All-Purpose Disclaimer

In every generation, there is a chosen one. She alone will stand against the lawyers seeking to protect fair use material, the copyright infringement suits wrongly brought against fics written for no profit, and the vampires. She is Kim Possible.

Ron juked back and felt her toes comb the bangs from his sweaty forehead. The training room mat squeaked beneath him as he sprang forward with a lunge punch that landed on her crossed forearms. The two combatants slid together across the floor with the force of the blow, eliciting a long squeal from the vinyl flooring. "Too slow, Kimberly Anne," he sang. His fists began pumping in a merciless barrage, testing the very limit of her defenses.

Sweat beaded at Kim's forehead while she blocked each individual blow with lightning speed and waning strength. She didn't have Ron's upper body power, and they both knew it. Likely, he was wearing her out to dull her superior speed, one of the few edges she still held on him in a fight. "Sorry," she replied pleasantly, ducking a roundhouse swing that parted the tip of her hair. "You looked a little winded, so I thought I'd slow it down."

Excited whooping came from the edge of the U's training room, where the other who students had come to work out their pre-final frustrations had yielded the floor to Team Possible's weekly smackdown. Some of the room's regulars knew to show up on Saturday afternoons for the best free show on campus. They were the loudest, egging Kim or Ron on by name.

"You're too kind," said Ron. He bowed generously to avoid a hook kick and corkscrew-flipped back, enjoying the cheer it drew from the crowd.

Kim flipped after him, pounding the floor that he rolled away from in a double-stomp. "Showoff," she teased, tossing her hair back.

He grinned and waggled his fingers for her to advance. "That's a lovely shade of black you're wearing, Miss Pot."

But his humor turned to yelping; Kim feinted high and swept his feet out from under him. Breath whistled from his lips when he slammed to the ground like so many sacked potatoes, and then again as Kim drove her knee into his back. Her fingers clamped around his arm and pulled it up behind him while he was stunned.

"Settle, Kettle," she said, tugging up on his arm. "This is one Saturday you won't come out on top."

"Was that a double entendre?" grunted Ron.

Another tug cut short his mockery. "You wish," Kim said. "Now tap out." She pressed her knee harder into his kidney. Subtle worry worked her smile down; if Ron tried to break her hold, he might hurt himself, or her. "C'mon, Ron," she urged, "There's no way you can—"

Ron arched his back hard. The vertebra beneath Kim crackled as his heels arced up behind her and hooked around her shoulders. She couldn't resist as his powerful legs yanked her down, back, and threw her off of Ron.

He rolled his chest off the floor and pulled his feet beneath him to flip back just as she hit the ground. Kim had touched down but an instant when he crouched over her with a tiger grip pressed gently to her throat.

"Tap out," he said with friendly forcefulness.

Kim swore and swatted the mat twice. Mild applause cluttered the air while Ron helped her back to her feet. The two combatants bowed, and then started for the edge of the mats. Their audience dispersed back throughout the room, sensing that the show was over, and left them to talk in relative privacy.

"If I were a villain, I so would have had you back there," groused Kim as she undid her gi's waist ties. The heavy cotton cloth slid from her shoulders, revealing a black sports bra soaked with sweat that ballooned with her sigh. Then, muttering her best villainous voice, she hissed, "I should have finished you when I had the chance, Stoppable."

Ron traded his gi out for a rumbled tank top. "First off," he said, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks, "You would make a lousy villain. You're way too hot, and you remember my name. And second, while impressive, your Kung Fu is no match for my mad monkey skillz."

He struck a pose, making her laugh with a ridiculous face. "Humble up, Ron," she said, and ruffled his golden crown. "I wouldn't want to have to regret your 'mad skillz' if they turned you into a colossal jerk, just like all the other times."

"Like when?" he asked with a faux pout.

Her fingers ticked: "Your new haircut phase, your multi-millionaire phase, your O-Boy phase, your extreme sports phase…"

"Well," he said with a shrug, "At least you don't have to save me during every mission…as much."

Now it was her turn to faux-pout. "Maybe I like saving you," she caramelized. Dropping the act, she added, "After all, I did it so much in High School, I could have lettered in Ron-Saving." She pulled out a black T and slipped it over her head, popping out of the collar with a smile.

"True," agreed Ron. "But letter jackets are so tacky for ultra-adult collegiates like ourselves." He produced a ratty red jersey from his bag and donned it, losing his head somewhere in the sleeve on the first attempt. Her giggle guided his head back through the proper hole, where he met her smile with one of his own. "But maybe you wouldn't mind saving me from other, non-mortal peril…"

Guessing the root of his troubles wasn't hard, as he had been fretting about it all week. "Lit Class?" she asked.

