Seven

It Drags On

A Kim Possible Fiction


Author's Notes: Heh, again, sorry for the wait... Procrastination, gotta love it. Anyway, here's chapter three. This is shaping up to be a lot longer than I'd originally anticipated... Two chapters and counting and I'm not even past the first day. Ah well, so it goes. In this one I really tried to make Mo – Err, Mankey out to be a good guy, like he is in the show. It was a lot harder than I'd expected it would be... Guess I'm more pro Kim and Ron than I thought. There's not too much else to say about this chapter... Just sort of a placeholder while I work out some details on where I want this headed.

Again, thanks for reading. I'm not much into German movies, so I wouldn't really know about Lola Rennt, but I guess it can't be that bad a comparison. Sadly I've got no plans to include Galaxy Quest in this story, much to Tim Allen's dismay. He spent six hours on the phone with me yesterday, begging for a Taggart Cameo, but I wouldn't budge. As I already said, I'm a big K/R 'shipper, so that's most likely where I'll end up, no worries there, Jas. I'll try to pump out the next chapter in a couple of days, being as this one's sort of a cop out. Here you go ladies and gents, Seven: It Drags On.


Kim and Ron strolled up to the front doors of Middleton High, oblivious to the assorted strange looks they got from the few students still loitering about before class. Ron pushed open the door and they slipped inside out of the miserable morning. They stood there for a few seconds, luxuriating in the warmth that flooded the building. Ron glanced around and noticed a few people staring in their direction and coughed. He shucked his side of the coat and held the side as Kim slid her arm back into the sleeve. "Ah, thanks KP." He rubbed the back of his neck and graced her with a small smile. She returned the smile and opened her mouth to say something, but an arrogant, haughty voice interrupted her.

Think razor blades immersed in honey, and you'll be able to picture it. "Well well, the losers finally made it. Aww and little Ronnie's all wet again. You sure you're babying him enough, Kimmy? I could probably find him a bib or something so you two could really look the part." They both stiffened at the sound of the voice. Kim whirled around, indignation flushed across her features, and took a step towards their verbal assailant.

Her eyes flashed and she opened her mouth to snap a retort when she felt a cold, clammy, yet firm hand take her by the elbow. Kim's mouth snapped closed and she ground her teeth as she turned to Ron, who just chuckled and shook his head, stepping ahead of Kim towards Bonnie. "Shouldn't you be out running over some poor little kid's puppy dog or something, Bon-Bon? I know it's hard to get complete thoughts through that cellulite head of yours, but we actually have a class to attend. You might want to get a move-on." He applied a gentle push against Kim's elbow that got her started off towards her locker and away from Bonnie, who gnashed her teeth and glared daggers at the pair of them.

"Fine, whatever. Like I have time in my busy schedule to put up with you freaks anyway." With an imperious toss of her tousled locks, Princess Bon-Bon stalked off down an adjacent hallway, pulling her fawning gaggle of giggling sycophants after her.

Ron rolled his eyes and shook his head. That's Bonnie for you, one constant in a whirlwind of adolescent change – She'd always be a bitch. He turned and jogged down the crowded hall to catch up with Kim, the both of them headed to their lockers before first bell rang. Ron was a few steps behind, dodging around the riptides of Middleton's youth while listening with half an ear to his friend rant on about her rival. "I mean, the nerve of her, coming up like that – you'd think she owns the place! And what was with that outfit? Slut much? Argh, she just drives me crazy! Don't you think so Ron?" He opened his mouth to mumble something affirmative, his attention wandering elsewhere, but she didn't even pause for breath before continuing her tirade. "And, I mean... and... and..." Ron looked over at Kim as she trailed off. A sigh broke from deep in her chest and her face melted into a dreamy expression of hormones and longing. Ron's eyes tracked her line of sight and his gaze hardened imperceptibly. Rufus poked his head out of Ron's pants and stuck one small digit down his throat, making a retching sound. "Blah – Mankey!"

