Disclaimer: Don't own KP.

A Note from the Authoress: Okay, 'nother bad chapter for you! But after all, doesn't matter how good it is, as long as it's looooong, right? Hope this chapter clears a few things up for you . . .

MrDrP: Yeah, being late for work at three in the morning? Hmm . . . wonder what Kim's up to . . . And yeah, they're not about to jump into bed with each other just yet, although they get close here . . . you'll see what's going on in a later chapter.
swiglo3000: Oh, you're not going to hate Kim, believe me. Something will be exposed/happen soon. Promise.
Harufu: Eeheeheehee, same here.
surforst: Yes, actually, I did! But I chose it for a reason. I'm very glad I'd just seen it, because it'll be referred to a few times from now on, including in this chapter. And well . . . she didn't try to kill her, but there is some tension there as you'll soon learn, and some other stuff involving her work, that you may or may not get until the last, like, sentence of the story. ;) And Kim dressing sexy . . . well, to be quite honest, I couldn't resist. ;)
IncrediRaider8: Thanks! Yes, Ronnie's very stunned. And yeah, there's something going on with them . . . you'll see.

Chapter Six

"Hey, hon'," Kim said, cradling her cell phone between her ear and shoulder. "How's your mom?"

Josh's voice sounded strained and tired. "She had surgery; I just gave blood."

"Oh, Josh," she whispered, "I'm so sorry." She worked at some calculations and sketches, the large sheet of paper sprawled out on the kitchen table before her. It was all written in some sort of code, unexpected from a person as organized as she.

"You couldn't do anything about it," Josh assured her. She heard a sort of crackling on the other end of the line, as if he were rubbing at his face with a tissue. She didn't pay it any mind though, Josh was a proud man, and he'd feel terrible if she knew he was crying.

"I just wish I could've been there," she soothed, biting her tongue as she added something to her blueprints.

Josh chuckled slightly, and the sound alone made her smile. "I don't." That made her grin even more. "She might've had another heart attack!" They both laughed softly, realizing that it was probably true. "Remember how she reacted when she found out what you do?"

Her expression darkened almost immediately, and Josh shuddered upon hearing the tone that had tainted her voice. "Yes, Josh. Yes, I do." She set aside her pencil, leaning back in the chair, frowning.

"Oh, Kim," his voice was defensive. "Must you always act like this?"

Her expression only darkened. "And must you always be telling your mother things I explicitly told you not to tell her?"

His own voice took on a menacing quality. "She's my mother, darling. She's your mother-in-law. She has a right to know how you earn all that money."

Kim narrowed her eyes. "Do you honestly want to be discussing this with me?" she asked smartly, glancing down at her work.

There was a sort of squabbling from the other end that Kim could scarcely make out. 'Joshie? Is that . . . of yours? Kim?' 'Not right now, Mom.' And it continued in a sort of childish bickering, childish to her, at least.

"I'm sorry, Kim." She could almost hear him roll his eyes. She'd gotten used to it after so many years.

"It's all right, Josh," she said, trying to put the brief, familiar argument behind her. She retrieved her pencil, drafting once more, her tongue stationed in the corner of her mouth in her concentration.

"So how did the job go last night?" he asked, making a painfully daft attempt at changing the subject. The sound of a slamming door echoed, and Kim sensed he'd entered the hospital hallway.

"Good," she lied. After all, she hadn't even gone. Dangerous, she knew, but showing up the slightest bit tipsy would've been just as bad. And, too, she'd fallen asleep watching that movie, on Ron's couch.

She woke again, this time to the smell and sizzling of bacon and eggs coming from the vicinity of what she remembered as the kitchen. She stood groggily, nearly managing to trip over the blanket that had been tangled round her.

She stumbled into the kitchen, rubbing at her eyes with one hand, successfully smearing her eyeliner into little raccoon circles, and combing her matted hair with the other. Her bare feet padded softly on the hardwood floor, and she was greeted with the sight of Ron Stoppable cooking her (well, she assumed he was doing it for her, as, according to Josh, he rarely ate) breakfast. But, naturally, the more interesting portion of the scene was Ron's obvious lack of a shirt. He was wearing a pair of Fearless Ferret pajama pants, whistling to himself as he worked at the eggs.

She was about to greet him, when he asked, "Sleep well?" He hadn't even turned around.

She smiled. "Yeah," she responded. "Thanks."

"For what?" he turned round to look at her.

"For . . . you know," she was never the sort of girl to admit that she liked being taken care of like, well, a girl. She came up to stand beside him, resting her elbows on the edge of the counter, looking up at him.

He wasn't particularly handsome, she noted, not in the way Josh was, at least. His general stature and presentation was that of a 'dork', the sort of guy she knew she could easily beat up. But now, looking at him in such a circumstance, she saw that, although not bulked up, his muscles were taught and toned. The mop of blonde hair that settled itself on top of his head never seemed to lie right, always mussed up. His warm cocoa eyes were intent on his work, caring and focused at once.