He nodded, and gathered up his bag. When Kim tried lifting hers, he took it from her and carried it as well. "Turns out that my 'Old Man and the Sea' paper isn't going as swimmingly as I'd hoped." With a conspiratorial look, he whispered, "Did you know that it's supposed to be some big Jesus metaphor?"

Kim grinned, and let him carry the bag without argument. She knew he was just buttering her up, and she loved every minute of it. Next he would offer her food, which she could definitely go for after their weekly tussle. "I remember something like that from those lectures you sleep through," she said.

"Yeah," he grunted without apology. "My old Synagogue? Yeah, they didn't go over the Jesus stuff as well as I might've needed for this assignment. Think you could help me out before our Saturday Night Movie-thon? There's Bueno Nacho in it if you say yes."

Her grin grew, and she wrapped her arm around his waist, leading him toward the door. "It's a deal," she said.

Kim's eyes remained on Ron a moment, slowing their progress toward the exit. He felt warm against her arm through the thin jersey. Strong, too. But his face retained a boyish kindness she knew better than her own countenance. After all they had been through, his smile hadn't changed.

The scrutiny didn't go unnoticed. "What?" asked Ron. "Do I have schmutz on my face?"

Wishing idly for the power to freeze this one, blissful moment, Kim squeezed him closer and assured him, "Absolutely nothing is wrong. Everything is just right."

Kim Possible
The Power of Friendship

by Cyberwraith9

"I'm coming! I'm coming!"

The incessant pounding that had rousted Monique from her slumber now guided her bleary-eyed steps toward the front door. Whatever it was that desired entrance to her apartment, it bowed the wood inward with the force of its need. Monique would have feared for her safety, were she not one hundred percent certain who it was calling at this late (or rather, early) hour.

Her hand found the cool knob by memory. She stepped back and yanked the door open, watching with satisfaction as Kim stumbled into the apartment.

Kim righted herself in an instant. Her white T-shirt bore dark circles of sweat, and her breath came at a fast, shallow pace. "Where is he?" she asked. "Where's Ron?"

"G'morning to you too, Sunshine," yawned Monique.

"Where is he?" demanded Kim. "I need to talk to him."

Monique shut the door and turned on the lights. Her eyes shrank from the illumination, coming to grips with it slowly, so she took care as she stumbled her way over to a couch and its inviting blanket. "S'not here," she mumbled.

Kim's hand caught hold of her wrist, jerking her to a stop. "How could you do this to me?"" she cracked. "I thought you were my friend. You know how I feel about him—"

A flash of Ron's face barreled into Monique's memory, pulled fresh from their goodnight. It chased the sleep from her mind and tracked rage in its wake. Monique's vision flashed red, and the next thing she knew, Kim was clutching her cheek in shock, and her palm smarted with the sting of a fresh slap. "You stupid bitch," she heard her voice utter.

A tear trailed from the edge of Kim's narrowing eyes. She locked her arms out straight to keep her trembling fists at bay. "If you were anyone else…" she said in a low, quaking tone.

"What? You'd hit me? Use your Kung Fu grip on me? Go ahead," taunted Monique. "Thrash me. It'll be nothing compared to what you're doing to Ron, you selfish, hateful little coward." She shoved Kim hard, knocking the redhead back a step.

It took visible effort for Kim to hold herself back. "Coward?" she uttered. Angered tears spilled from her eyes faster than her longing fists could clear them away. "How dare you call me—"

"Coward," Monique repeated. "And you're stupid. God, you are so, so stupid!" She shoved Kim again, still unopposed, and shouted, "You are such an idiot! You don't have a clue! And I am so jealous!"

Kim' expression broke with shock. She whispered, "What?"

"You have someone so special," shot Monique. "He would reach up and grab the moon, just so he could give it to you. And what do you do? You tease him." The shocked and crying Kim in front of Monique blurred, and a wet heat spilled across her cheeks. She didn't care. "You string him along," she shouted, "And then you dump his ass the second some piece of eye candy wanders back."

"I DON'T want JOSH!" Kim bellowed. She stumbled back and fell against the kitchen counter. Her voice faltered, "I just…he comes back, and he points that stupid, wonderful picture of me, and my stomach does flip-flops, and I totally blew it with Ron, and he won't talk to me, and you won't talk to me, and you both treat me like I'm some kind of super villain, and I don't know what I'm supposed to do!" Her words broke into a sob, and her tears flooded her face. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do," she whimpered.

