All-Purpose Disclaimer

Love™ is the registered property of The Hallmark Corporation. All rights and properties therein are reserved, and used here without permission in this fanfiction. Kim Possible and her colleagues absolve themselves of any legal responsibilities involved in its following use, and acknowledge the inherent stupidity in attempting to find, use, or otherwise interact with, love.

"…and that's pretty much the train wreck that is my life," said Kim. She set her teacup down and leaned across the table, letting her carefully measured expression slide into despair. Her tired eyes plunged into the depths of the murky beverage, catching sight of her reflection on the way. Nothing else in this tastefully decorated kitchen had given answer to her problems. Maybe the brew knew something about love and life that she didn't. "What do you think?"

The tea said nothing. Instead, her mother answered from across the table, "It sounds like you two got derailed somewhere. Now the question is, how do you get back on track?"

Kim groaned at the cute smile Missus Possible offered from around a cup of tea she had nursed all through her daughter's story. "Puns? This is serious, Mom. I screwed up royal, and now I need your help." Faltering, she whined, "Isn't there some sort of Mother's Handbook for getting daughters through things like this?"

"I'm sorry," Missus Possible said. She set her teacup down and laced her fingers together. "I must have lost that pamphlet in my Mom Orientation Folder." Another irritated look spoiled her daughter's haggard beauty. "Well, don't worry. I think I can help." Leaning forward to match Kim's posture, she asked, "How many dates have you gone on, Sweetie?"

Kim balked at the query. "Me and Ron? None, really."

"No, Kim," her mother said, "Total. Overall. Ever."

Red rushed into Kim's cheeks. She fidgeted and said, "I don't know…five?"

Missus Possible nodded. "Okay. And out of those, how many of them ended with you roundhousing some goon through a window?"

Her red brightened. "'Bout half," mumbled Kim. "I don't see how this helps."

"Hush," chided her mother. "I'm about to dole out wisdom. Are you ready?" She took another sip of tea while Kim flopped back against her seat with an impatient breath. "All right, here it is." With a pause for dramatics, she said, "You have no idea what you're doing."

"Are you kidding me?" Kim slapped her hands on the table. "That's what I've been saying!"

"But you don't understand what it means," Missus Possible explained patiently. "Kim, Sweetie, I watched you grow up much faster than any other child I've ever seen. You learned so quickly, and you've done amazing things. We're so very proud of you…"

Kim grimaced. "I sense a 'but' coming."

Missus Possible smirked. "But," she said, "You missed out on a lot of other things that more…'traditional' teenagers go through."

Kim deflated onto the table. Crimson misery carpeted her face as she buried it into her arms. "So I'm a freak, and now I'm paying for it," she muttered into the tablecloth. "Is that it?"

A pat on her head pulled her eyes up into her mother's consoling features. "You're learning how to date. It would have been nice if you learned it when you were fifteen, but that's neither here nor there anymore."

"Fine," grunted Kim. "I've been epiphanied. Boo. Yah. So what do I do now?" She dipped her pinkie into her tea and swirled her reflection into something that better matched her insides. "I know there's something between Ron and me. But I felt something for Josh, and I can't explain why, or what it was."

"So talk about it," Missus Possible told her.

Kim threw her hands in the air. "I am talking about it!" she exploded.

That motherly shake of her head infuriated Kim. "Not to me, to Ron. As a mother, all I can do is offer up platitudes." With a sage nod, she decided, "This sounds like best friend territory."

"But Ron's part of the problem," protested Kim.

"Which makes him the best person for the job," Missus Possible insisted.

Kim's next outburst died in its infancy. She kept her eyes on her tea's reflection, watching it coalesce back into a muddy picture of a confused and sad girl. Then, in a quiet voice, she asked, "Do you think he'll be angry?"

Her mother's smile took a turn for the sympathetic. "I imagine he already is. And he will be again," she predicted. "But Ron's stuck by you through a lot of hard times. I can't see him giving up on you over a little spat."

The 'little spat' weighed on Kim's mind, dipping her toward that sad wretch trapped in her teacup. All her worst fears of a relationship with Ron were coming true; if she and Ron became…then their friendship would be forever changed, maybe even gone. How could she let herself feel anything for him if it cost her Ron's friendship?

"Yeah," she muttered. "Ron's great like that."

Kim Possible
The Power of Friendship

by Cyberwraith9

Kim sat at her vanity, watching the tired figure in her mirror run through the gamut of glamour products set out before her with only a sliver of her attention. She drifted in and out of that conversation with her mother earlier in the afternoon as a cracking voice coming from the countertop beside her hands continued its ten-minute rattling of a list that showed no signs of slowing.

