Disclaimer: Don't own Kim Possible. Too bad. So sad.

A Note from the Authoress: Hullo! Not a whole lot to report here. Some personal stuff . . . I got the lead in the school's dance concert! (Just had to share!) And come November 1, I will be starting an AUstory called Over the Hills and Far Away for my NaNoWriMo entry, so keep a look-out!

And thanks muchly for the reviews! I'll admit, I'm a review whore, but it's not for the attention or the review count; I honestly want to know what you think so I can improve my writing, even though I'm stubborn. Actually, right now, I'm keeping in mind some corrections Jezrianna2.0 gave me awhile back, because I'm glad she decided to help me so. I also like to know what you guys enjoy about the story; this is a story I'm writing for the readers, not me, so I love input!

1WingedAngel: Thanks for the review! Hope you enjoy this chapter.
MrDrP: Ah, yes, the dreams. Well, in this chapter you're going to see that you weren't entirely wrong in your assumption. There's a bit of KR fuzz (the non-romantic breed of fluff) in this chapter, along with a little bit of Kim's thoughts of Josh's role in her life, so I think (and hope)you'll enjoy those parts. Hmm . . . book sounds interesting; might have to read it. Thanks for the review!

Enjoy!

Chapter Two

-November 4, 2005-

Kim woke from her dreamless sleep to the smell of pancakes drifting in from the kitchen. She sighed, though she knew not exactly why, upon realizing she was lying on the Stoppables' living room couch, and not her own bed. No, she didn't wish to wake lying next to Josh, not now, at least. She loved him, but she still felt detached, as if she were wary of bringing the hectic nature of her own life into his.

She sat up, causing the blanket to fall from her shoulders. Blanket? Ron . . . He must've covered her up after she'd drifted off. Thinking back on it, she thought it vaguely rude to just doze off like that, but she couldn't help it; she hadn't slept in days. She'd been having horrible nightmares, and only the previous night had she chose to confront them.

And Ron had one, too.

But she hadn't asked about it, and she wouldn't now. She'd finally been able to rest, and she didn't want to risk such torment again.

She stood and stretched, and, feeling her back pop a couple times, made a mental note never to sleep curled up on a couch again. Padding quietly into the kitchen, she saw Ron, dressed sloppily as usual, flipping pancakes. "Sleep well?" he asked without looking at her.

She smiled softly. "Great," she said, then added, "Thanks."

"For what?" he asked, confused, looking up at her over his shoulder.

She waved her hands in dismissal. "Making breakfast?" she covered quickly, changing the subject.

"Mhm," he nodded, turning to his attention to the pancakes again. "But don't tell my parents. They're still asleep and I don't want them to feel left out."

They both grinned.

There was silence for a few moments before he felt Kim rest her head on his shoulder from behind and give out a quiet sob, that one mournful sound that could shatter his heart in a single moment. Her arms, shaking uncontrollably moved to wrap around his chest, her fingernails clawing at his shirt when she was unable to hold on, trying her hardest to keep back her tears.

But they ran freely down her cheeks, wetting the shoulder of his jersey. "I can't cry," she murmured, barely distinguishable, "I can't be weak; I can't cry . . ." She finally managed to hold onto him and pulled herself closer, trying to muffle her cries with his body.

He turned to face her, pulling her into his arms, a pained expression on his face. More than anything he wanted to take her in his arms right there, to tell her that she wasn't the only one hurting, and that he'd never leave her. But he couldn't; no, it was for her own good, for, should he admit that much to her, he might be forced to admit what his subconscious told him his deep hidden motives were.

"I won't let go," was all he could muster, barely murmuring the words; she could scarcely hear him.

He looked down at her, and his blood took on a sudden chill at what he saw.

Her lifeless body slumped in his arms, bending backward, the precious neck twisted awkwardly to the side. Her eyes, open but glazed over, stared back at him in a blind sort of accusation, and those lips, once so perfectly kissable, stained with blood, a little trickle of the crimson liquid dripping from the corner of her mouth. Her entire form was limp, the clothing torn and drawn back, stained with red. But worse than that was what he saw when he looked to her right hand. Beneath it was a single white bud soaked in that same familiar red, and in her palm itself was that familiar engraving: the mark of the Plague.

He cried out in shock, jumping backwards.

He blinked a few times to see Kim, alive and well, giving him a hurt look, her slender arms hugging herself as she looked back at him, tearful. "Ron?" she whispered. "What's wrong?" When he did not respond, she ventured even more timidly, "I'm . . . I'm sorry?"

Ron blinked a few times, then shook himself free of his stupor. His mouth opened of its own accord, but no sound emerged. His arms hung uselessly at his sides.

"Ron," she called softly, taking a few steps toward him. "What's wrong?" She wiped frantically at her eyes and nose, cursing herself for being so weak. "Ron?" She reached a hand out to him, laying it upon his cheek.

He shrugged her away. "No."

"What?" She withdrew her hand, the pain in her voice obvious.

He shook his head.

She began to reach for him again, but he swatted her hand away.

"Ron? What is it?"

He lowered his eyes. "KP . . . Kim. I think it would be better if you went back to Josh now."

"Ron . . . I . . ." she began, but he cut her off harshly.

"Go already!" He turned away and raked his hands through his hair, seething.

