All-Purpose Disclaimer

(1) According to the Surgeon General, readers should not drink Kim Possible during homework because of the risk of academic failure. (2) Consumption of Kim Possible impairs your ability to accept reality or operate machinery, and may cause laughter or tears. Contains sulfites. Read responsibly.

"It's all about the balance."

Kim caught herself holding her breath, and forced herself to pull air into her tight chest. The gasp overran her hearing, taking from her the sound of Ron's footsteps, which heightened her anxiety. Sweat rolled from her brow into the red kerchief tied 'round her eyes. She felt powerless and helpless, and she hated it. "You love this, don't you?" she called out, not certain of which direction to face.

His steps slowed, then disappeared, leaving the empty Training Room in the Rec Center deathly silent. Worse was the knowledge that Ron was still moving; he just wasn't letting her hear him anymore. "Talking isn't balance," he chided her. His voice wound its way around her with a mirthful lilt. "Now get that breathing under control."

She allowed herself another irritated gasp before steadying her breath. "Okay," she said sightlessly, "I'm ready." Dead air answered back. "Ron?" she called, tilting her head. Apprehension tingled in her stomach again. She forced it down deep, but it would not be smothered. Turning in a slow circle, she tried and failed to find even the tiniest sign of his presence. "Ron, this isn't funny. I'm not going to—"

A blow struck Kim on the back of the head. She lashed out with a hook kick, catching nothing but air. Desperate, she ducked down and swept her leg out in a full circle. Again, nothing. When she rose up, head darting about for some sign of her target, rough hands shoved her at the shoulder blades, knocking her onto her face.

"Pretty quick," said Ron as she peeled her lips from the mat. "I could smell your foot on that kick. I think they make powders for stuff like that."

Kim pushed herself onto her knees. When she yanked the blindfold down, she had a glare already prepped for the blond grinning behind her. "That so wasn't funny, Ron" she snapped. Her glare remained constant despite his helping hand as she rose to her feet. She smoothed the wrinkles of her gi, saying, "I didn't ask you to show me some moves so you could slap me around."

"No," he countered, folding his arms. "You wanted me to show you some moves so you could start showing me up at our Saturday matches." When Kim blushed, his smile became smug. Ron waggled a finger at her, and said, "KP, I can read you like a book. No secrets from me."

Now she adopted a smug look. "You'd be surprised," she muttered. The knotted kerchief fought her fumbling fingers as she freed it from around her neck. "So why don't you stop groping me and start teaching me?" she said, and tossed him the cloth.

Ron fumbled for the cloth, turning an identical shade of red. He rolled it into a blindfold once more. The friendly browns of his eyes vanished behind its crimson folds while Kim circled him. The loss of his sight didn't trouble his smile. He remained in a loose stance, bobbing on the balls of his feet, and tilting his head so that his hair fell in the most adorable manner.

Kim banished thoughts of Ron's cuteness and replaced them with recollections of everything he had ever taught her about stealth. Her breathing became ghostly. Her footfalls disappeared. The rustle of her clothes vanished into her smooth, graceful movement.

The tilt of his head deepened. So too did his adorability. "Oh, you're getting good," Ron called out as she circled behind him. "I can't even hear you. Give yourself a round of applause."

As Kim completed her circle, she watched his smirk grow. A retort rose to her lips, so she bit it back. She leapt forward with fists curled and every intention of wiping that smirk from his face. 'Ron may be good,' she thought, 'But nobody beats Kim Possible blindfolded.'

Ron fell away beneath her punch by bending forward. That infuriating smile of his remained as he rolled out of the way of Kim's follow-up kick. Her foot chased him, stomping the mat in his wake. She smothered her curse, only to lose it when Ron's feet scissored and caught her knee. More cursing followed her down to the floor, culminating in a rushing grunt as she struck the mat again.

"Okay," she grumbled, "Fine." When she looked up to his helping hand, she couldn't quell the rush of irritation that came to her upon seeing the smile that lay beyond the hand. "I know you didn't hear me, because I'm awesome. So how did you do that?"

He hoisted her up to his waiting grin. "How did I find you, or how did I beat you?"

"Both," she said, disgusted.

Still blindfolded, he swept his hand out in a mock bow. "I just do what every woman wants her man to do: I pay attention." A protest sprouted on Kim's lips, but he silenced it with a gesture. "Oh, you're quiet. And you're quick. But when you step," he told her, lifting his feet, "I can feel it through the floor. I can feel the air move when you do." Waggling his brows, he added, "And I can smell your perfume moving around me."

"Perv," she teased, still irritated. "That still doesn't explain—"

"You're top drawer, KP, but you have one weakness; you're still KP." At her quizzical silence, he shrugged, and said, "You have a pretty distinct fighting style, Kim. And that's not what my Kung Fu is about." He bobbed and punched, demonstrating. "It's all about unpredictability. When you throw a punch, I'm nowhere near it. Next punch? Maybe I'm under it. Or on top of it." Stepping dangerously close, he added, "Or maybe I'm already past it."

Kim cocked a brow at his hovering lips. "Really."

She punched. Ron cried, "Monkey Grip!" and slid back, catching her fist with knuckled palms. Kim squalled as he twisted his whole body, forcing her to spin with him or lose the use of her elbow permanently. Spinning upside down and into the air, Kim lost her wind as she slammed onto the mat.

Twinkling brown peeked at Kim as Ron lifted the edge of his blindfold. "See?"

"So Tai Shing Pek Kwar is all about the wacky hi-jinx," she groaned, letting her head flop back to the floor.