"Eight plasma bazookas," continued Wade, speaking through the Kimmunicator, "Three hundred kilos of plastique, one Pan Dimensional Vortex Inducer, a thousand exploding golf balls, three different death rays, each with a total output of one point twenty-one gigawatts, a harpoon gun, the Doom Vee, nine impounded hover cars—"

She tossed her foundation onto the vanity top with a sigh. "Stop, Wade. Enough. Shego, Killigan, and Monkey Fist couldn't possibly have taken all of this. It sounds like you're reading the inventory for the entire goddamned Locker."

His tiny face became apologetic. "I pretty much am. Aside from all the stuff you guys visually accounted for, or blew up yourselves, almost all of the items stored in the Evidence Locker were destroyed in the fires and explosions. GJ is still sifting through the material, but…" His voice strained and shrank. "They took some heavy losses back there. It'll take time to figure out what was torched and what was taken."

"And in the meantime," she groused, "You're telling me there's nothing we can do about it."

"Sorry, Kim," Wade gloomed. "I'm running searches for this new Legion of Villainous Evil, but so far I've got nothing. And Mister Voice is still under my radar, too." Brightening, he said, "But at least this gives you a little break. I know you've been tired lately, and you have that big date tonight with Jo—"

Kim's thumb smashed the device's central button, banishing Wade from the room. The Kimmunicator scraped against the scratched surface of her vanity as she swept it into her purse and zipped it into confinement, where she vowed it would stay until it became useful again, or until her anger subsided, whichever came first. 'Little know-it-all,' she grumbled silently. 'And it's not a date. Josh is…'

Josh Mankey. The butterflies in her stomach gave a collective twitter at the thought of his impending arrival, but nothing more. For the most part, they had settled in against the typhoon squalling in Kim's innards, pulled from parts unknown by a heavenly body and her dark chocolate smile.

Monique. Just the thought of her name pulled another tsunami from her bile to bash the butterflies back down. All this time, Kim thought her a trustworthy confidant, someone who supported Kim through her uncertainty. How long had she been lusting after Ron? And did Ron lust after Monique?

Ron.

"See?" her reflection said, as it applied a hint of mascara above Kim's eyes. "This is why best friends can't date. It complicates things."

Kim paid her no mind. She was too occupied in trying to dodge the deluge of horrors her imagination flooded forth: Ron and Monique, intertwined on the dance floor, circling to the beat of a slow song. Her arms draped around his neck so naturally, she could have been doing it for years. His arms met at the small of her back, and cupped her curves in a way that made Kim ache. Monique lifted her head from his shoulder to whisper some unheard nothing in his ear that gave him a smile. Then her lips brushed a trail across his cheek until they found his lips, and…

She crushed her eyelids shut.

"It's probably better this way," insisted her reflection, who ran a brush through her clean, silken hair. "You didn't know whether or not to love him. Now you can stay friends, date Josh, and Ron and Monique can play pelvis hockey. Everybody wins."

Kim's eyes snapped open. She slammed her brush down, and barked, "I don't want—" But an ordinary reflection mimicked her in the mirror. The dissenting image had fled. Sullen, Kim fell back into her chair and groaned. Her simple black dress lurked in the corner of her eye, hanging from her closet door. "Okay," Kim muttered to herself, and rubbed carefully at her eyes. "New rule: No dating when you haven't slept properly in three days."

She dressed in silence, mulling over her own words. It was not a date, she affirmed to herself. Ron had every right to be angry with her for missing that dinner, and she still felt sick with guilt over that. But he couldn't tell her who to see or not see, especially if it was just two old friends getting reacquainted. So why did that, too, make her feel guilty?

Soft noise pulled her notice toward the living room. She cracked her door, and saw a tall, handsome man struggling into a suit jacket. It took an extra second for her to realize it was Ron; something about the sharp, formal clothes he wore rubbed her in an unnatural way. "Hey, she called softly, and pushed her door open.

Ron turned back from the mirrored door of the open dragon cabinet. A mangled tie trapped his fingers near his neck. "Hey," he said back. She watched his eyes traverse her from head to heel and widen with appreciation. She felt better about her makeup technique in disguising her fatigue, and smiled when he said, "You look good."

"Thanks," she said. Kim's smile faded as her gaze drew back to the mirror behind him, and then across the rest of the cabinet. The sculpted cherry had arrived with Yori, and had remained at the young ninja's behest so that Ron might "have something to remember his stay in Japan" by. The more selfish part of Kim felt as though it remained as a reminder of the responsibility thrust upon her when Yori had stepped aside. Seeing the beautiful cabinet invariably brought thoughts of its beautiful origin, and the unspoken promise she and Kim had made. As Kim's eyes wandered back to Ron, she wondered if Yori would be disappointed in her. She certainly felt that way sometimes.