Joshua W. Mankey. Cool, collected, suave, handsome – he had it all, he was even an artist. His most valuable asset, though he probably didn't realize it, was the ability to completely entrance a certain cheerleading teen heroine to the point of complete, stuttering insensibility, and Ron absolutely hated him for it. Yeah, you think you got it going on, Monkey? Well, I've got news for you, artsy-boy... You don't! Ha, how'd you like that little gem then, huh? I got the mad Fu skills, baby – You can't even touch this. Of course, this all played out in the Middleton High of Ron's mind. Reality followed something along the lines of "Oh, Josh... Right." Kim didn't seem to notice – or care, for that matter. She took a half-step forward and then stopped, then another stutter step, trying to work up the nerve to go flag down this divine gift to teenage boyhood. She was still debating it with herself when Josh caught sight of the two of them and strolled over.

The artist nodded an acknowledgement to Ron's presence and flashed Kim a dazzling smile. "Hey Kim, how's it going?" Anyone watching could almost see the fuses exploding in her brain as she melted, scrambling for something to say to him. He seemed mildly amused at her distress, and waited patiently for her to answer. Hated or no, not even Ron could find fault in the guy's manners.

Kim flushed slightly and managed to stammer out a greeting. "Oh, h-hey Josh. I'm great, how're you?" She mentally shrieked at herself and felt an almost unbearable urge to find the nearest closet and blockade herself inside for the next ten to twenty years.

He smiled again and her knees wavered, ever so slightly. "Oh, you know, can't complain. Listen, I was wondering if you'd want to hang some time, like, this weekend, maybe."

There was a full second of silence as Kim's addled brain processed that. "A- You mean, you and me? Yeah, sure! Ah, I mean, I'd love to." She bit her lip and pulled herself together by sheer brute application of willpower. "Ah... Saturday, maybe?"

He grinned, "Yeah, Saturday'd be cool. Sevenish?" She nodded her head, still not trusting her mouth. "Alright, see you then." He glanced down at his watch and frowned. "Oh, hey, class starts in a couple, I'd better go. See you later, Kim, Ron." He waved and jogged off down the hall, headed up the west wing.

Kim stood there, a slightly pole axed look on her face and a dreamy smile tugging at her lips. Ron, behind her and out of her view, scowled at the floor for a second. "Time waits for no man, or cheerleader for that matter, KP. We need to get going if we're going to make English Lit." He walked up to her, an expectant look on his face. She stood there for another few seconds before managing to shake off her daze.

"Oh, yeah... Yeah, let's go, Ron." She caught a glimpse of the wall clock and realized they had only two minutes to make it all the way across the school. She started down the west hall a few steps before Ron cleared his throat.

"Ah, KP, not to ruin your scenic route," He blanched at that "scenic", "But Lit is in the east wing, not the west wing." She flushed at his comment, and on realizing they – well, ok, she, was in fact going the wrong direction. Kim turned and shot him a sheepish smile before bolting down the east hall. Ron had to scramble to keep up, dodging and weaving around the last-minute rush to get to class. Such is the fate of the teenage sidekick. He brushed past a group of loitering freshmen, fighting to keep his footing in the crowded halls. They rounded the corner to the Literary Studies hall, and bolted for the door. Ron's eyes were drawn to another clock mounted on the wall. Forty-five seconds left. The seconds hand twitched again, one more notch slipping away between his afternoon and hard time in detention. Thirty seconds. Kim was ten feet away, her book bag flailing madly behind her as she ran when Ron saw one of her notebooks make a mad bid for freedom. It scuttled away, lost to Kim's awareness in the chaos of the hall. Ron sighed and dove after it, brushing aside fellow students until he at last laid hands on the book – but not before several feet had lain shoes to his hands. He straightened and turned, the classic slow-motion bolt before the clock ran down playing out. If you were watching, you could almost here the deep, long cry of "Nooooo" drift like a phantom below all the white noise of the hallway.