He shook his head. "That's mostly Ron-style. It used to drive Sensei nuts."

Kim grimaced. "I know the feeling."

"Knock it all you like, mat-kisser," he said with hands on hips, "But one of us is standing thanks to the power of unpredictability.

A wicked smile possessed Kim's lips. "Sounds like potent stuff," she said.

Kim's legs swept out, knocking him onto his butt. Ron yelped and shrieked as she rolled atop him, poking and tickling him into red-faced submission. They tumbled across the floor, forgetting their training for the moment in a flood of impromptu laughter.

Kim Possible
The Power of Friendship

by Cyberwraith9

Kim's nose all but pressed against the angled glass of the hover jet's tinted canopy. Dark, foreboding clouds rushed beneath the rattling craft as it ran from the sunset, its engines taxed and screaming, its fuselage straining at the bolts. It still wasn't fast enough for her. "How long?" she demanded.

Grimacing, Doctor Director clutched tighter on the control yoke. "Thirty seconds less than the last ETA you asked me for," she snapped. "Now sit down before turbulence cracks your head against that glass."

Strong hands rested on Kim's shoulders, snapping her scowl around to startle Ron's gentle expression. "KP, we're almost there," he said. "C'mon." Heavy shadows sat on his face in the darkened cockpit. They made his crinkled eyes bright.

Unwilling, Kim still let him draw her back into the seat at Doctor Director's side. She gnashed her teeth and fought to hold onto the fierce ball of anger that tore her insides apart. It she lost that, the overwhelming panic that lay beneath it would break free and destroy her. Kim felt grateful for Ron's care, but had no time for it. She chased his hands away and snapped, "I'm fine. You should be trying to call Wade. We need the sitch."

Ron's Kimmunicator dangled in his grasp, spitting static from its miniscule screen. "I've tried every five minutes for the last hour," he said. "Like it or not, Wade's offline."

"We have to do something," Kim said, wrapping her fists in her chair's straps. "Anything." She refused to be powerless. Now not. Her eyes squeezed shut as she clutched the straps tighter and felt the angry ball shred through her.

Ron's hands returned, clasping her trembling fists. "Hey," he murmured, drawing her eyes into his. "Remember what you told me? We gotta stay frosty, now matter how hot it gets." When she looked away, he squeezed her hands. "Kim?"

Her throat tightened, choking her words; "I've saved dozens of perfect strangers," she whispered. Ice haunted her eyes. "What good is it if I can't even help my own family?"

"Don't be stupid," he said, melting her eyes with shock. "It's more like 'thousands' of strangers. And your family's going to be fine."

"Ron," she sighed, rubbing her face, "I just—"

"'Just' nothing," Ron hissed in a low voice. Leaning close, he muttered, "You won't let anything happen to them, and we both know it. God knows you've saved me more than once." That pulled a grudging smile out of her misery, which he echoed. "Right?" he prodded.

Kim wiped at her eyes. "Thanks, Ron. It's just…hard, not knowing."

He nodded. "I know. It sucks. That's why we're going to plant seven different flavors of boot up Drakken's ass."

The stars outside the canopy vanished into a haze as their craft dipped into the clouds. A moment later, a carpet of twinkling lights replaced them, spread out below in a three-tiered set of cities. Doctor Director broke the teens' whispered conversation with clipped tones, saying, "The Tri-City area is directly below us. Strap in for landing."

As Ron strapped in behind Kim, she heard four musical notes from her utility belt that filled her with hope. She tore the Kimmunicator from her belt so fast that its clips broke off. "Wade," she cried, thumbing the central button furiously. "Wade?"

Static hissed at her from the device, heedless of her demanding thumb. She scowled, and then looked over in surprise as the same musical call sang from Ron's belt. A curious look crossed between them before he pulled his own Kimmunicator free and activated it. The same static greeted him. "Wrong number?" he mused aloud.

Kim drew in a breath to veto his theory, but held it as the primary monitor on the hover jet's controls lit up. All three of the cockpit's passengers turned to watch as more static appeared on the screen. That static quickly faded into a thick, scarred smile framed by greasy black hair, and adorned with rodent-like eyes that held a glimmer of mad triumph Kim knew all too well. Glancing down, Kim caught sight of that same face in her and Ron's Kimmunicators.

"Greetings, world," the televised Doctor Drakken said. "Sorry to preempt your regularly scheduled network dreck, but I have some important news that I think you'll want to hear."

"Not the prettiest face on television," said Ron, leaning forward. "But I still like him better than Ray Romano." Kim shushed him.

The screen's image switched to a map, depicting the Tri-City area in cheery greens and golds. Devoid of his visage, Drakken's voice continued unhampered. "Here we see the sleepy little bergs of Middleton, Lowerton, and Upperton. Not the most important cities in the world, I'll admit, but they do contain certain things of value. Half a million innocent little people between the three of them, for instance."

Kim worked the controls of her versatile little device, bringing online the tracking software Wade had loaded into it. Its micronized hardware began backtracking the signal Drakken forced into it. "Keep talking, sicko," she said. "I've got your number."

"Now, you might be asking yourself, 'What is he going to do to all those poor people?' And the answer?" His smile returned to the screen. "Nothing. I have no desire to hurt anyone, innocent or otherwise. Which is why I strongly urge the United States government to grant me my request: Prepare a payment of ten billion dollars in gold bullion for delivery in the next two hours."

"He's insane," said Doctor Director, scowling at the screen.

Ron scoffed. "Yeah, we got that part," he said.

