"Hatch shows green... I love you. Go. Now."

Shego climbed down the ladder in the 250mph wind and let go, never saying another word.

"------------------------------------------------------"

Parachuting from one thousand feet is not a trivial matter. Two thousand feet more, and it would have been like any static-line sport jump... but from one thousand, and with a rip-cord – half of that would be used up just building up enough velocity to pull out and inflate the 'chute. Like all parachute packs, Kim's included a back-up 'chute as well... but from this height, that little safety-factor was rendered useless. By the time she'd tried to pop the main, seen that it hadn't worked for some reason, and then popped the reserve – way, way too late. From this altitude, she had just the one chance. Best go for the reserve first – at least it's probably spring-loaded. And packed by a licensed parachute packer. Not that I don't trust... which I don't She thought bitterly.

She pulled the rip-cord and looked up to watch the simple, white, rather small, but indescribably beautiful - under the circumstances - parachute catch the wind and billow out to its full 22-foot diameter. She grabbed the steering loops now hanging over her head. Backup 'chutes were round, not square, and the "steering" was something of a joke; but it made her feel better to think she might be able to avoid being impaled by a tree. Considering that, and looking at the tree-tops now only a hundred feet below, she crossed her ankles. No use presenting too much cross-section to the limbs and branches. Good thing they were fir and spruce – they looked soft - but Shego knew better than that.

Another thing about emergency parachutes: they're only big enough to save your life – not to provide a comfortably soft landing. As she came down below tree-top level, she crossed her arms over her chest, and pulled her knees up to her face, trying to become a ball, and suddenly becoming acutely aware of how much hair must be hanging out of her helmet. She briefly cursed her vanity about that. Her world grew loud and violent very quickly as she smashed through – and then into - the trees.

It was all over in a few seconds. From the sounds of branches whipping and snapping, from having her body beaten, poked at, and slapped - to peace, quiet, and church-like stillness in a matter of a moment. She tried to think:

I've stopped falling. Nothing hurts... well, too much, but that doesn't mean anything. She lifted her head carefully and looked about. Branches everywhere, including down. She couldn't see the ground. She inventoried her arms and legs one by one. Nothing seemed to be broken. As far as bleeding, that would have to wait. She'd have to get out of this tree first. There were no really substantial limbs within reach, so she crossed her legs, balled up again, and pulled the cut-away handle on her harness.

Another moment of noise and violence, with an oomph! she was on the ground, finally, having fallen twenty feet through the tree. THAT hurt! Holy Mother of God, did that HURT!

Shego crawled painfully out to a patch of open ground and pulled her helmet off. The wind was blowing gently, sighing through the evergreen branches, birds were singing, the noonday sun was shining, and all was idyllic. It was astoundingly strange, how that could be. She inventoried herself again. Still nothing broken, although her back was stinging painfully all the way down to her thighs. Well, nothing to do about that.

Now what? She thought about what had just happened. The G-3 Bomber. She'd been flying a G-3 supersonic bomber, with Kim as -

KIM! Now it was all coming back. What had been done to her... what Kim had made her do – GOD DAMMIT! That... that BITCH! That STUPID, STUPID... fucking TEENAGE... FUCK! How DARE she! HOW DARE SHE... This went on for a full minute, much of it out loud too. Had Shego been able to control herself, she would've forcibly strapped the parachute onto Kim and thrown her out of that airplane, to hell with "no time". At least Shego knew what to do in a crash-landing. She would have had a better chance at survival than some high school girl with what – six hours in a Cessna 182? That was a G-3! $380 million worth of airplane! Fully fueled! Airspeed 250 mph at it's almost-slowest! Dead stick! One thousand feet! In the mountains! Granted, ANY pilot's chances of surviving a crash under those conditions was pretty small, but at least she had -

She had...

ANY pilot's chances of surviving were pretty small...

"K-I-I-I-I-M!" she screamed at the top of her lungs.