Monique watched her blubber in silence for a moment. The bravest, strongest girl she had ever known dissolved into a sopping wet ball of moaning, with stifling sobs that showed no sign of abating. Taking pity on her, Monique circled the counter in her kitchenette, and came back with a roll of paper towels. "Here," she said, and dropped the roll into Kim's soppy, grateful hands. As Kim cleared her face, Monique said, "Why did you go out with Josh? I can buy that you were caught off-guard by Ron, but I can't figure out—"

"I don't know," Kim moaned into the rough paper. Her tears had stemmed when she pulled her puffy face back up, but her green eyes still swam in sadness. "I didn't want to. I was tired, and confused, and then Ron said I couldn't go, which made me really mad…and then, when I told him we could stay, he…he told me to go…"

The memory of Kim's pre-date pleas cracked Monique's anger with a well-deserved helping of guilt, if only for a moment. "Yeah, well…He was really hurt, you know."

She nodded. "I know," Kim said in a small voice. "I just…I wanted everything between Ron and me to be perfect before we took that step. We…I wasn't ready. And when I came home, I guess…"

"You want to know what I think?" asked Monique with soft words. At Kim's expectant look, she said, "I think you let yourself get caught up in this little after crush you have on Josh because you're afraid of what Ron can do to you."

"I…I don't—"

Monique shushed her. "With Josh," she explained, "You get to have your little fun, teasing and flirting, and when you go your separate ways, no one feels bad." Kim's features fell, but Monique pressed on. "But Ron? Oh, he's in too deep." She took one of the paper towels from the roll in Kim's hand and wadded it up. Then she floated it in front of Kim's reddened nose. "Just one little look from Ron can send you to Cloud Nine…but the wrong look…" She tore the paper sheet apart slowly, letting the pieces fall pointedly into Kim's cupped hands. "He can hurt you in all the worst ways without even trying. And that scares you…doesn't it?" Kim nodded, and so Monique said, "Good. Because it should. But not like this."

Trembling, Kim clutched the paper pieces, watching them darken with the salty sorrow all over her hands. "What am I supposed to do if he leaves?" she whispered to the pieces. "There are a thousand ways it could end badly, and I don't see our friendship making it through any of them." Looking up, she pleaded, "Please, Monique…tell me; what do I do?"

Monique shook her head. "You've already got your answer. Hell," she laughed, "You've got all the answers. You're just too scared to ask the right question."

"Then what's the right question?" asked a shrill Kim.

With quiet purpose, Monique went to the door and held it open for Kim. "I guess you have some thinking to do." Kim gave her a heartbreaking look that went unanswered, and then shuffled out into the hall. As Kim turned her back, Monique added in a gravelly voice, "Don't come back here, Kim. I'm done being your go-between."

The door shut with a resolute click, leaving Kim alone and adrift.

Anger. Jealousy. Despair. Emotions pumped through Ron, mimicking his blood with ghostly mass. Fear. Confusion. Outrage. They robbed him of the sleep his body and mind craved with desperate need. Heartache. Desire. Rejection. He ignored the giant, singular ache his body had become, and continued to push up from the floor and lower himself back down, as he vowed to do until he had burned the offensive emotions out of his body.

Sweat rolled off his nose in fat, heavy drops as he kept count with a breathless whisper. He knew his body had nothing left to give, but he couldn't bear to stop, for fear that everything would catch up with him at once. Even now, he slowed against his will, and faint wisps of his thoughts broke through his focus.

'Love is supposed to be wonderful,' his mind told him. 'Love doesn't jerk you around like this.'

Ron scowled, and tried to speed back up. His arms just didn't have it in them. "I know," he growled.

'You've been wrong before,' the treacherous gray matter reminded him. 'What if you misread her all this time? What if it's always been Josh?'

"Shut up," he snapped.

'Face it, Hondo. You're second rate. You've always been second rate to them. To her. Why can't you grasp that simple concept?'

"That's enough outta you," Ron said, and let himself drop to the floor. His forehead struck the ground, drowning out the voice with a welcome rush of pain.

A gentle knock pulled Ron from his losing argument with himself. Ron rose and stumbled to the door, hastily wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. He tugged his tank top back into order, and then opened the door. It didn't occur to him to wonder why anyone would call on their apartment at this early hour until Josh Mankey's uncertain features revealed themselves in the hall. "You?"

Josh wore a rumpled ghost of the same sporty outfit he had picked Kim up in, as well as a look that suggested he had eaten month-old takeout (a pain Ron knew firsthand). "I know, I know," Josh said apologetically, "It's totally late, and there's no good reason for me to be here, but I saw the light on, and I was hoping Kim was still up." He craned his neck, looking into the apartment. "Is she asleep?"