"This is usually the time when I would tell you what will happen if the gold isn't delivered as I've asked. But that's a rut I've treat for far too long. So I think I'll show you instead."

Kim's eyes darted up from her efforts. Her stomach flipped at the steady sneer Drakken broadcasted to them as his image panned back, revealing an elaborate series of controls set before him. His fingers danced across buttons and levers while his eyes remained on his audience.

"Local law enforcement doesn't worry me," he said in an eerily casual tone, working his evil upon the controls, "But that secret Global Justice facility buried in the lower east end of Middleton is a bit troubling. Let's see what we can do about that, shall we?"

Doctor Director mashed her palm against a large red button on the controls marked with the word 'PANIC.' "This is Unit Alpha to all units: Code Red! Code Red! Emergency Evac, now." Static razzed her from the speaker. "Middleton Facility, do you read? Respond!"

Breathlessness burned in Kim's lungs as she stared out the tinted glass. She searched the skyline for a flash of light, a telltale buildup of villainous ray technology. The rational part of her mind prepared to track Drakken's cannon back to its source, even while her heart leapt into her throat. But that flash never came. If Kim hadn't known where to look, she never would have noticed the short string of lights winking out at Middleton's edge far below them.

To the teens, the missing lights meant little. But the blanching sickness that spread through Doctor Director's face said enough. Still, Drakken would not be stopped; "There now. That was relatively painless." His face darkened, and his cheery voice dropped. "But don't mistake my mercy for weakness. Ten billion dollars. You have two hours. Ciao."

Kim looked back to Doctor Director as Drakken's face fizzled off the screens. She watched the spymaster switch the monitor off with slow, numbed movements that startled Kim more than any grand display of force could have. "Middleton Facility," she said again, "Report."

The nose of their hover jet dipped, leading them down toward the freshly darkened patch of Middleton. As they descended, Kim felt a hand slide atop hers, which gripped her armrest tighter than she'd realized. She glanced back to tell Ron off for treating her like a scared little girl. Her brief anger evaporated when she saw the fright written into his freckles. Their eyes met for an instant, and then turned back outside the canopy. Kim flipped her hand over and laced his fingers into hers without a word.

Their craft swooped back to Earth on nimble thrusters, taking them into the city. Middleton's suburban homes flickered past, thinning out as they flew to the city's edge. Spotlights shone from the hover jet's underbelly. The stark circles of light danced across rooftops beneath three expectant sets of eyes. "Maybe it's nothing," Ron suggested in a shaky voice. "It could be a bluff. I don't—"

The rest of his hopes flew back into his mouth as he gasped; the landscape beneath them became flat and bare, brown, and smooth like glass. There was no rubble. There were no fires. Only a channel of empty, lifeless earth remained, widening as they flew on.

Doctor Director slowed their craft. Her pale face twisted. "That's a lot of nothing," she said bitterly.

"All those people," murmured Kim.

"This part of town is low-traffic and unpopulated," said Doctor Director. "That's why we chose it for our facility. There shouldn't have been many people caught in the blast."

Ron's hand tightened on Kim's. "That doesn't sound like 'none' to me," he said.

The dancing spotlights converged on a large crater in the glossy brown. Their hover jet floated above the hole, peering down into its boxy edges. Metal gleamed back at them beneath the bright light. "Middleton Facility," Doctor Director said, pressing the comm control again, "Please respond. Please."

More static. Then, just as the spymaster's face slipped, they heard, "—or Dire—or, d—ead me?" Hope returned to the cockpit as Doctor Director adjusted the radio. "Doctor Director, come in. This is Middleton Facility Kappa—"

"What's your situation?" said Doctor Director, shattering protocol. "Are you all right down there?"

They could almost hear the agent on the other end sag with relief. "We're in it pretty bad, ma'am. Power's out. Whatever that scar face hit us with, it knocked out our systems and backups. Top three levels are gone, armor and all, like they weren't ever there to begin with."

Hesitating only a moment, the spymaster asked, "Casualties?"

"Light," the agent replied. "We got as many people as far underground as we could with the warning. We…couldn't get everyone."

"Stand by." Doctor Director muted the comm and swiveled her chair around. Her eye burned with furious fatigue. "I need to see to my people. I don't know what kind of resources we have to work with…" Her brows crushed down, darkening her intent. "But I promise you, there is no way I'm letting Drakken get away with this."

Kim's expression matched hers. "Get us as close to my house as you can afford to," she said.

That burning eye darted to Kim. "I know that look, Possible. I invented that look. You are not going in there alone, understood?"

This time, Kim's hand squeezed Ron's. "I didn't plan to," she said.

Drakken's smile persisted as the red light on the camera winked out. He gave a nod to the henchman behind it, and then turned to gaze with satisfaction at the clockwork operation of his new lair. Henchmen worked side-by-side with a new batch of syntho-drones to finish the conversion of the sprawling, bi-leveled center. His procured cannon hung in the middle, stretching the height of both floors and then some to protrude out the high domed ceiling.

Muffled protests guided Drakken and his wandering gaze back to the wall, where a young man hung from uncomfortable bonds next to a portrait of his crafting. Drakken tore the tape from his hostage's mouth, and said, "Terribly sorry, young man. Can I offer you some refreshments? Perhaps some chocolate milk?"

"You sick psycho!" yowled Josh, struggling against his bonds.

Hurt furrowed Drakken's brow. "What? Personally, I don't think there's a problem out there that a little cocoa-moo can't make better."

Josh leaned forward, stretching himself into Drakken's smiling face. "I don't know what your game is, dude," he snarled, "But Kim Possible is going to kick the blue right out of you."