Readied words of apology shriveled in her mouth as Ron turned away, still fumbling with his necktie. She contented herself to watch him, allowing herself another, more genuine smile while she listened to him grunt and wrestle the accessory into submission. "Stupid piece of…" he muttered.

Kim swept to his rescue, pulling his hands away from the knot. "Here," she said, "Let me help." He shied from her touch, but she kept her hands at his tie with gentle insistence. She bathed his uncertain face in green annoyance, and said, "Stop fighting. You want to look nice for your date, and choking to death on your own tie won't do the trick."

The matronly tone quelled him to stillness. "Thanks," he mumbled, abashed. He locked his eyes over the top of her head to the kitchen counter. "Rufus usually does this for me, but I can't get the lazy little booger to wake up."

She grunted a noncommittal answer and focused on getting his tie right. "There," she said. Her hands lingered at his collar of their own accord, long after the job was done. She felt eyes brush her brow, and looked up into his silent gaze. The instant their eyes met, all the thunder and fury and bluster in her stomach fell silent. In their place arose a powerful peace, so quiet, so absolute, that Kim felt her very soul settle at its touch. Curious warmth pulsed from her core to touch every part of her. It chased the fatigue out of her body, leaving her with stunned serenity she could not explain, nor wished to.

"Thanks," he said again, breathless this time. Whatever the spell, it seemed to touch Ron also. But it didn't last; "So, you…you're really going out with Monkey." The awe in his face crumpled into poorly masked jealousy.

Kim tried, but she could not hold onto that sense of peace. Only a shred remained as her innards' tempest flared to life once more. Still in his gaze, she murmured, "You're really going out with Monique?"

Hearing the notion out loud startled Ron. He jerked back, and then sunk into an emotional quagmire. "Yah. Mon an' me, al the way," he said tonelessly. "Just not sure if Monique can handle all this Ron, y'know?"

Her hands drifted from his tie, smoothing his shirt front on their way to his shoulders. The shiver she felt run through him fed her own turmoil. "Then maybe we should call the whole thing off. You could call Monique, and I could call Josh, and we could stay here." Kim felt terror clutching at her throat as she watched his face become uncertain. "We can talk about…well, we can talk," she said, and bit her lip.

Ron fell into her eyes. "KP," he said with trembling lips, "I…"

A knock at the door broke their gaze. Kim tried to think of something to say to bring him back as he slid out from under her hands to answer the door.

Her breath came out bitter and silent when he let Monique in from the hallway. She was decked out in a slinky red dress that mapped every one of her curves in luscious detail. Lustrous curls bounced atop her head, and a golden chain hung around her neck, drawing the eye (Ron's, no doubt) down the cleavage mountained between the straps of her dress.

She rose on the tips of her high heels and planted a kiss on Ron's cheek, pointedly looking at Kim as she did. "Lookin' good, Gorgeous," she gushed over him. Then her voice cooled to add, "Hello, Kim."

"Monique," Kim replied, equally frosty.

The bombshell blindsided Ron with a dazzling smile. She leaned back against his chest and wrapped her arms up around his neck. Shock started his body, enticing her hips to swing against his. "So, you ready?" she purred up at him. "I thought we'd have an exquisitely romantic dinner for two at the Fancy Truffle tonight." He managed a weak nod while she ran her fingers through his hair. Her smile grew, and her hips dug deeper into his. She leveled a smug look at Kim and said, "You sure feel ready."

Kim could not hear Monique's next words, for a pounding anger filled her ears. She unclenched her jaw to say, "Actually, Monique, we were just talking about staying in. With so much material swiped from Global Justice, and a villain team-up on our hands—"

"Nice try," sang Monique. Her hand dipped into her purse, coming back with a lilac Kimmunicator. "I talked to Wade, and I know for a fact he told you what he told me: until he turns up something, there's nothing either of you can do." The device plopped back into her bag. With a triumphant expression, Monique crowed, "Check and mate. Looks like I get your king, Kimmie."

An excuse pooled on Kim's tongue when another knock pulled everyone's attention back to the door. A blue eye peered in through the crack. "Hello?" Josh called uncertainly. He knocked again, brushing the door open further. "Is this...Kim?"

New life sprang into Kim's butterflies. They braved the storm in her stomach for the crisp sports jacket, dress slacks, and shined shoes carrying Josh's hesitant handsomeness. The ice in Kim's voice thawed as she said, "Hi. You look…great." Juxtaposed with Ron, Kim couldn't help but notice the difference; Josh looked stylish in formalwear, whereas Ron looked like an uncomfortable child in Sunday school.

"Thanks," said Josh. He caught sight of the couple intertwined nearby. "Hey, Ron. Monique? Haven't seen you since graduation."

