before. He'd never seen her act like that before, even considering the situation. He made a mental note to ask her when she woke. There was something about her as soon as she'd entered the room, as if she were remembering something she'd forgotten; a horrible past she'd made a point of leaving behind. Something in her eyes in that brief instant before she wavered told him that there was something she'd not told him, or perhaps she'd not even bothered to tell herself.
There was something different about Kim, he couldn't deny it. And it didn't have anything to do with his feelings for her; it was bigger than that. She saved the world everyday, and yet . . . it still seemed as if she'd been designed for something much greater. He knew that if it came down to it, Kim would give up everything for the better of the world – that's what made her different. It's also what made her a hero.
She murmured something incoherent in her sleep, bringing him from his thoughts. He looked round. There was nobody coming back to help, and, naturally, they'd want to take the bodies and samples away immediately; they weren't concerned with Kim (and the very thought infuriated him). Looking down to her once more, he realized that she trusted him not to take advantage of her in any situation (she changed in front of him on a regular basis, for goodness' sake!) , and that she'd most likely not mind considering the circumstance.
To begin, he carefully slipped his fingers under the cuff of her right glove, sliding it off her hand; he entwined his fingers with her own for a moment, relishing the connection between them. And, although he knew she was asleep, he could have sworn he felt her squeeze back. He smiled and removed the other glove, stopping briefly once more to massage both her hands lightly, almost hoping she'd wake on her own before he'd have to remove any more clothing.
She snoozed on.
Picking her up, he placed her lying just inside the ambulance, settled on top of a fuzzy blanket. He leaned forward and untied her shoes, setting them aside with great deliberate care. From there he tugged off her socks, stuffing one inside each shoe. Her toenails were painted, he noted, a bright shade of pink. He chuckled slightly, finding this amusing for some reason he couldn't place. From there, he unlatched her utility belt, placing that in a separate pile with his own and the Kimmunicator.
Now, feeling a little nervous, he couldn't help but sense the change in his own flow of blood. Trying his best to keep his hormones in check, he placed one arm under her uncovered lower back, supporting her as he carefully eased her out of her black knit shirt, revealing her simple white bra, a small bow fixed at the point where the two cups met. He found his eyes locked on the undergarment, but quickly chided himself, placing the blouse in the pile as well. He gulped and undid her pants, tugging them over her wide hips and sliding them down her legs. He placed them aside, too. So there she lay, in nothing but her bra and white bikini panties. Naturally, he was aroused, but this wasn't the place or the time for such feelings, only a very embarrassing situation.
He wrapped her up in the wool blanket the kind woman paramedic had given him and gathered her up in his arms. They'd be going home like this, he knew, in just their underwear, but Kim's dad's rage was not Ron's concern right now. The only thing he cared about was the being curled up against him. He smiled down at her slightly when she began to move.
She turned her face toward him, her eyelashes fluttering open, her eyes big and glistening.
"Hey," he said softly, pulling her a little closer.
"Hey," she whispered. "I'm cold."
He was about to point out that she was at least wearing a blanket and he nothing at all, but she'd not yet mentioned her apparent lack of clothing, and he wasn't too keen on bringing it up. He simply said, "Me, too," and rubbed her back through the soft fabric. After several moments of companionable silence, he ventured, "Are you all right? You seemed a bit . . ." He trailed off.
She wriggled out of his embrace to stare at the ground, her elbows on her knees, her hands running through her tangled hair. She sighed, trying to gather her thoughts. She sat like that for several moments, but he didn't mind; he'd wait for her, but soon, she began drifting farther away, her behavior changing slightly. The sudden transformation was almost unnerving.
There are times when being the hero takes its toll, and today was certainly one of them. You'd think that the death of one's arch foe would call for a burst of happiness, but no, Kim was crushed at best – he may have been a villain, but such terror only disgusted her, causing her stomach to twist uncomfortably and her face to lose all its color. And still, hours later, she sat silent, clearly feeling no need to avenge this, but some other sort of need. She couldn't just sit there as such horror was passing, but found the most she could do was to wring her hands compulsively.
There was a new villain in town. No doubt she'd have to stop them when they had a lead. But would that not be revenge? And if so, was it just?
"Kim?" he called softly.
She shook herself from her daze. "Sorry, I just . . . I don't know what came over me."
Trying to lighten the mood, he said, "Oh, it's okay. You were pretty tired. And hey, I zone out all the time, and I turned out all right, now didn't I?" He grinned.
She looked up at him seriously, her face unchanged. "No, Ron." She shook her head slowly. "Not just now. Back . . . there," she said, gesturing over her shoulder to where the lair was. "It was like . . . like I'd been there before. But not déjà vu." She waved her hands in an effort to quicken and clarify her thoughts. "But it wasn't the place. It was . . . a presence."
Ron gulped, a confused look on his face. "You're saying that something was . . . alive back there?"
She shook her head again, clearly as confused as he. "No, not alive." She was obviously struggling to get her point across, her hands working wildly but to no avail. She sighed, letting them drop to her lap. She'd have to think on it later. She'd get a headache trying to figure it out right now.
Ron lightly put an arm round her shoulder. "Kim," he began gently. "You're not yourself right now. I know it wasn't the best scene in there – Hell, it made me sick. But this isn't you. What's wrong?"
He seemed so much wiser all of a sudden, as if the roles had been switched. All at once he truly was protecting her. Why he needed to, she wasn't sure. She couldn't explain it to him, or even to herself. It was somehow supernatural, spiritual . . . almost magical. And she really didn't like it. "I don't know, Ron," she confided, settling her head against his shoulder, wrapping an arm across him, pulling the blanket around the both of them. "I really don't know."
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