Drakken's brow quirked. "Is that right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Josh shot back. "She'll ride in here, fists blazing, and knock you and all your little sidekicks flat. All you've done is give me a front-row seat. And I can't wait to see her show up to take you down."

The venom in Josh's expression drained away as Drakken chortled. "Neither can I," he said.

Drakken turned on his heel and strolled across the expansive floor. He wound his way beneath the Entropy Cannon, mindful of the sparks that showered from his minions' tools as they prepped it for its final mission. Gleeful thoughts of watching Middleton evaporate into inert gasses put a skip in his step. At his point, the ten billion dollars would be a bonus if it arrived in time, and no great loss if it didn't, so long as his threat brought to him his real prize.

He reached a small collection of offices kept on the far side of the shanghaied complex. Their occupants were downstairs, kept under lock and key with his other prisoners, leaving him with his pick of the litter. "You may as well stop skulking about," he called to the empty air as he opened an office door. "People might mistake you for a common criminal."

Pale green fury melted from the shadows. "I should sock you one right here and now," Shego grumbled. "Knock that ugly little smirk right off your chin."

That ugly little smirk stayed strong, defying Shego's irritation as Drakken flashed it back at her. He wandered into the spacious office, collecting dust on his finger from the trophies and curios littered about its shelves. "But if you did that," he said, and reached into his lab coat, "You might never have gotten this."

Shego pounced on the small, serrated microchip sitting in his hand. She snatched it with deft fingers and examined it in the sputtering fluorescent lighting. "This is it?" she asked, holding it close to her eye. The tiny tines encircling its edge glinted. "This is that thing that'll let me fight like the Princess?"

He nodded. "I call it 'The Emulator Chip.' Ah-ah-ah!" he cried, as Shego lifted her hair to plant it on her neck. "It has a limited operating time. Only use it when it counts."

Shego dropped the device into a utility pouch at her waist. All the while, she gave the distracted Drakken a strange look. He sauntered about with cheshire patience, eventually coming to rest in the chair behind the office's desk. "Okay, fine," she snapped. "You win. I give up. What's the deal?"

"What's the deal with what?" asked Drakken airily.

Helpless, frantic gestures from Shego did little to help him understand. "This! This whole, 'crafty, evil genius' deal you've got going on. You haven't made a bad joke or drawn a hand turkey in weeks. Your plan not only makes sense, but it's actually working. You even have hostages as insurance. Good ones!" Shego curled her fingers, clutching for answers that wouldn't come. "What's going on?"

The dreamy expression on Drakken's face drifted away. He looked at her instead with contemplative curiosity. "How old are you, Shego? Late twenties? You've got to be pushing thirty after all these years."

"Watch it," she growled.

He nodded. "Whereas I am quite a ways past that three-oh hurdle. I've been at this for years, Shego, and I'm only getting older. And what has kept me from my dream of global conquest? A little girl."

He lifted a snow globe from the desk, peering into the tiny Middleton replica through its perpetual winter. If he squinted hard enough, he could almost make out that tiny two-story sitting in the middle of those drab, identical suburban homes. Looking hard, he imagined a tiny, redheaded meddler standing atop that roof, taunting him with waving arms and rude gestures.

"A Midwestern teenager," he said, scowling at the miniscule figure inside the tiny globe. "A cheerleader…barely out of her training bra. A—"

"I get it," said Shego impatiently. "Possible. Whatever. So?"

The globe trembled in his claw. "Kim Possible was beating me since she was fifteen. Now she's hitting her prime. And her sidekick is some kind of ninja now. And those brothers of hers have started pitching in, making for one, big happy family that thwarts my plans, that makes a fool out of me at every turn, that mocks me. ME!"

Drakken hurled the globe against the far wall, making Shego jump back. The tiny, snowy city shattered and oozed down the wall, leaving a trail of sparkling tears as it wept its way to the floor.

Shooting to his feet, Drakken stole the snide comment out of Shego's mouth with a wild look. "It ends tonight, one way or another. I refuse to tolerate a world with that strawberry tart in it." Scowling, he told her, "All you have to do is keep your sassy mouth shut, put the Emulator Chip on when the time comes, and kill Kim Possible. Is that perfectly all right, or do you need to say something sarcastic before we continue?"

Shego stared at her heaving, wide-eyed employer. No," she said in a stunned voice. "No, that'll be fine." She knew she should probably be hurting him, but Drakken had never spoken to her like that before. It was only natural to be caught off-guard.

"Good," he snapped. "Just make certain you're ready. It won't be long now."

He stalked out of the room without another word. Shego stood speechless in his wake. Frowning, she pulled his Emulator Chip out of its pouch. All the skill and instinct of her worst enemy sat in her palm, just waiting for her to call upon them.

The anger welling in her breast fell away as she stared at the chip. "Drakken can have his world," she said, sneering after her testy boss. Clenching the chip, she said, "I've already got everything I need."

The door of her childhood home splintered beneath her boot as Kim barreled through its empty frame into the darkened kitchen. Panic thrust her hand to the wall's switch, shedding light on the disaster scene. Upon sight of the smashed cabinets and table, the scattered chairs, the crusting dinner spread across the floor, she wished she could turn the lights off and plunge back into that fearful unknown. Anything would have been better than seeing her house like this.

"Mom?" she called in a squeak. "Dad?"