"Hmm? Yeah," Monique hummed icily. She slid her finger down Ron's trembling jaw line, giving Josh a bored look.

Josh frowned quizzically at the cold reception, missing the furious look Kim gave Monique. "Um, okay." A smile returned to Kim's face when he looked to her and asked, "Are you all set?" She nodded, and took his proffered arm. "Great!" On their way back to the door, Josh cast the unlikely couple another look, noticing their clothes. "Are you guys going out tonight too?"

An answer flapped in silence at Ron's mouth while Monique let her hands roam. "Going out," she answered airily, "Coming in…who knows what tonight will bring?"

Kim growled an incoherent curse and clutched Josh's arm. He stumbled after her in tow. "C'mon, Josh," she said. "I know this quaint little bistro you're going to love." His protests went ignored as Kim dragged him out of the apartment.

The instant the door shut, Monique slithered off of Ron with a chuckle. "That ought'a green up her peepers," she said with a nasty look of satisfaction. Then her look fell away for confused curiosity when she caught sight of Ron's flabbergasted gape. "Um…is there a problem?"

"I understand that I am not a bright individual." Ron stammered, red-faced, keeping his eyes locked front and unblinking; "But in this case, I'm extra lost. So please, feel free to explain this to me in tiny words while I correct a minor blood flow issue."

Monique grinned, and smoothed her dress over the sensuous lines of her body. "If you like the wrapper, wait 'til you try the candy inside." Then she snickered and slapped Ron on the chest. "C'mon, enough foolin' around. That outfit may fly for the usual nine-to-five," she told him, fingering his tie, "But when Monique goes to work, she takes it from the pm to the am. So go change. I'll raid Kim's closet for something more comfortable."

She made it halfway to Kim's room, already fumbling with the zipper at her dress' back, by the time Ron found his voice. "Wait. But…you said…"

Her smile turned sly. "That was for Kim's benefit. I thought we'd try having fun instead." Monique sauntered through the door and checked it shut with her hip. "Don't keep me waiting," she called through the closing crack.

"Single file," barked Dementor. "One at a time, just—Don't you DARE set that on the floor, you dundering oaf, or I will personally eviscerate you with a butter knife and feed you to a malnourished dachshund!"

The henchman in question yanked his sack of pilfered components up off the swept sanctum floor and fell into step behind his fellows in line. They stood as directed before a table, from which Professor Dementor barked his orders. Behind him, the half-completed Entropy Cannon squatted on a tripod, towering over the barren room. Clinging mites clad in red—the remaining half of Drakken's forces—crawled across the cannon's casing, tightening joints and strengthening welds. Their employer stood at the Cannon's feet, begoggled and whistling a jaunty tune as he worked at the Cannon's innards from its underneath.

Dementor sifted through the pile of components gathering on his table. A clipboard roosted in the crook of his arm, where it awaited a check from his pen every time he found one of the pieces he needed. "Loathe though I am to admit," Dementor called to his counterpart beneath the cannon, "It appears as though your plan was a great success. Some of this equipment looks to be in near-mint condition."

"Naturally," answered Drakken. He kept his goggles on his work, and noted, "What better place is there to get spare parts for a Doomsday engine than from mothballed Doomsday engines?"

Joyous hooting sounded in agreement from Killigan's direction. He lurked in a heap of his own liberated artillery: dozens of clubs, a crate of explosive golf balls, and more conventional weapons of extraordinary girth and menacing potential than he could wield with three times as many arms. "I'll say," he crowed, checking the power cells on an underslung laser rifle. "An' the impulse buys weren' bad either." With a spiteful glance to one side, he added, "Though some of us didn'a cash in on th' bargins."

Monkey Fist cracked an eye to glare at the golfer. A ring of shattered stone encircled his Lotus position, the larger pieces of which bore fragments of solemn simian expressions. At his feet sat a red leather-bound tome, opened to a page depicting a shrieking, ghostly monkey. An amulet of jade dangled from his grasp by a thin black cord. "Put your faith in guns, Scotsman," he said. "One day you'll lose your leg to one of those plebian pea shooters." His face relaxed, and he resumed his meditation. "I prefer to place my fate on a higher path."

"You do that', Flea Picker," retorted Killigan. "A' least my way doesn'a involve flingin' my—"

A roar of enraged pain erupted in the hall outside the sanctum, freezing everyone save Drakken in their tracks. Shego stalked into the room a second later, wearing a strip of athletic tape across her reddened nose. Unbridled fury burned in her eyes, and in her hands; wisps of green trailed from her fists in her beeline toward the unconcerned Drakken.

Killigan snickered as she passed him. "Lookin' good, lass," he taunted. He never saw the fist that laid him out, and felt only the jarring burst in his chin before the black came to claim him.