"------------------------------------------------------"

"Mayday mayday mayday. This is... uh... -" God, I don't even know my own tail-number... what an idiot!... I should -

"We know who you are, Kim, where you are, and what's happened" Monique broke in, "Just fly the plane, GF."

That was sort of the problem: there wasn't much she could do. The control surfaces weren't responding to the stick, the one engine – it's status on her left-hand flat-panel – was obviously not going to last much longer, judging by the sheer number of red, blinking warnings flashing by on it... She wished Shego were there, which just made her aware of her incredible stupidity again. What was it Shego had said? Something about dumping fuel? Was there a button for that? No... no, there were four buttons for that. Okay, then... - but she remembered, Shego had said something about switching to the belly tank, too. Maybe she shouldn't dump that one. After all, she was at least staying in the air, for now, which was better than the alternative. She lifted the red covers and pushed three of the buttons – one for each wing, one for the tail-tank. Good.

Now what? The world below was all trees and hills – absolutely no place for an emergency landing. Depending on your definition of "emergency" she thought. WHY did I make her take the parachute? I mean, okay, because I just couldn't face the prospect of wondering if she... of going through the rest of my life... so now she has to wonder about ME! Stupid call, Kim... you selfish, stupid...

In a dire situation, life-threatening, danger all around, Kim could figure out what to do. That was her forte'. That was why she was what she was. But now... there was nothing for her to do! She was going to die. Once that engine failed – any second, it looked like – she was going to crash into the forest-covered hills below and probably explode in an impressive slow-motion fireball, just like in the movies. Too bad no one was filming. It'd look cool on the news – a fitting end for a world-saving heroine. A fitting end for a moron. Suitable for her, certainly.

"Mon... is Ron there?" She just wanted to hear his voice. Her best-friend since pre-K, the boy she'd fantasized she'd marry one day – before she discovered what it was like to be really attracted to people, and those people turned out to be girls.

"Right here, KP. What's the sitch?" he answered, trying to sound confident.

"The sitch is... uh... Ron, I just wanted to say... uh... I'm sorry it didn't work out between us... If – uh, things... – had been different..."

"KP, I appreciate that, but do you really think this is the time?"

"Probably not. But there's not much else to do... Tell... tell Shego... tell Shego..."

"Kim Possible! This is Dr. Director! You can cry like a little girl on your own time, not on mine!" The Director had been listening to everything, and heard Kim turn morbid. She knew what it meant – in that state, she would stand no chance whatsoever. Even a miracle couldn't save someone who was prepared to die. But, she knew her agents – or quasi-agents in this case - and Kim Possible would respond to Authority. Well, the Director was the Authority Figure here, so it was her time to go to work, "Now you listen to me – you WILL find a place to land MY AIRPLANE! Are you reading me?"

"But... there's nowhere -"

"Then you find the best possible 'nowhere' you can! You have a million possibilities in front of you, so get to it! There's a little clearing up ahead, for instance. What's wrong with that?"

"Well... it's on the side of a mountain, and I'd be landing uphill on a 30-degree slope. Might as well be a wall, at this speed..."

"And what's beyond that? And what's under you right now? THINK Kim!"

Beyond that? Well, she couldn't really see beyond that. She did have access to maps... she changed her center panel to show the map-view. Actually, beyond that hill was a long, long downward slope. Into a lake. A downward slope? Yes! If she could manage to skid lightly along a downhill slope – assuming it wasn't covered with forest – she might be able to lose enough speed to... well, to not disintegrate on impact, anyway. She could close down the throttles – that would make her sink... How fast she sank was actually the one thing she could control. Yes! It might work! Now it was just a matter of getting over the peak of that hill, and it was coming closer really, really fast...

I just hope it's not covered with – oh, crap. The slope was, of course covered with trees. But on closer examination, they appeared to be small trees, at least, not full-grown. Must have been logged, or maybe there was a fire... doesn't matter. That engine is going to die any second, and this plane is about to shake itself apart anyway. Now or never, Kim. Remember "I can do anything"? Seems like a long time ago I used to think that... She pushed forward on he throttles, lowering the turbine thrust. The G-3 sank. Slowly.