Ron burst through the door, puffing. His cooler head spotted a heap of limbs tangled on the kitchen floor before Kim did. "KP," he called to her, and rushed over. Kim was but a step behind as he dropped and skated across debris to the fallen pair. Nimble fingers pressed to their necks, detecting a synchronized set of pulses that filled Ron with relief. He rolled them apart, hovering over Tim while Kim tended to his opposite. "C'mon, buddy," pleaded Ron, gently slapping Tim's unmarred cheek. "You're okay. You're okay. C'mon."

Jim awoke first to his sister's insistent shake. His eyes fluttered open, and he moaned. "I must be having a nightmare," he mumbled, watching Kim tear up. "I see my sister in a sexy, skintight jumpsuit."

The tears were chased from Kim's eyes as both her brothers roused. "Ron, get the first aid kit from under the sink and do what you can with Tim." She leapt from the floor and sprinted into the dining room.

"But—"

"Just do it!" she snapped over her shoulder.

Glad though she was for her brothers' safety, she could not escape the memory of Drakken's veiled threat. Her rogues' gallery had threatened friends and family before, but always when Kim had been there to protect them, or to rescue them in the nick of time. Now, her time had been nicked in a globetrotting goose chase, and her family as well, all by the same hand.

As disastrous as the kitchen had been, worse still for Kim was seeing the rest of the house in its unperturbed state. The attack had been quick, merciless, and perfect. Her parents hadn't gotten the chance to fight back as they would have in any of Drakken's other sloppy plans. "Mom! Dad!" she cried, knowing full well they wouldn't answer. She ran from room to room, crying out their names, until Ron's insistent calls pulled her back to the ruins of the kitchen.

"They aren't here," said Ron. He knelt by the twins, who sat on the floor and collected their consciousness one groan at a time. Water, glassed, changed from Ron's hands to theirs, and rushed down their throats in greedy gulps. Looking back at Kim, Ron said slowly, "They were taken." His face was stern, but his eyes held a plea that only Kim would notice. They begged for her composure as clearly as any words could: 'We need you. Now. Strong.'

Immediately, Kim thrust her heart into her bottommost depths. "It was fast," she stammered, clearing her throat. "They were in an out in a matter of minutes." She ran a hand across the broken face of the cabinets. "What happened?" she asked.

Tim touched at his face, wincing as his fingers grazed the deep cut. "Your old boyfriend happened," he said.

Rufus slapped his hand away from the cut, and then dove into the open first aid kit sitting between the boys. Ron watched idly, engrossed in thought. "So Drakken brainwashed Josh," he said, while Rufus came out of the extensive kit with a butterfly patch. "Do I dare hope to live my dream of beating the hell out of Kim's…" He trailed off at Kim's reproachful look, and said, "What was out loud, wasn't it?"

"Not Joshy," coughed Jim, while his brother whimpered at Rufus's administrations. "The other one."

Kim and Ron stopped dead. Each aimed a shocked expression of horror at the other as they ran through the gamut of Kim's old boyfriends in their heads. "Please," said Ron, "Please tell me you're talking about Brick Flagg."

"It was Erik," Tim mumbled dully, trying not to flinch as Rufus pressed the butterfly patch into his cheek. "He did this."

Ron shook his head. "Nuh-uh," he said, trading glances with Rufus. "No way. Rufus popped that balloon way back when. He's dried-out snot by now." He paused, struck by unusual inspiration, and then struck himself on the forehead. "Unless GJ soaked the snot up and put it into lockdown. Gross! …and disheartening," came the afterthought. Turning, he asked, "KP, what do we—"

The furious beacon Kim's face had become cut Ron to the quick. Her pale skin glowed red , and her fists trembled at her side. Her jaw, clenched, did likewise, unable to open for fear of the fiery words she held back. When at last she could speak again, she did so in a slow, controlled tone. "Find some mission clothes," she told Ron, staring at a fixed spot between them. "Find whatever you can, and then get ready. Drakken's going down."

"You might need something better than those old togs."

The voice pulled everyone's eyes off of Kim and to the doorway. When Kim turned, she felt some of the darkness lift from her soul at the sight of two familiar faces. Her friends stumbled into the kitchen, the shorter of the two leaning on the prettier of them. "You're alive," Kim murmured, gazing at Wade's exhausted, soot-smudged face. Looking to Wade's living crutch, she added, "You came."

Monique grunted as she helped Wade into one of the remaining kitchen chairs. "I got a call from our resident cutie-pie here," she explained. "Found him smoldering on a park bench three blocks from his house with that." She nodded to the briefcase clutched in Wade's hand. "We figured you'd come here, seeing as how your apartment got barbecued and all."

A look passed between Kim and Monique, imperceptible to the men in the room. Kim offered her a curt nod, and then looked to Wade as he groaned again. "Everything I had," he grunted, fingering the lock on his briefcase. "Years of research, gigs of scrimped and scammed data, all down the tubes." He looked up at Kim's apologetic expression, and he laughed bitterly. "Being a hero can suck, huh?" he asked with quivering jowls.

"Wade," pleaded Kim, "My parents are—"

"We know," said Monique, cutting her off in a dark voice. "Wade managed to capture Drakken's signal and piggyback it to my thingy." She held her Kimmunicator aloft, clutched in her hands with a new understanding of the burden that came with it. "It recorded the rest of Blueberry's fruity rant. Even managed to collect some telemetry data from the signal." Monique licked her thumb and swiped at the stubborn soot on Wade's face. All she managed was to smudge the mess on his cheek, though it did bring him a smile and a blush. "Not bad for a genius still mired in puberty."

New hope sprung into Kim's heart. She drew her own Kimmunicator and tossed it to Wade, who fumbled with it as she said, "I took a read on his signal during his grand announcement. See if you can triangulate. I want to know where I can kick some mad scientist ass."