"Drakken," she bellowed. It took her several more strides to choke down enough of her anger before she could speak again, by which time she had reached the Entropy Cannon. Shaking with fury, Shego growled, "You and I need to talk."

He still hadn't turned around. The crackle of his torch and the jauntiness of his tune maintained an even keel. "Bit busy, Shego," he hummed. "Be with you in a few—yow!" Shego's fingers crushed his earlobe and yanked back, taking his head and body with it in succession. She dragged him from the sanctum, played on by the snickers of their fellow villains and henchmen.

Out in the hall, Shego slammed him up against the wall and pinned him with a single arm. A steady space of two inches separated his dangling toes from the floor while she drew the blue pistol from her belt. "You think this is funny?" she hissed.

Drakken choked out, "Not as such, no."

The points of the pronged gun dug into his throat, puckering soft blue flesh with sharpened tips. "This piece of shit might not do much," she said, "But I bet it won't be any good for your throat when I feet it to you through your neck."

"I take it you hit Kim Possible with the ray, then."

"Oh, I hit her," growled Shego. Thin rivulets of red trickled out beneath the points. "Her dopey sidekick, too."

"Marvelous," he gagged.

"Mar—Marvelous? Your stupid flashlight did jack to her!" Shego thrust her face into his. Her ruby red nose throbbed before his eyes. "I ought'a kill you."

Drakken gurgled a smile. "You aren't angry at me," he told her.

Shego's eyebrows shot up. She drew back and slammed her forehead into his nose. The blow wasn't hard enough to break it, but only just.

Drakken's vision swam with pain. He tried to cry out, but her thumb crushed the yelp before it reached his mouth. "All right, you are angry at me," he amended, blinking hard while his nose dribbled blood. "But you're angrier at yourself."

The words surprised Shego, and intrigued her enough to lessen the pressure on his windpipe. "Is that a fact? How come, Smart Guy?"

"You're angry at yourself because you're happy the ray didn't kill Kim Possible," he told her. "And you're happy because you won't stand for anyone or anything but your own hands to crush the life out of her."

A swarm of thoughts buzzed behind Shego's eyes. After a moment's consideration, she let him drop to the floor, where he gasped and rubbed at his injured nose. "Okay," she admitted, "You might have a point. But there's still the matter of you lying to me."

Drakken sneezed a cloud of red. "I never lied to you," he said hoarsely.

"Bullshit. You said your little ray doodle would frag the Princess." She tossed the device his way. "Well, she's decidedly unfragged, and I've got the nose to prove it."

His panicked fumble caught the gun in mid-flight and clutched it to his chest. "I didn't say it would 'frag' he," he retorted. "I said Kim Possible would fall if you hit her with it." A panel on the gun's handle flipped open at his thumb's insistence, flashing an incomprehensible readout at him. Delight replaced his pained expression as he shut the panel. "And she will," he said, "Provided you got the other things I requested."

"Most of it's in the car," she said through soured lips. "I had the henchmen keep it separate to hide it from Bitchy McScotterson and the zoo refugee. But the extra-special stuff I kept on me." She reached into her jumpsuit's pockets and produced three items: two tiny, burnt-out, circular chips, each with miniscule legs designed to dig into flesh and latch on; and a small, silvery vial, sealed off and labeled with three numbers that didn't mean anything to Shego.

Drakken squealed and snatched the chips from her hand. "The Moodulators!" he cheered.

"Yeah, about that," said Shego. "If one of those is supposed to go on me, we're going to have words." Her empty hand lit, flickering with threat. "Angry, hurtful words."

"In just a short while, you'll be begging me for one of these beauties," countered Drakken, as he gazed lovingly at his new acquisitions.

She wrenched at clumps of her disheveled hair. "Stop speaking in riddles!"

An enigmatic smile of Drakken's calmed her down. "You'll no doubt recall my brain-switching technology," he began.

Shego rolled her eyes. "Vividly and painfully," she grumbled.

"Say hello to the next generation," he announced, and lofted his gun with pride. "This, dear Shego, is no ordinary gun. I call it 'The Mind Reader,' and if your aim was good, I'm now holding every memory or impulse Kim Possible ever had."

She stared at the gun with incredulous eyes, recalling the blue energy that had swept over Kim's body, seemingly without effect. "You photocopied Possible's mind? Do you have to work at being this crazy?"

"Think about it," he insisted. "Imagine fighting someone whose every memory you possess. All of their experience, all of their ability, their fighting style, coursing through your mind and body." Clumsy jabs flew in his fists to illustrate his point.