Ron forced his hands open, lest his fists express the very emotions he worked to burn off. "She isn't here," he told her suitor. A whisper of worry rose up at the realization that Kim wasn't with Josh, but he squashed that with an inward snort; Kim could take care of the both of them in the middle of a battlefield, much less herself on a warm summer night. "Okay, thanks for stopping by," said Ron, and threw the door closed.

The door bounced off of Josh's foot as Ron strode back into the apartment. "Wait. Ron, as long as I've got you alone, I wanted to ask you something."

Resentment swelled in Ron's neck, choking down a caustic response of his. He drew a long, deep breath, and brought forth a mental image of Kim before he continued, "I'm flattered, but I don't swing that way."

Josh leaned against the back of the futon as Ron threw himself to the ground and began his exercise anew. "Not that you aren't man-pretty, but no, that wasn't it," he admitted with anxious humor. "You see…" He trailed off, hopping to gain some of Ron's attention. That hope withered in Ron's oblivious push-ups. "I'm thinking of moving back to Middleton," said Josh, forging on with sickly courage. "And I…This is going to sound dumb, but I feel like I need your blessing…"

At this, Ron froze, and stared at the floor.

"—seeing as how you're Kim's best friend, I wanted to make sure you'd be cool with me asking Kim—"

The lamentable camel bearing Ron's grief bleated and fell as this weighty straw sundered its back. Its burden spilled into Ron's body, flooding him with a thousand new emotions, none of which he could cope with. The world spun, squeezing his stomach with nausea. Desperate, he dealt with the feelings the only way he knew how: by twisting them all into anger.

Josh took a step back when Ron rose up to his feet with a single push. Deep, bitter wells glistened where his eyes had been, and spilled their anguish into his mouth; "You have to be kidding me," Ron growled. His eyes were unfocused and wild, making Josh doubt if he spoke to his guest, or to an unseen someone else. "You come drifting in out of Artsy-Land, you're here for one day—"

"Ron, I know what you're thinking," Josh pleaded with proffered hands. "But high school was a long time ago. I did something stupid, because I was…afraid," he admitted, ashamed. "But I've had two years to regret it all." Slow, almost fearful steps carried him toward his fuming host. "Please. Do you have any idea what it's like when you blow your only chance with someone? When you can't stop thinking about—"

"No."

With a wistful sigh, Josh said, "It's wonderful, and its awful, all at the same time. She's in my head when I wake up, and she's there in my drea—"

Ron shook his head. "No," he repeated forcefully. "You can't have my blessing. In fact, whatever the opposite of a blessing is…curse. I curse you. I curse you, and I curse your crushy-lovey crush on Kim!" Josh's jaw dropped in shock, fueling Ron's words. "God, you're all alike, aren't you? You stupid, pretty, talented, charming shits all come in, and you spin her around until she can't tell up from down. Until she can't see…"

The air between them froze. Ron trembled, unable to speak, not daring to believe that he had actually blurted out those thoughts to his worst enemy. He watched, helpless, as Josh's horror-struck features reunited into a calm, unreadable expression. The young suitor seemed to grow eight feet in Ron's fearful eyes as he said, "So. I was right. About you, anyway."

"Y…You're an idiot," Ron bellowed uncertainly. "You had her, and you gave her up. Do you know what I'd give to have what you had? What you have? She sees you!" He threw his hands up, ignoring the breakage in his tone. "She looks at you, and she sees you." His vision wobbled. Ron turned away in haste, and buried his chin in his chest. "Blessing?" he hissed through clenched teeth. "Man, you're already blessed."

Josh stepped forward. "You're the idiot, Ron," he said with cold anger. "She didn't see you? Well, I did. Me, and at least a dozen other guys in school. We saw the way she laughed with you, the way she talked to you. We all saw the way she looked at you, and we knew we could never compete with that." He stopped short and looked at Ron with disgust. "She didn't see you? You were everywhere! You're a part of her life, permanent. So how the hell is any other guy supposed to compete with that?"

Ron swallowed the lump in his throat and prayed that his voice remained steady. "Get out of my home," he whispered, "And take your corny bullshit with you."

"Fine." Crisp footfalls beat into Ron's ears. He kept his eyes glued to the carpet as the door clicked open. "You know what, Ron?" Josh called from the doorway. "You had fifteen years to make a move. It's not my fault if some of us move a little quicker."

His anger burned the wet tremor from his voice as Ron turned, and said, "You want a fight, pretty boy? You've got one."