Ron's biggest mistake was that instead of watching where his headlong rush down the hall was taking him, he was watching his mashed fingers and trying to fix the crumpled cover of his friend's book. He realized and corrected this mistake in the same instance, lifting his face to watch where he was going. His second and final mistake was assuming that Mrs. Bartlett would be in and teaching English Lit, and he paid a heavy price for it. If you assume then you make an ass out of... Well, never mind. His eyes snapped into focus just in time to see one black shoe and a thick leg attached to it, and the big, heavy hand that was in the process of flipping the door back into its frame. Delicate freckled flesh met a solid inch and a half of compressed plywood with a resounding crunch that was heard all the way down the hall. Ron snapped back to his feet from the flat of his back, spewing curses and clutching at his mangled face with one hand while warding off further attack with the other. Through the stars and tears that clouded his vision, he caught a vague image of black shoes, tan khaki pants, and a brown sport jacket, all surmounted by a squarish head and a mop of carefully combed black hair. Barkin, it seemed, had just turned Ron's day southward once again.

"Stoppable. Late again I see." Steve Barkin stared down at the dazed, bleeding teenager. "That will, of course, be another fine afternoon's worth of detention for the both of us." Ron groaned, but no one could tell if that was from the punishment or the injury. "Now, if you wouldn't mind, we have seventeenth century abstract poetry to discuss for the next hour." Barkin stepped aside and Ron walked into the room, wiping blood from his face on the sleeve of his pullover and running his tongue over his teeth to make sure they were all still present and accounted for. He dropped Kim's notebook on her desk as he walked by and collapsed heavily into his chair, wincing at the vibrations that reverberated through his body up to his face. She shot him a wide-eyed, apologetic look and mouthed an apology as Mr. Barkin turned to the blackboard. He shrugged and pulled out his books, looking towards the lesson.

Sixty-five excruciating minutes later, twenty-seven students stumbled out of English Literature under the hawk-like gaze of Mr. Barkin. Ron walked ten paces down the hall before stopping and leaning back against the wall, eyes closed and head tilted back. "I told you he's had it in for me since that time I ran into him in seventh grade."

Kim just shook her head and clutched at her notebook. "Ron... I... I'm so sorry, I know you wouldn't have been hurt if I didn't drop my notebook, and then you got detention, too..." Her face was downcast, and she wouldn't look at him.

Ron lazily opened one eye and chuckled, his trademark goofy grin sliding easily onto his face. "Pfft, so not the Drama KP. You know Barkin – If it hadn't been one thing it would've been another. And as for the property damage, it's no big... I only broke three fingers, snapped my nose in seven places, and suffered a pair of simultaneous minor concussions... The Ronster's built solid – I'll be good as new in the morning." She flashed him a small grin at that and he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "Don't sweat it, KP. I'm fine, you've got your books, and I've got something to do during cheer practice after school today, everything's golden." He glanced up at the wall clock again. "Ah man, three minutes to get to math... I'll catch you at your locker at lunch, ok?"

She smiled again at his retreating form. That was Ron, always willing to go the extra mile, just to cheer her up. He might be hurting with his whole afternoon shot, but here he was, not angry, not even frustrated, helping her out. She wondered again what she'd done to deserve such a great friend, a thought that had been crossing her mind an increasing number of times in the last little while. With a little sigh she hitched up her book bag and set off for History class.


Amazingly, considering his luck, Ron made it all the way to the Math wing and into his desk without further incident. The pain in his nose was even enough to keep him from falling asleep in class today. Well, okay, so then maybe everything wasn't all perfect, but Ron would take what he could get. He stretched, glad to be out from Barkin's iron thumb, and enjoyed the calm before the storm of numbers and equations that he knew was brewing. He pulled open his bag, set his calculator and textbook on the desk and reached in again for his notebook. Nothing but slick nylon on his fingertips. He pulled his arm out and pulled the bag open wider, looking for the notebook. He stood up to see if he'd dropped it on the way in the class. No dice. He must have left it back in English Lit. Back... Back with Barkin. Ron groaned again and shot a glare at the ceiling. Yeah, thanks a bunch, fate... Build me up just to smack me back down again and again. He scowled, tossed his stuff back in his bag and took off for the Literary Studies hall again.

It was going to be a long day.