The meaning behind Drakken's words dawned on Shego. Tension drained from her face, leaving black shock in its stead. "You'd know what they were going to throw before they threw it. You could guess their every move." Her eyes flew to the gun with new reverence, and then to Drakken's face with question. "But how…"

His palm rattled. "Oh," sang Drakken, "If only we had some kind of technology that could interface directly with the human brain." He gave the Moodulators a little toss. "Something designed to download and manipulate impulses, making decisions like that on the unconscious level." A dark sneer cracked his face. "So who's crazy now, Shego?"

Surprise stole Shego's voice, allowing Drakken a long moment in which to enjoy his triumph uninterrupted. At last, she murmured, "No mood swings."

"None whatsoever," he reassured her.

"I'll know what moves Possible will use?"

He smiled knowingly. "Before even she does."

Stillness struck her once more, this time a pensive one. "Hook me up," she announced.

Drakken barked a laugh and yanked the chips away from her eager grasp. "Patience, Shego," he chided her. "They'll be ready soon enough. In the meantime, I suggest you catch some rest. Things are about to heat up around here."

Grumbling rumbled at Shego's lips while Drakken spun on his heel and skipped back into the sanctum. When she clenched her fists in anger, pressure in her palm reminded her of the sealed silver vial, the other half of Drakken's list-toppers. "Hey, Doc, wait up," she called, waving the vial. "You forgot your…thing." Shego gave the vial and its enigmatic label another look, and muttered to herself, "Just what the hell is this 'Nine-Zero-One' stuff anyway?"

The clink of crystal and murmured conversations competed without earnestness against a soft serenade by the stringed quartet in the background of the Fancy Truffle. Whispers of gourmet cooking floated through the air, tantalizing the taste buds those whose food had not yet been crafted with delicate care. Black ties and evening gowns ruled the majority, leaving the handsome young man seated across from an anxious redhead to tug at his empty collar and fight his feelings of misplacement. "The, uh…the food here is spectacular," he said, fighting the uneasy quiet of their table.

Kim pulled her scowl from her plate, softening her eyes a touch as they fell onto his nervous grin. Guilt pulled her face into a similar expression. She pulled herself up in her chair and once more forced her furtive gaze from the door, which (she had long since figured out) Ron and Monique would not be walking through that night. "Mm-hmm," she hummed around a mouthful of steak. Tender, succulent meat slid down her throat to rest in the churning lump her stomach had become, and she said, "The Truffle's famous for its food."

"And the view, I'd guess," Josh noted. He gazed out the windows to the distant city below, watching it crawl around them as the restaurant turned.

When the silence returned again, Kim was aware enough to take notice of it this time. Her guilt compounded, but it could not smother the horrendous theories regarding her friends' outing. "I'm really sorry, Josh," she said. "I'm rotten company right now, I know."

His head swiveled back so fast that Kim could hear the bones in his neck popping. "Wha—no! No, not at all. No, it's just…well, you seem a little distracted tonight, is all." Crestfallen, he admitted, "I hope tonight wasn't a bad night to do this."

Her guilt gorged itself on his miserable expression and grew, unchecked. "It's not your fault," she said. "A lot of stuff's come up in the last couple days." Visions of Ron and Monique sharing a moonlit kiss on a paddleboat on placid waters rushed in unbidden. "Mission stuff," she added.

Josh's expression became nervous, and otherwise unreadable. He leaned back from his picked-over food and said, "I bet that kind of stuff comes up a lot."

The Monique of Kim's mind leaned close to Ron inside a fancied movie theater, nibbling at his earlobe under cover of darkness. "Not this fast," she lamented.

He cleared his throat. "I…" Hesitation ate his thoughts, leaving him hushed. "This mission stuff…It's pretty intense, huh."

"Well, it's no walk in the park," she sighed.

That same look lingered in his face through a second hesitation. He looked down as though he were ashamed. "Guess it's always been that way for you. Even back in high school." At her preoccupied nod, he said, "I didn't get that. Back in high school."

Kim shrugged, wrestling with the vivid image of supple black legs straddling a pale, ivory stomach with whispered promises of gentility. "No big," she said. "It's in the past."

"It's a big to me," Josh insisted. "It's the reason I…well, I've always felt bad about it." Red touched his cheeks, and he stared down into his pasta. "It must be lonely, living like that. Always caught between worlds."

The daydreams vanished in a puff of surprise. "I…huh." Kim's thoughts spun back, recalling a lifetime's emotions in an instant. Every moment in her past threatened by distance and emptiness had a freckled grin to fill its void. "I've never felt lonely," she decided aloud. "I don't think so, anyway. I mean, I've always had Ron."

Confidence receded from his face. "What's—if you don't mind me asking, of course, but what's the deal between you and Ron?"

"The deal?" repeated Kim.