"And may the best man win," shot Josh. He swept out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Ron stared at the door with mute fury. His own hollow boasts of fighting for Kim rang in his ears. They taunted him, singing over and over how he could fight, and fight, and fight, and never see a single inch of gained ground. 'Nice guys never finish,' the reminded him. 'Nice guys—'

A roar split the air and spun the room around him. Ron's heel plowed through the back of the futon couch, splitting its wooden frame in half with a terrific explosion of splinters. He thrust his fist into the shattered frame, tearing struts apart like toothpicks. Incoherent yells erupted with every blow, sometimes resembling words, other times, names. Shards of wood leapt up from his efforts and stuck to his freckles, pasted there by angry tears.

Rufus popped his pink head from a bowl on the counter. He blinked the sleep out of his dark eyes and gasped at the ball of rage his friend had become. He leapt from the counter with a terrified squeal, and bounded across the floor and up Ron's leg. "Stop!" pleaded the mole rat, as he tugged on Ron's cheek. "Stop!"

The squeaky pleas reached Ron, and he calmed into a collapsed heap in a pile of kindling and mangled mattress. Deep breaths heaved in and out of his chest, nearly unseating Rufus from his shoulder. Ron gazed upon his handiwork with dispassionate surprise, as though he had just discovered the dismembered futon. "Wow," he muttered.

Tender claws swiped the splintery tears from his cheeks. "Feel better?" chattered Rufus.

Ron swiped his face dry with the back of his hand. A sardonic chuckle slipped through his lips. "Not really," he admitted. "Still don't have a girlfriend, and now I don't have a couch, either." He knelt before the kindling and felt another laugh leave his chest, followed by another. "Guess I sort of lost it, huh?" he said, laughing.

Rufus hugged his cheek, tickling Ron with the tips of his whiskers. A deep, forlorn moan accompanied the gesture. "Sorry," he whispered.

"No buddy," said Ron, hugging Rufus back, "I'm sorry." The haunting laughter refused to subside, frightening the both of them. "This whole mess has me so turned around…I mean, look at this." He chortled, feeling fresh tears kiss his cheek. This time he let them come without a fight. "This isn't me. Trying to get KP to notice me, like some stupid puppy? Fighting her old-new boyfriend? And now I'm taking it out on my furniture."

"S'okay," murmured Rufus.

He sniffled and shook his head. "No, it isn't," he said, and pushed back onto his feet. "This isn't me." The laughter grew soft as a new thought entered his mind, refusing to leave through any means but his mouth; "And this isn't working. This…We can't keep going like this. Maybe…Maybe Josh is right. I had my chance. Had my moment in the sun…and now it's time to move on."

His face sobered at the thought, though the occasional chuckle still broke through. He couldn't make Kim feel that way about him, no matter how much he wanted her to. And he could easily have been misreading her all this time. Yes, that was it. How could it be anything but? She had done everything except reject him flat-out, and that couldn't be far off. 'Better to duck out of the race entirely, before you crash and burn,' that traitorous voice in his head told him.

"Yeah," he murmured, half-convinced.

Another knock pulled him from the thought. The last of his sorrow smeared away on his knuckles as he stumbled for the door. "Okay, okay," he crabbed, reaching for the knob while he tried to sort his head out of the millions of thoughts zooming in and out of it. "I'm coming. You can yell at me some more about your new girlfriend in a second. What's the big—"

His voice trailed off as he opened the door. There, Josh struggled in the clutches of Ron's waking nightmare. The hall behind them teemed with hooting creatures clad all in black, masked, brandishing fearsome katanas proportioned for their tiny paws. They swarmed at the feet of their master, who wore a maddened glint in his eye at the sight of Ron.

"Hello, Stoppable," Monkey Fist said. A whimper escaped his hand clutched over Josh's mouth. "And how is my favorite phony today?" he asked, and punched Ron in the face.

The shuffle of her shoes made for poor company in the long hours since leaving Monique's apartment. Her cheek still retained the sting of her friend's slap, and her stomach still roiled with butterflies and guilt. She could hardly see her own feet through her exhaustion, staring down at the road as she chased down her own thoughts. They flitted past her, always out of reach, keeping her always on the move.

Kim's lips worked in silence, mouthing the half-formed musings her mind snatched from the air as they zipped past. Try though she might, she couldn't understand what Monique had tried to tell her; what is the question? What did she mean?

She touched her chest, pressing at the spot where the calming warmth had radiated from. "What I felt for Ron is real," she murmured. Then her hand traced down to her stomach, inciting riot among the butterflies. "What I felt for Josh is real." The butterflies agreed. "Which one do I choose? Is that it?"

Ron. Of course it would be Ron. But what good did knowing that do her? Look at them; one little spat, one slip on her part, and they couldn't talk to each other. She had to do something. But what? What should she do?