"Where 'we' can kick some ass," Ron amended for her.

Monique cocked a brow. "You aren't waiting for GJ backup?"

"How did you…" Kim caught sight of Wade's knowing smile, and rolled her eyes at her own question. Even scorched and deprived of his mainframe, Wade remained a master of all information. "No," she announced. "Ron and I will head out just as soon as Wade gives us a location."

Jim scowled. "Without backup?"

Tim added, "Without Wade online?"

"You'll be toast," they decided in harmony.

Kim looked to Ron, and knew what his answer would be. "Your old gear should still be in the spare bedroom," she told him. "Five minutes to suit up, and then we're gone."

"We should probably figure out a ride," Ron answered. Then, thoughtful, he added, "I hope my old stuff still fits. I've been working my pecs for a while now." He flexed, earning himself the wry look from Kim he had hoped for, as well as a tiny chortle from Monique. Now more than ever, Kim needed his humor, even more than she needed him serious. It kept her sane, and they both knew it.

"Actually," said Wade, breaking Kim's and Ron's gaze, "I thought you might want something a little classier than your old mission togs." The briefcase at his feet flipped onto his lap, lofted by enthusiasm Wade drew from this moment of renewed resolve. His fat thumb spun the lock at its handle. "It's a special occasion," he said, brightening at the lock's obedient click. Opening the case with a flourish, he told his team, "And you have to dress for success."

Kim caught one look at the smooth, glistening fabric folded neatly to fit the briefcase's interior and felt a headache arise. "Not another one," she groaned. "Absolutely not. After what happened last time?"

A broken snicker shot her green glare sideways. "I remember that," he said, chortling. "In Guatemala, when Colonel Calamitous was breeding killer peppers. The battle suit shorted out, and started contracting, and he got away, and you were being crushed to death, so I had to cut you out of the suit, and you had to ride home na—" Kim's look threatened to burn a hole through him, and so he backed away and rubbed his neck. "Um, maybe that story's not appropriate at the moment. You were saying, Wade?"

"Ho," Rufus moaned from Ron's shoulder, and rolled his beady little eyes.

Wade plucked up the black material by its red trim. "The prototype may not have worked in the long run," he admitted, "But the Battle Suit Two-Point-Oh is a guaranteed winner. It's self-repairing, bulletproof, stain resistant, and comes with all your standard crime-fighting accessories built in."

She squinted at the suit, noting the craftsmanship put into her stylized initials emblazoned in its breast. "You're positive?" she asked. The memory of being picked up from a failed mission in her birthday suit, and enduring Ron's ceaseless teasing for months after, would not be shaken so easily.

An apologetic look replaced Wade's pride. "Kim, you're gonna need every advantage you can get," he said.

Thoughts of her parents, of the people that had fallen in the wake of Drakken's mad pursuits, and of all the people who might yet suffer, conquered Kim's lingering doubts. "Sold," she said, offering Wade a tiny smile to hide her massive apprehension.

Ron sputtered openly and miserably. "Great," he said, meaning anything but. "Another battle suit for KP. She flies, and Ron dies."

"Maybe," said Wade. He lifted Kim's battle suit out of the briefcase, revealing a second stack of gleaming black fabric. This one was trimmed in gold, and featured the letters 'R' and 'S' in the same swooshing style that Kim's suit had. "Or maybe you'll let me get to the part where they come in men's sizes," Wade chided.

"My own battle suit?" Ron pushed past Kim and yanked it out of the case, holding it up to his body for size. The suit unfurled to match his body's outline perfectly. Its golden trim ran along each arm, and divided the torso into three sections. His logo'd initials gleamed in the kitchen light, bringing a theatrical tear to Ron's eye. "This would be so cool," he said with a sniff, "If I probably wasn't gonna die in it."

Rufus, in the meantime, had leapt from Ron's shoulder and clung to the fabric with his charcoal talons. Scampering about, the tiny mole rat found an extra pocket that Kim's suit lacked, placed at the side of the thigh. It was just the right size, and featured a flap with a latch that could be operated by rodent-sized claws. "Mwoah, cozy," he noted approvingly.

Wade grinned. "You think it's cool now," he said. "Just wait until I tell you about Battle Mode."

Kim's eyes circled her old loft in a listless path, taking in the furniture, the posters, the knick-knacks, the photos, and the thousand other pieces of paraphernalia she had left behind. It felt as though a whole lifetime had passed since she had moved out, instead of ten short months. There, undressed and afraid, she felt her old belongings judging the woman she had become. Part of her wondered if there was anything left of the Kim this room had nurtured. She had lost a great deal of herself in the last year, and changed so much more.

"So," came a casual voice from the young woman seated on Kim's bed, "Seems like you and Ron are on speaking terms again." Monique fiddled with the folds of Kim's old mission uniform draped across the bed on its hanger to avoid Kim's naked form. "That's always good when you're about to charge headlong into a giant death trap."

"Yup," she replied, equally cool. Reaching down, Kim began to work the battle suit onto her body. Its folds stretched taut at her tug, fitting perfectly with her curvy hips and tiny waist.

"I'm not surprised," Monique continued. She pretended to pluck a piece of lint from Kim's old crop top with rapt diligence, thinking that Kim's keen eyes would miss the worried glance she gave her friend through the vanity mirror. "You two are so crazy about each other—"

"We're still just friends," interrupted Kim. She slipped her arms and shoulders into the suit. Even faced away from Monique, she could sense the shock on her face. "As a matter of fact, he's thinking about leaving after this mission. He wants to give Josh and me some space while we reconnect."