Too slowly. I don't have time or room to do this gently! Just sink, damn you! She pushed on the throttles more, but she was still over-running the slope. If this kept up, she was going to end up in the lake. Maybe that's not such a bad idea. Water is softer than wood and rock... Well, not at this speed, it isn't. More stupid ideas... Concentrate, Kim! You picked your poison, follow through! She began pushing on the throttles, faster than before, when suddenly, the roar she had been so used to it wasn't even noticeable anymore just – stopped. The engine had died. The only noise now was the whistling of the wind. It was eerie.

"Remaining engine just went out. I think... I think.."

The sleek, if damaged, aerodynamic G-3 Bomber fell out of the sky just as if it were no more than any other hunk of metal and plastic. All that engineering, the smooth curves, the graceful wings – all of it absolutely useless without the power of the engines to push it through the air. With 1,300 pounds of J-5 fuel in it's belly, Kim's plane kissed the ground like a long-lost but drunken lover.

First, the plane rolled to the right, snapping off a wing against the ground as if it were made of Styrofoam, then the main body of the fuselage smacked the earth, and the exchange of momentum bounced the whole plane back into the air, just like skipping a rock across a pond. It barrel-rolled twice before coming back down – bam! - leaving the entire tail-assembly behind this time. The screaming sound of titanium-alloy being pulled apart almost ruptured Kim's ears. The remaining wing hit a surviving mature tree, tearing it off and spinning around what remained of the bomber – the nose and belly – over and over. The belly-tank ruptured, and metal-against-rock sparks ignited the fuel instantly, enveloping everything in a yellow-orange fireball. In this way, Kim slid, spun, and bounced her way down the hill, toward the lake.

And into it, plowing up a great splash of water fifty feet high before her. Still spinning, still engulfed in flame, she skipped on the water for a hundred yards – the length of a football field – before coming to rest.

What remained of the forward section of the aircraft sank within seconds, Kim Possible – unconscious but alive – still inside.

The lake closed over her like the embrace of an over-protective mother, and all was still and quiet again.

"------------------------------------------------------"

"Monique! Contact Colorado Search and Rescue, tell them-"

"Did that three minutes ago, Dr. Director. Just sent them Kim's last known GPS coordinates before the transponder died – uh, stopped." Monique replied almost absent-mindedly. She was busy, and the Director was a mild annoyance.

"Okay, then call the Airbase at White Sands, and tell them-"

"Two minutes ago, Dr. Director. Told them to scramble for incoming low-flying bogie from the east. I used your name, hope that was okay."

"Oh. Well... yes..."

"Got the Army reservists from Fort Collins in the air about thirty seconds ago. Wade, we could use some coordinates for Shego, if you have 'em."

"Coming up on your screen now, Monique." Damn... Wade thought, she's fast. I thought I was a genius for just thinking to look for Shego's Kimmunicator signature...

"Thanks Wade. Our ETA Grand Junction in one-point-five hours, people. Hope we find them waiting for us. Will let you know of developments - AR4BD, monitoring."

Ron had been listening on the radio and watching Monique, absolutely in awe of the girl. Ten minutes ago, she'd been sitting on his lap quivering with orgasm, and now she was the definition of All Business. Three binders lay open in front of her console, two of Emergency Radio Procedures and one Console User's Training Manual. A notebook and pen she'd found in a drawer was right in front of her, and he'd looked over her shoulder once to see log entries and notes – hour, minute, second – of everything she had done and the names, titles, and offices of everyone she'd spoken with. He could hear every word she said, but there was no way he could keep track of to whom she was talking. Monique had five conversations going on at once, and it was all he could do to just try and count them. He couldn't decide whether to feel guilty for not "having Kim's back" or relieved that Monique did, or proud that it was Monique – his girlfriend – who had it. Awed, frustrated, and afraid for Kim all at the same time, he kept thinking Damn!... Damn!... Damn!... with a different connotation each time.