"What should I do?" That had to be it. Should she be with Ron, or shouldn't she. "That's the question." Fie on Monique and her double-speak. That had to be the question.

It occurred to Kim that she had no idea where she was, or what time it was. She looked up, and found an old friend standing at her side, much to her surprise. He loomed in the corner of an empty lot, right where he had been when she had met him. The lot itself had changed a great deal; the preschool she'd met him at had long since left, taking its playground equipment with it. But he hadn't left.

"I can't believe I walked all the way to Middleton," she muttered, approaching him with a sad smirk. "And I can't believe you're still here. I thought you would have left years ago. It's good to see you."

Her friend didn't answer. Kim walked up to him and ran a hand across his rough, tattered bark, and listened to the wind whisper through his leaves. She felt mud pulling at her feet, and glanced down at the dirt, spying a memory within it. She could almost hear that scruffy little boy defending her honor in the old oak's whispers. It stole the sad from her smile.

She leaned into her friend's trunk and wrapped her arms around him. "You caused me a lot of trouble, you know," she told him. "If you hadn't introduced us, I wouldn't be in this mess. So you'd better help me out now." Kim slid to the ground, ignoring the oak's sharp kiss. Its roots cradled her, easily bearing the weight of her tired troubles. She wouldn't need him to help her carry them for long. Just long enough to let her rest.

"Should I, or shouldn't I? Kim said aloud. She rolled the thought around in her mouth, considering the question rather than its answer. Even if she could answer it, she then didn't know what to do, and Monique had mocked the very notion of that question.

"What d'ya mean?" a tiny voice cried out. Kim looked up from her seat in the roots and spied an indignant little girl bounding around the tree trunk. Scarlet pigtails bounced behind her ducky overalls, which were slick with mud. Her impish face scrunched angrily at Kim as she hollered, "You an' Ron hafta be together. You're meant to be!"

Kim regarded the little girl with mild curiosity. "Now where did you come from?" she asked.

Kimmie stamped her foot, kicking up a clod of mud. "We've known Ron since we were my age. We always knew it'd be him, 'cause he's funny, an' he's nice. You wanna be with him, don'cha?"

Her pleading look cut Kim to the quick. Kim opened her arms, beckoning Kimmie into her lap. "Oh, sweetie," cooed Kim, stroking Kimmie's hair. "Those are all great qualities for a best friend to have. But knowing someone for a really long time doesn't mean you're meant to be with him."

"But you already are, 'member?" Kimmie thrust her pudgy finger into Kim's face. Construction paper encircled her ring finger, held there by scotch tape. "We got married!"

Kim answered with a chuckle. "That's very sweet. But it still isn't that simple."

"But why?" whined Kimmie.

Another voice answered from the other side of the tree before Kim could; "Because Ron's our best friend," said a teenaged cheerleader with matter-of-factness. She rounded the tree on tiptoe, bouncing atop the thick roots. The violet of her Mad Dogs cheer uniform shimmered in the shadowed moonlight. "Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy. But the one you're with…he has to make you feel like no one else does."

Kim shooed Kimmie from her lap and stood, brushing the leaves and dirt from her bottom. "And Ron doesn't do that?" she asked with curiosity.

"Ron is just…Ron," explained the teenaged Kim. She swept her hair out of her face in a frustrated gesture, as if the concept were so simple as to be difficult to explain. "But Josh is…Josh!" Struggling, she placed a hand on her stomach and insisted, "I know you feel it. It's excitement. He stirs things up. It's love, just the way you imagined it would be."

Kim regarded herself of a few years ago. Their youngest counterpart clung to her leg, making faces at the teenager while Kim thought of what to say. Truthfully, she thought that Kimmie had the right idea, but she announced anyway, "You're an idiot."

The teenager scowled. "Excuse me? You're the one angling to hook up with Ron. I just happen to think that Josh makes a better statement, is all—"

"Josh?" snapped Kim. "Let me tell you something about Josh Mankey. We dated him, we grew apart, and we jumped right to the next Josh Mankey that came along so it could happen all over again. So don't romanticize the two years I spent crushing on Josh, because that's all it was: a crush."

Teenaged Kim faltered, feeling her point slip away. "But…but when he's near, you feel—"

"Love isn't butterflies!" cried Kim.

She reached down and tore her stomach open. A stream of butterflies swarmed out and vanished into the night sky. The wind of their wings swept Kim's hair back as she watched them go, carrying with them a part of her she knew she didn't need anymore. She smiled, and wished them the best, but felt glad to finally be rid of them.