A light blush seemed to cross his freckled cheeks as he lowered his eyes. "You like eggs?" he asked, his lips curving slightly into a smile.

"Mhm," she responded, watching them sizzle.

A very awkward silence fell over them.

"You seemed really into the movie last night," she commented. "Personal favorite?"

He looked up, staring straight ahead, thinking. "You could say that," he finally decided. He couldn't tell her that he was particularly fond of that specific film because it was, in its own way, close to home. Not that there was a direct connection between him and the hero, Cloud, but the loss of a loved one, a sort of mystical destiny . . . that all rang a bell, and he found it odd that, of all the DVDs he'd offered, she'd chosen that one.

Maybe she'd chosen it for a reason, too.

"It was good," she replied, trying to keep the conversation alive.

"What was your favorite part?" he asked.

"Hmmm . . ." mentally, she ran through the events of the movie. She remembered the girl, Tifa, fighting one of the villains, flipping around 'Matrix' style, landing on walls, performing seemingly impossible feats. "The fight scene with Tifa," she chose.

"I like that one, too," he commented wistfully.

"Really?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"Yeah," he sighed. "Reminds me of someone I cared about very much."

She considered pressing further, asking about this person whom he so deeply loved, but she decided against it, choosing instead to lay a hand against his bare shoulder. He flinched slightly at the contact, and she almost drew her hand back, but when she felt the muscles beneath her fingers relax, she simply rubbed lightly there, apparently unaware of the compromising position she'd just put them in. She could feel him almost leaning into her mini embrace. He felt something stir in him, something beyond perversion and longing and lust, but instead a sort of completeness, something clicking into place.

Then, he realized what he was doing: he was pining for his employee's, his best friend's wife. But there she stood, touching his bare skin, looking at him with those emerald eyes, those beautiful eyes he hardly knew, but longed for all the same. She was rumpled, disheveled, her dress wrinkled in awkward places, her makeup smudged and her hair tangled and looking even less orderly than his own. But she was in her right mind, no longer slightly blinded by the wine, and he could take her, right now, if he wanted, no longer be the virgin in every way imaginable. She would let him, too, he thought. Just for the sake of making love for making love, and not worrying about her 'inadequacies,' and instead seeing them as an advantage. But he wouldn't.

He hardly knew her, after all.

He cleared his throat nervously, causing her to pull her hand away. He managed to save their breakfast from burning. "Hungry?" he asked, fixing up two plates of bacon and eggs. He refrained from any eye contact whatsoever, choosing instead to concentrate on the food, an expert chef.

"Yes," she said meekly, a bit embarrassed. "Thank you," she added as he took the plates over to a little breakfast nook nearby.

She sat across from him, poking at her eggs with her fork, now uncomfortable after what had nearly transpired a few moments earlier. Their silence was unsettling, but polite as well. She wished not to walk out on him, nor he to send her away, and so breakfast became a dull void in which both pondered their thoughts.

His bare foot brushed against her own once, and that was the only time their eyes met, briefly as it was, to show an almost adolescent blush at this unwanted, but not unwelcome, contact.

She'd left soon after, not bothering to call her employers. They'd call her, of course, and it wouldn't be pretty, but, after all, they needed her. She was the only one for the job and they knew it. She'd settled on revising her drafts over a mug of coffee (not nearly as good as Ron's, as her cooking disability extended to her coffee making abilities) when her cell phone rang. A nervous twinge shook her gut as she thought it might be her boss, but was relieved to see it was only Josh.

"How much?" Josh's voice broke her from her reverie.

"Hmm?" she asked, shaking herself, trying her hardest not to be plagued by thoughts of her visit to Ron's house.

"How much did they pay you?" he asked, his voice holding a slight tone of annoyance.

She switched the phone to the other shoulder, erasing a mistake in her plans. She shrugged lightly, "Don't remember."

"You don't remember?" He found this hard to believe.

"Nah," she lied, an excuse quickly forming on her tongue. "It was enough, though, I suppose."

He sighed.

"What?" she asked, concerned.

"Nothing," he dismissed it. "I'm just really stressed out right now." She pictured him rubbing his temples.

"Well, don't worry about work; Ron says he has it under control," she said casually.

"Ron? When did you talk to Ron?"

She dropped her pencil, preparing for what she hoped would be the last lie of the day. "He . . . uhh . . . called earlier."

"Oh, okay," he responded tiredly.

"Josh, honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah," he replied, groaning. "Pulled an all-nighter last night."

"Oh, sweetie, get to your parents' house and take a nap, okay?"

"Okay," he said. After all, he couldn't argue with it.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Okay," she said, resuming her work. "Call me later okay?"

"Okay."

"Love you."

"Love you, too."

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