Kim imagined hearing a rusty squeak to accompany the drop in Monique's jaw. But Monique composed herself in a flash, and said, "And what did you say? Just in case someone else is interested in any juicy Team Possible gossip."

After smothering her smile, Kim replied, "I said that'd be okay."

All pretenses shattered on Monique's face, broken by her blundering look of shock. "You WHAT?"

"I can't force him to stay," said Kim, shrugging her chest into the battle suit while her zipper growled its way to her collar. "If leaving will make him happy, I'll give him the best sendoff I can, and try not to miss him too much." She turned at last, gracing Monique's thunderstruck gape with a knowing nod. "See, this friend tried to tell me something about my screwed-up relationship with Ron. I could try to control what happens, or I could flip-flop forever, or I could try to ignore it until it eats me inside out. But the only thing that matters is how I feel about him. If I know that, everything else will fall into place."

"And do you?" asked Monique. "Know, I mean."

Kim smiled. "I thought we both already knew that."

Monique rose from the bed, tentatively returning Kim's smile. "This friend of yours sounds pretty smart, she said coyly. "I'll bet she's hot, too."

"Maybe," admitted Kim, standing her ground while Monique approached. Indulgently, she added, "But she's kind of bitchy at one o'clock in the morning. And she hits like a girl."

The two women leapt into each other's arms, each gasping with the force of the other's embrace. Their cheeks met and their eyes closed as they sighed, relieved that their friendship had weathered the nasty fight. "I'm sorry," whispered Monique.

"I'm sorry too," Kim whispered back. "I am so lucky to have you, Monique."

"Ditto, girl. Ditto."

Pulling away, Kim adopted a faux-stern expression. "But if you ever slap me again," she said, "Don't expect to get that hand back."

Monique laughed. "I was surprised when it came back the first time," she admitted. Then she stepped back to give Kim's outfit an appraising eye. The fashion queen gave Wade's design an approving nod, and motioned for Kim to rotate. "Fits nice across the chest," she decided. "And it makes your butt look sexy."

Kim had to giggle, despite herself. "Always a plus when fighting super villains," she said dryly.

Gravity pulled at Monique's delicate features, strangling Kim's mirth. "Kim, I am seriously scared for you," she admitted. "You could really get hurt. These guys aren't playing anymore."

"I know," agreed Kim. "And neither am I."

"Are you sure you wanna leave all this stuff between you and Ron…I mean, you might not…"

Kim saved Monique from finishing the troublesome thought. "We both need to stay focused," she said. Then, softly, she continued, "And I have to believe that there'll be an 'after' to sort this all out in. Just like I have to believe Ron can forgive me for what I have to do."

"I will never forgive you."

Ron Stoppable stood in the darkened guest room of the Possible home, pulling his battle suit up over his waist. Stern anger lurked in his freckles, aimed at a blank spot on the wall; he dared not look at the object of his scorn seated on the bed for fear of losing his cool.

"I just wanted to make that crystal clear," he continued, working his wiry arms into the suit's sleeves. "Y'know, get it off my chest before I cannonball into my untimely doom. I think it's important to settle accounts, especially when there's as much history as we have together."

As his fingers clasped the suit's zipper, he paused in reflection. Years' worth of bitter memories surfaced in his mind—images of pain, of humiliation, of frustration and helplessness. He hated feeling all of those things, and the source of it all sat idly on the bed, not making a peep. Well, he would have his peace of mind, with or without permission.

Ron yanked the zipper to his collar. The seam it ran along began melding together, knit by fantastic technology that Ron couldn't begin to fathom (and that Wade assured him wouldn't backfire and would let him out when he desired so). "As a matter of fact," said Ron, "You have a lot to answer for. You've jerked me around, and you've made me look like a fool, just so you could feel good about yourself." Ron's scowl deepened as he said, "You make me sick."

The gloves and boots came next, melding to the suit in the same manner as the zipper had vanished. Now complete, his suit pulsed with power, tingling along the golden veins that trimmed its seams. So emboldened was Ron with the power of his new suit that he mustered the courage to turn and face his tormentor.

"It's taken me years to realize it," he said, glaring through the dark. No reaction came from beneath his nemesis's gleaming red cap, making Ron falter a moment. But that same silence angered him enough to return his conviction. "But now I know," he continued, "That I'm not the stupid kid I used to be. I'm a stupid adult now, and I'm a lot stronger now than I was with you. The truth is, I don't need you anymore. And it feels good." Stepping forward, Ron watched as his tormentor shrank in his presence, becoming small, afraid, and insignificant. "After all these years," Ron said with a sneer, "I just have one thing to say to you…"

A knock came from the bedroom door. Kim's voice filtered through from the other side: "Ron, are you ready?" her muffled voice asked. "We have to go."

"Just a sec, KP." Ron rubbed his wrists, the spot where (once again, guaranteed by Wade) the suit's nano-reconstruction technology would adapt and fire a climbing cable capable of supporting his weight. He reached out and grasped his old tormentor by its glossy red. It swung in his grasp, powerless. Holding the old grapnel gun to his face, Ron said smugly, "Let's see you rip my pants off now, you son of a bitch."

He tossed the gun back onto the bed with a sniff, and then strode out of the room with a proud strut, checking the door closed behind him with his hip. Kim waited in the hall with foot-tapping impatience and garb nearly identical to his, save for the crimson trim and monogrammed breast. Hands on hips, she eyed her partner and his new confidence. Approval lit her eyes. "Looks good on you," she said.