Closing her stomach, Kim said, "It isn't some stupid feeling in your guts. I'm old enough to know the difference now. And I'm as stupid as you are for not figuring it out sooner."

The cheer-clad Kim stammered, thunderstruck. "But…but…"

A titter turned Kim's head back from her high school self, back to the old tree, where a blushing bide marched across its roots to joint them. Her pristine train snagged in the roots, keeping her a moment so she could gather the enormous dress around her. "Good for you, Kim," an older version of her voice said. "I'm so happy for you. Now we can be with Ron, and everything will be perfect."

"See!" shot Kimmie from below Kim's waist.

The bride swept her veil back, revealing a face made warm and soft by the radiant love Kim always dreamed of, with shimmering emerald swimming in joyous tears. "You saw what the future held for you in his eyes," gushed the bride. "And now, all you have to do is find that one, perfect moment to make it all happen."

Teenaged Kim rolled her eyes. "Corny much?" she asked, and ignored the long raspberry Kimmie shot her.

Kim regarded the woman she could become. Everything she had wanted to be stood before her: her dreams made solid.

"You're dumber than the cheerleader," she decided.

"Hey!" the offended Kims chimed.

"There is no perfect moment," Kim told her. "There will never be a perfect moment. The world's always ending, or we're getting on each other's nerves, or something's always going to be off. And I have to learn to live with that," she shot at the bride.

"But…"

She turned to the teenager. "And it's not about 'making a statement!'"

"But…"

Looking down, she told Kimmie, "And it's not about some promise made by a five-year-old," she said, patting the pouting girl's head.

Kimmie sniffled. "You're mean," she whined.

Teenaged Kim planted her hands on her skirted hips. "So what is it, smart girl? What's it all about?"

"What is it?" demanded the Kim-bride. She gathered her dress around her, struggling to keep it from underfoot.

"What is it?" sniveled Kimmie. "Is it about…kissing?" she whispered fearfully.

"What?"

"What?"

"What will you do?"

"It isn't about what to do!" Kim closed her eyes and clapped her hands over her ears, unable to bear their persecution. "It's about what you feel," she cried. "It's—"

When she opened her eyes and ears again, she was met with dead silence. The empty lot had left her, and taken its trees and doppelgangers with it, and leaving her with empty blackness. A pale figure stood off in the distance, wearing a golden, messy crown and a forlorn look. The gap between them seemed to grow a little more with each passing second, but she knew now that she could cross it in a single step to get to him.

"Knew you'd find the question," a smug voice said from behind. Turning, Kim was surprised to see Monique standing behind her. The ethereal sprite sprouted from the black, balancing a large, silver thermos rimmed with red on her fingertip. It spun in a lazy circle, tantalizing Kim's wide eyes as Monique continued, "Just like I said. You had the answer. And now you know the question."

Kim blurted, "Do I l—"

Monique silenced her with a finger to the lips. "Don't sweat it. Just do it. Oh," she added, "And take this." She tossed the thermos to Kim, who fumbled it into her grasp. With a smile, Monique said, "We'll just assume you were too worked up about other stuff to figure this one out. Consider it a freebee." She snapped her fingers.

Kim awoke with a start, draped across the roots of the old oak. It was still dark out, and she was alone, back where she had started. Only now, she understood everything.

Fists and feet flashed in Ron's face faster than he could follow. He blocked what he could with leaden arms, and bore the brunt of the rest. New bruises sprung up over the old. His bones creaked, threatening to break if he asked more of them. Looming black waited at the edge of his vision. Breath blurred in and out of his aching chest. And Monkey Fist's laughter rang in his boxed ears.

"What's the matter, Stoppable?" asked Monkey Fist. He spun back and planted his heel in Ron's face, snapping the blond's head sideways and throwing him through the card table set near the kitchen. The sight of his hated rival plunging headlong through his own cheap furniture made Fist smile. "You seem a little worn down."

Ron coughed up a mouthful of blood and desperately wished for some backup. None would come from Rufus; his naked mole rat leapt across the room, chased by four of Fist's half-pint ninjas, staying a tail's length away from their deadly blades. Josh would be of no help; he sat curled in the corner, bullied into submission by the remaining two monkeys.

Fist's foot hammered into Ron's stomach, driving out his idle wishing. The villain's laughter came from on high, bathing Ron in his contempt. "When I heard that you killed my idiot brother, I thought you might actually have become a challenge. I can see I was mistaken."

The sound of steel scraping steel let Ron hear the sword in Fist's hand before he saw it. He spat more blood as he said, "I didn't kill your brother. Some double-D schoolgirl from Japan did. She was twelve times the ninja you are," he rasped, "And I still kicked her ass."