She watched him for a moment, the way his entire body moved with his heavy breathing, the way his knuckles turned white, so tightly grasping his scalp. She'd never seen him like this before, so angry and so . . . so human. She'd never seen him express such emotions; emotions that would be normal for any other person, but not Ron, her Ron. He was always so happy, never so furious and disturbed, so stressed.

She took another step towards him, her hand outstretched. Her breathing came in ragged gasps. "Go!" he screamed, not even turning to face her.

She dropped her hand, looking at his back mournfully. "Goodbye, Ron," she said softly, turned and ran from his house, slamming the door behind her.

When he was certain she'd left, he turned round, his sobs wracking his entire body. He slid down to sit on the cold kitchen floor, and cried.

--

Kim ran down the street, the pavement rough against the smooth soles of her feet. She cried freely, only barely conscious that she was on her way to Josh's house. Ron had confirmed her worst of fears: he was capable of heartlessness. She'd seen him like that in only her worst nightmares; in those terrible, frightening nightmares.

She rounded the corner, and Josh's house came into view. Josh, yes, he would help her, listen to her, let her cry. But was that what she really wanted? As much as Monique's death hurt, not being able to express her grief was worse. The last thing she wished was to put another burden on Josh, as if it could jeopardize their relationship, but with Ron, she felt no matter how great the load, he would help her carry it. But now . . . ?

She must talk to Josh.

She looked to the familiar door, a sort of off-white paint peeling at the edges. But now, gazing upon it through her tears, she saw that all too familiar, dreadful image seeping through the wood like blood, a great red stain forming, oozing and dripping across the once welcoming sight.

A rose.

She felt a sort of wave wracking her body, and tried reached her hands to the pavement to break her fall, but found they did not respond.

--

"Kim?"

Who was that? That voice in the darkness? She tried to reach out, to grasp a name, a face; that of whom she cared about most. Those calm, caring eyes, that mop of blonde hair, those careful hands . . .

"Ron?" she whispered wearily, still dwindling on that twilight between wake and sleep.

"No," the voice chuckled sadly. "No, Kim." She felt two warm, loving arms wrap round her and pull her against an equally caring chest. "Darling, wake up . . ."

She opened her eyes slowly, her lashes fluttering. She saw that she was pressed to Josh's neck, his arms embracing her warmly as they sat on his living room couch.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, no questions or exclamations of love or identity. Something in her mind must have settled for the fact that this was Josh, not Ron . . . not Ron . . . ?

He pulled away to smile at her tenderly, albeit a bit sadly. His eyes held a sort of fretful relief, as if he'd feared something unimaginably terrible before she'd finally woken. "You fainted, dear." She shivered. He held her more tightly to warm her. "You had me pretty worried there for awhile."

A faint smile passed cross her lips. "You care," she stated simply.

"Of course I care!" he sad lovingly, still wary of speaking of why she fainted, and carefully set about combing her tangled hair with his fingers. He wondered why she'd come here, particularly in nothing more than her pajamas, and seemingly having cried just before. That was what disturbed him most; he'd never seen her cry, even though he was her boyfriend. It was one of those things he'd come to accept as impossible for her. Kim Possible: the girl who can do anything . . . anything except cry

She sighed in response, that morose quality taking over once more, that detached thoughtfulness that would worry anyone.

"Kim?"

"Ron's angry with me," she whispered, her voice trembling in some form of emotional pain.

"Ron?" Josh asked, pulling away slightly. "Why would he be angry at you?"

Kim sighed and leaned against him. "I really don't know," she began quietly, bringing up a hand to hold onto the front of his shirt. "I was upset when I woke up, and I was crying, and . . ." she considered telling him that Ron had been holding her, but decided against it, realizing that his understanding at her spending the night with Ron was more than enough. Ron and Josh may have become friends of sorts over the past couple months, but both were prone to jealousy, and she had to learn to understand and deal with it. "And all of a sudden he just told me to leave! He was so upset . . . and I'm scared . . ."

Josh pulled her closer and rubbed her back, as if expecting her to cry, but she did not. "Would you like me to talk to him?"

She seemed to consider this. "Maybe . . . I don't know." She toyed absently with her hair. "I really don't know what's wrong. What if it would just make him more angry?"

Josh looked at her, then began seriously, "Ron would never hurt you, Kim. You know that."

"He loves me," she murmured, staring blindly ahead.

Josh really didn't know how to respond.

Without a word, he stood, leaving Kim alone on the couch, in search of Ron Stoppable.

--

The doorbell rang.

Ron looked up dejectedly from his place on the kitchen floor. He'd sat there for the past hour and a half, crying and thinking, thinking and crying . . . and still he was miles away from an answer. Surely he could not be the source of the Plague itself, right? He wasn't capable of such evil, such accomplishment. After all, he was only the sidekick, wasn't he? The best friend. The third wheel. The buffoon.

That dream . . . he'd had others like it before, and they frightened him beyond all comprehension. The emotions and dread were familiar, the way in which he was watching the entire thing transpire from his own two eyes, but was unable to stop it, as if his body simply wouldn't respond to his demands. To kill his love would be an unforgivable sin, as would to confess such a deep emotion to the one he loved most. Kim . . . If he could do anything, it would be to hold her in his arms without any fears.

He feared for her.

Standing, he headed for the door, regaining his composure before opening it. And there he stood face to face with Josh Mankey.

Please, tell me what you think!