Her compliment filled his chest. "The man makes the clothes," he told her.

"Ready?" she asked, descending the stairs.

"Not even a little," quipped Ron, falling into step without missing a beat.

Kim and Ron rumbled down the steps side by side, leaving humor behind them in the halls and rooms they had played in as children. They struck the first floor with hardened faces and hearts to match. Then Kim's scowl deepened at the sight of the pair blocking their way through the front door. "Get out of those clothes," she said, reddening with anger, "And get out of the way."

Tim tugged the cuff of his tight black jersey into place. The belt keeping his dark cargo pants aloft sagged with a bounty of old equipment. Kim guessed there to be years' worth of swiped mission gear around his waist, with an equal share of ill-gotten goods heaped around his twin. The square patch on his cheek puffed with his indignant look. "Up yours," he said flatly.

"I don't think so," snapped Kim.

She moved forward, leaving a helpless Ron in the lurch, and raised a hand to shove her injured brother aside. Halfway there, Jim stepped between them. He knocked her arm aside with a callous shove, matching Tim's glare. "He said 'Up yours,' Kim," Jim said, folding his arms. "We're going."

"No, you aren't," said Kim. "Ron and I can't afford to baby-sit a couple of amateurs right now."

"You pulled Ron's butt out of the fire for years," retorted Jim.

Tim added, "And we're way more useful than he used to be!"

"Hey!" Ron stepped forward, full of bluster. But faced with three sets of Possible fury, he stopped, paused, and said, "Okay, point. Jerks."

"You're not helping," Kim said to him. Then she turned back, sucking in a deep breath. Air whistled through her teeth until her mouth became a tight, straight line. "Look," she said evenly, "This isn't like last time. This isn't like any other time. We don't have a plan. We don't have a target. We don't know what we're up against. This isn't going to end well, and I don't want you anywhere near it." Kim lowered her voice, and placed her hands on her brothers' shoulders. "Please try to understand. I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you."

Silence thundered. Jim and Tim trembled beneath her touch, glaring at their older sister. Tension grew between them, threatening to blow up in Kim's face, until Ron piped in, "Now I want to stay behind," just loud enough for Kim to hear.

"Seems to me like you shouldn't be turning down any help you can get," Monique called from the top of the staircase. All eyes swung up to the top step, where the shapely teen strode down, wearing familiar togs that made Kim's mouth dry. "What is it with you and your stupid belly button?" she griped, tugging Kim's old crop top lower over her taut stomach. The hem leapt back up in defiance, settling beneath her breasts.

Kim scowled and rubbed her face at the three mission-garbed rookies. "Guys, I'm serious. This is—"

Monique's hand leapt into Kim's face, halting her words with a gesture. "Yeah, yeah," she said, "Certain death, no hope, blah, blah, blah. I'm terrified, okay? So let's go save your folks already."

"And the world," the twins harmonized.

"Right, that too," she amended.

A soft chuckle interrupted Kim's apoplectic frustration. She shot her glare back to Ron, who laughed into his glove. At her silent accusation, he shrugged. "Don't look at me," he told her, weathering her anger as he always did. "I was fine and dandy with kicking back and watching cartoons seven years ago. You were the one that launched that stupid website, so don't get mad at me if your heroic-ness is catchy."

"It's a good thing, too," a haggard voice interrupted from the hall. Wade leaned heavily against the wall, cradling Kimmunicators in his other hand. A triumphant look lurked amidst his fatigue. "We'll need all the heroes we can get."

"We have a location?" asked Kim, forcing business back into her voice.

He nodded. "The Mount Trinity Observatory." Wade tossed Kim the blue Kimmunicator, and thumbed a button on Monique's. Images leapt into the air from its tiny projector, flat pictures that rotated to let them all have a glimpse. Within their glowing confines, a giant white dome sat halfway up Mount Trinity. Tiny red dots lurched about its exterior, and knotted Kim's stomach as the image zoomed in. "The place is crawling with henchmen and syntho-drones," he said. Then switching the image, he added, "The cannon is set up in place of the telescope. And we've got a little over an hour before Drakken's deadline ends."

Kim glanced back, looking at the faces of those she loved. As her gaze wandered between them, she felt her heart go out to her team's rookies, and the naked fear they wore. But as they caught her eye, they each gave her a nod, and Kim knew they would not be reasoned with. She couldn't blame them; as she recalled, a certain redheaded tween had felt just as they did.

Then her wandering eye spotted an odd look on Ron's face. He studied the rotating picture with unusual focus. Under her worried gaze, his face split into a grin. A chuckle haunted his chest, pulling everyone's attention away from certain doom to him. Even Rufus emerged from his new pocket, curious at what could possibly be funny.

"Ron…" said Kim worriedly.

"This is so cool," he said. Laughing softly, he leaned forward until his nose dipped into the spinning picture's edge. "I mean, I never get to come up with the plans. But now…" He chuckled again, leaning back. "I mean, it's like it's just coming to me. So cool."

"Ron…" muttered Tim.

"..with a plan…" muttered Jim.

Monique groaned into her hands. "Now I'm really scared."

Kim laid a hand on Ron's shoulder, trying her best to emulate his unusual smile. But a second later, his smile fell, replaced with heartbreak. "What is it?" she asked him.

"Sorry," he muttered distractedly. "Like I said, it's all just sort of coming to me. And I just got to the part where I have to make the ultimate sacrifice." With a sad look to Kim, he added, "It's gonna suck. But what choice do we have?"

To Be Continued