Rage twisted Monkey Fist's face, ending his laughter. "And yet, here we are," he said with a sneer. His katana flashed.

Ron rolled and kicked out blind. He felt the floor shudder at his side with the thunk of the blade, and heard Fist grunt as his foot found purchase in the villain's stomach. Ron scrambled up and ran across the room, ducking an errant monkey blow as he slammed up against the dragon cabinet and threw its doors open.

"Seeking something to wear for your funeral?" groaned Fist as he righted himself. Katana in hand, he advanced on Ron.

Ron grasped the bar stretching across the cabinet's interior, from which all of Yori's abandoned clothes still hung. "This is a ninja wardrobe, dumbass," he said. He ripped the bar out, flinging the clothes to the floor. An arsenal of blades glinted at the back of the cabinet. "And I think I just found something in my size," he crowed.

He seized a stack of shiruken and hurled them in one throw, letting practice and instinct guide his hand. One star each found the monkeys chasing Rufus, and sunk into their charcoal robes. They howled and abandoned their hunt, scrambling to pull the painful points from their flesh. Their quarry scampered up Ron's leg to face their collective foes from his friend's shoulder.

Monkey Fist stopped short as Ron drew out a pair of sais. The handheld tridents flashed in his hand, becoming blurs as he squared off against Fist. "Aw," he cooed, "Wha'sa matter, Chunky Monkey? You look a little down now that the odds ain't so odd no more."

The space between them danced with their blades. "I must admit," said Fist, tracing circles with his katana, "I hadn't budgeted the time for a drawn-out fight. This puts me in a bit of a predicament."

"My heart bleeds for you," Ron said with a sai.

"Quaint," said Fist. His hand flashed to his belt, and he said, "But I fear I must choose the lowbrow solution. I'd ask you to forgive me, but I don't really care what you think." He threw pellets at his feet, enveloping himself and the room in a veil of smoke.

Ron staggered forward through the haze, swinging his weapons ahead of him blindly. He heard Josh's frantic shouts for help, and tried to call back, but the smoke was murder on his harried chest. As the shouts faded, Ron spied a shape outlined on the ground, and leapt for it. "Josh, hold on," he shouted, "I—"

His fingers bounced off the object's smooth casing. Behind the smoky curtain, Ron spied a series of glowing numbers, whose crimson countdown had scant seconds remaining.

"Kim, are you sure about this?" Wade asked through the Kimmunicator's miniscule speakers. A cup of coffee steamed next to his blurry, keyboarding hands. He wore a look of doubt atop his rumpled Fearless Ferret pajamas, and bags under his eyes. "This seems a little thin, even by our standards."

She leveled her irrepressible smile at his bobbing image as she jogged through the streets of Dreidleton. Where once her body felt heavy and stiff, it now flew over the sidewalk, hardly touching it. She had run all the way from Middleton, through Upperton, to the sleepy streets of their neighborhood without so much as a stitch in her side, giving each person she passed an enthused, ecstatic greeting.

"I've never been so sure of anything," she told him. Then her smile broadened at an unspoken correction. "Almost never," she amended. "Look, the point is, I know I'm right. Now I just need you to prove me right with some of your satellite magic."

"Oh, really?" he said wryly. "Is that all? And what are you gonna be doing in the meantime?"

"Something much more important," she told him, and shut him away with a flick of her thumb before he could argue. Now was no time for feuding and fretting about madmen and their doomsday tomfoolery. Every other day of her life had been for that. But not today. She would have today for herself. And for him.

No wonder Monique had been so angry! It all seemed so simple now; the question. Looking back, Kim couldn't believe she hadn't gotten it before. 'It's not about what you do,' she thought for the fiftieth time. An obvious revelation, she knew now, but one she couldn't get over.

She rounded the last corner and spied their building. A halo of predawn glowed around it. She ran faster. Her heart, which could go a mile sprinted up a mountainside without a single extra beat, which had gone through countless battles without so much as a flutter, not pounded harder than it ever had before.

"Ron," she murmured to herself, "I know we've been friends forever…" The peaceful warmth returned to her core, spreading itself through her body and whisking her into the air. Her smile became knowing as she continued, more confident, "But now—"

Time slowed: Staring at their window, Kim caught sight of a bright flash. Her smile grew even more; Ron had woken up and turned on the lights. Then she heard the sound of a balloon popping, followed by the crack of a gunshot, and watched their window shatter. Twinkling glass soared out over the street, followed close by a blast of flame. The wall around the window frame crumbled and burst. The air thundered with heat and sound. Fire turned the inside of their apartment red.

"Ron!" screamed Kim.

To Be Continued