Nervous, Josh's eyes took sudden and utter interest in the napkin on his lap, while he said, "It's just that I…well, you live together, you work together…"

Kim pondered the question, and felt saddened when she couldn't come up with an answer. 'Best friends' no longer fit the bill; friends didn't laugh like they laughed, touch like they touched, or felt what they feel. 'Lovers' was certainly a stretch; lovers spent their time gazing deeply into one another's eyes, not hanging out at a Bueno Nacho to laugh about the action flick they had just seen. She felt good when he was there, and felt in pieces when they were at odds…like now.

"At the moment, I don't think we're much of anything," she said, and sighed.

A laughing couple stumbled up to the front of a shoddily-kept apartment building well after midnight, making no effort to quell their boisterous joy. Sweat plastered hair to their foreheads as, arm in arm, they skipped up the short cement landing to the building's front doors.

Ron's red jersey heaved as he gasped for breath, reddening, grinning uncontrollably at the sprightly grace and beauty leaned in his arm. "Mon," he gasped, "That was awesome!"

Her dazzling smile leapt out at him on the unlit landing. Monique's chest heaved like his own, in a lime green tank top stretched tight to accommodate distractions Ron found hard to keep his eyes away from. "I know," she said between breaths. "That's my favorite club in the area. No cover, good crowd…too bad I'll never be able to go back there."

"Oh! Oh! When we were dancing…" recounted Ron.

"—which you do rather well," said Monique, bumping her hips against his.

Ron continued, still breathless, "—and that guy came up behind you, and started grinding with you…"

Her face twisted at the memory. "Whispered some nasty stuff in my ear, let me tell you."

"—and then his girlfriend came over and started bitching you out—"

"—and her boyfriend was all like, 'What?' like he didn't do anything," added Monique, caught up in his excitement.

"—and then she takes a swing at you, all set to start a catfight, and you totally lay her out!" He reenacted her punch, plowing his knuckles through an imagined girl's face.

Monique nodded. "And then the beau tries steppin' up, and you totally karate-busted his ass through a table!" She thrust her leg into the air, crushing an imagined guy's stomach.

Ron collapsed against the door with laughter. "I don't think I've ever run so hard," he said, and clutched his splitting sides.

"I know," she snickered back. "They'll probably keep our picture behind the bar so we can't sneak back in." Her chortling grew while Ron's died down. He examined her with blossoming curiosity, so intently so that she sobered and stilled, and challenged his stare with a, "What? Do I have something in my teeth?"

Ron continued to stare, moving up and down her borrowed clothes that ill-befit such bountiful curves, and across the moonlit gleam painting her soft skin a milky blue. Cotton scraped wood as he stood from the door to gaze down at her, and he said, "Why'd you do it, Mon?"

Her brows quirked. "Not gonna stand by while some five-cent bimbo gets up in my face, am I?"

"No," he said with a chuckle, "Not that. Why this? I think I would've remembered us planning a date. So…why? Kim wanted to talk, which is what I thought you said—"

Sisterly softness swept across Monique's face. "You remember how you were all angry today?" she asked.

He shrugged. "Yeah."

"You angry anymore?"

His eyes rolled back in thought. "Not so much," he admitted.

Monique reached up and patted him on the cheek. "You're welcome," she said.

"Thanks," he said, embarrassed. But his scrutiny remained, causing her confusion, until he blurted out, "Y'know what? Forget Kim. Let's hook up."

Disbelief tore at her expression. "Say what?"

"C'mon," he continued doggedly, "Let's do it. You and me. Look at how much fun we had tonight. Look at how great we go together." He juggled his points back and forth, offering both sides up in open palms: "You're funny; I'm funny. You like to party; I like to party. You're incredibly hot; I'm…not unbearable to look at. What do you say?"

The initial shock took its sweet time leaving Monique's face to make way for a more thoughtful expression. She cut the space between them into nothing with a quick step forward, sliding her hands onto his shoulders. "I say," she murmured, with half-lidded eyes, "That's a great idea. Forget Kim."

Excitement thundered in his chest at her touch. "Yeah," he agreed with shaky enthusiasm.

"Who needs her?" Monique drew closer still, rising up on the tips of her toes. Her hand slid behind Ron's head to play with his hair.

Ron trembled as he felt her body slide up against his. Her breasts heaved into him, and hot breath rolled across his chin. "Not me," he said.

Her finger traced his collarbone with a teasing touch that worsened his trembling. "What would you say," she asked with lips a hair's breadth from his, "If I invited you upstairs for coffee?"

"I, um…I don't usually drink coffee this late," he stammered.

"Me neither," she admitted in a whisper. "I had something else hot and steamy in mind."

A kiss crashed into Ron's mouth before he could affect a protest of any kind. Her lips felt softer than anything he had ever encountered, and had a taste unlike any other. He closed his eyes and started kissing back at once. His hands wrapped around her bare midriff, and slowly worked their way up the sides of her green tank top to the smooth, sculpted skin of her neck. A gasp escaped their embrace when his thumb brushed her ivory cheek. Scarlet hair poured through his fingers. As Ron's breath ran short, he felt her pull back, and he opened his eyes to meet her green gaze.

Monique smiled at his surprise with knowing patience. Her hand came to rest on his face. "Now," she asked him, "Who were just you kissing?" Ron's mouth flapped, until she shut it with a finger. "Shh. Don't. You're hurt. You're confused. But there are two very good reasons you and I can't be. First, I'm way too good for you, and I'll break your heart like an egg." Her smirk came and left. "And more importantly, I happen to have it on good authority—mine—that Kim loves you as much as you love her." When he tried to speak again, she shook her head and insisted, "No argument. Kim needs to talk to you. You aren't mad anymore, so now you need to talk to Kim. You savvy?" Monique didn't give him the chance to answer; she patted his cheek, and said, "G'night, Champ. Thanks for a great evening."

She turned to go inside. Her key had just worked the lock open when she heard Ron say behind her, "You're right. Kim will love me, Mon. When she's older, and she's tired of guys prettier and better than me of leaving her in the lurch. When she's tired of the chase. That's when she'll go back to ol', dependable Ron. And that's what kills me; that I'm her second choice."

Monique turned around. Ron was trudging down the steps with his hands stuffed into his pockets. A cloud of despair followed him on high, making her wonder if she hadn't made things worse. "You can't believe that," she said.

Ron kept walking. "Not everyone grows up to be a swan," he called without turning. "Some of us are just ugly ducks."

She watched him disappear onto the street, back toward campus and home. The dark city swallowed him without difficulty; she doubted he would have fought it, even if he could have. With a shake of her head, Monique wondered aloud, "Why are the cute ones always so dumb?"

"So…"

"So…"

Josh and Kim fidgeted at the door of her building. He stood at a respectful distance, with 'awkward' written into every detail of his person as he searched for something to say that would make the moment last. The jangle of Kim's keys distracted him from producing anything but feeble stammers. "Here we are," he noted with a low chuckle.

The nod Kim gave came purely on reflex. Her thoughts were seated in a third row pew at the First Church of Middleton, where Ron and Monique were undoubtedly finishing their vows and moving on to their unity candle. It took every ounce of restraint she had to not bolt up the steps and see whether or not Ron had gotten back yet. "Mm-hmm," she hummed.

That same hesitation that had haunted Josh all night revisited him now. The words he wanted waited on speechless lips, parting his mouth in a trio of false starts. At last, he gestured to Kim, and asked, "Was tonight…okay?"

"Hmm? Yeah," she said, looking back at him. "Tonight was great."

He smiled, relieved. "Good. Because…Because I've thought about it, and I might…I might be moving back to the Tri-City area. It'd be nice to know I'd have a friendly face to see…y'know, when you aren't busy with missions."

Kim flashed an empty smile at the freckled blond bringing her home. Then she did a double-take, watching Josh's frosted locks sway in the breeze. Startled, she stammered, "That'd be great. I, uh, I'm pretty tired." Which was true, but Kim wouldn't even think of rest until she found Ron. Chucking her thumb over her shoulder, she said, "I'd better…"

"Oh. Of course." Josh backed away, making gracious gestures. He stumbled down the steps and mumbled his goodnight.

When she turned back to the door, she found that a terrible weight had infected her keys, making it impossible to lift them to the lock. Josh's absence made the prospect of finding Ron up in the apartment very real and very frightening. What mood would she find him in? Would he be alone?

"What's wrong with you," Kim muttered to herself, clasping her keys. She recalled her mother's simple words, and wished desperately to make them happen. Ron hadn't been receptive to her overtures, and rightfully so. But then, how was she supposed to make things right?

Or maybe she wasn't meant to. The sultry satisfaction oozing on Monique's face resurfaced from Kim's memory. With it came the way Ron had trembled at Monique's touch. These days, Kim could hardly touch Ron at all. His uneasiness and silent treatment when she had fixed his tie…What did they even have anymore?

'It's fair, isn't it?' a little creep of a voice whispered to Kim. 'You get to date Josh, and he gets Monique.'

Her temper flared. "It's not—"

A hand at her shoulder turned her from the door. "I saw that you were hanging back too," Josh said with an odd smile. She stood rooted to the spot as he leaned in and kissed her full on the mouth. When he pulled away, his smile doubled. "See you later," he promised, and skipped off before she could speak.

Kim toppled back against the door, watching Josh float down the street. His kiss still tingled on her lips, and spread through the rest of her horrified face. "Holy crap," she murmured, pressing her hand to her mouth. "It was a date."

To Be Continued