For her part, Dr. Director, back at GJ headquarters, was also making a note into her PalmPC - "Get Monique in here, ASAP. Damn!" She actually wrote in the "Damn!", too.

"------------------------------------------------------"

Cin was trembling in abject terror, her arms wrapped around her girlfriend so tightly that Bonnie was truly having trouble breathing.

The lurching and rolling they could feel had become roller-coaster like as the cargo-plane hauling them performed tight and radical maneuvers – up and down as well as side-to side - through the mountains, the OPT swaying underneath it. Bonnie had them wedged in as a pair between the work-bench, the floor, and the back of the Bit Condition Console, so they had support on three sides – which left three sides open. Dozens of binders of full-color pictures and specification-sheets, and several boxes of brochures intended for the next days sales-pitch, were sloshing back and forth and sometimes lifting into the air as if by magic. But at least nothing dangerous was sliding and jumping around with them; the OPT had been built something like a ship in that respect, everything loose had a home to secure it. Good thing, too, because there were a great many large, heavy tools rattling in their holders. If even one of them were to come out of their brackets... it could be bad in there.

"Cin... Cin... we're okay. We'll be okay. Nothing's going to happen... Cin... you're holding me too tight, I can't breathe. It's okay, it's okay..." Bonnie whispered to her, trying to at least do something to soothe her. Bonnie wasn't in such great shape herself – she was getting extremely nauseas, and parts of her blouse were soaked with cold, clammy sweat. All the more reason she needed to be able to breathe. If only she could get Cin's mind off what was happening... or her own, for that matter. But she was too sick to think of anything except how sick she felt, so mostly she just repeated the other girl's name over and over.

This had been going on for half an hour. For the last ten minutes of that, Bonnie had been figuring out how she was going to throw up without making too big a mess; because there seemed little doubt that she was going to do just that, and any time now, too. The smell of Cin's urine – she'd pee'd her pants – wasn't helping. And then, as the swaying from the last turn died out and they braced themselves for the next one – it just stopped. The next one never came. Apparently the ride was over.

"Cin, I think it's over. Relax Cin... I really need some air here... Cin? Cin?" Bonnie continued, repeating herself several more times before she finally felt the girl's embrace loosen, and then loosen even more. Finally, Cin released her fully, and pulled away enough to look Bonnie in the face. Her eyes were puffy and red from crying, her nose still running. But it was the look in those eyes that made Bonnie's heart skip a beat -

Hatred. Complete and utter hatred, animal like in its intensity, shown through Cin's eyes.

"C-Cin? Why are you looking-"

"DON'T TALK TO ME! DON'T... don't look at me, either!" she cried, scrambling to her feet, only to stagger her way to the far back corner of the OPT, hand-over-hand along the hull.

"Cin -"

"Shut-up!"

Her back to Bonnie, she sat on the floor and brought her knees up to her face. Bonnie could only stare and wonder: what the hell was going on? What had she done? What had she done WRONG! Bonnie replayed the events of the past half-hour, looking for something, ANYthing for which she should apologize, but there was just nothing. She'd tried to comfort and protect her, that was all. Was there something wrong with that? If Bonnie had been the one terrified of heights, of flying, wouldn't Cin have done the same for her? What was the deal here?

"What -"

"Please shut-up, Bonnie" she said softly this time, which if anything, only threatened to break Bonnie's heart with implied sincerity.

It's hard when someone you care about finds out you're not the person you wanted them to think you were. It's harder still when they find out that you're not the person you thought you were.

"------------------------------------------------------"

Sitting on the couch, watching TV, Shego lying at the far end, her bare feet in Kim's lap. It was a monster movie. It was Godzilla vs. Mecha-Godzilla, in fact. Not one of her favorites, but it was fun looking for cinematic bloopers anyway. Kim took a sip of green tea, and lifted Shego's left foot to her mouth, biting off the last two of her toes. She vaguely thought it would taste funny, but instead the toes tasted kind of like a cross between shrimp and oranges. The bones were pleasingly crunchy, too.

She glanced at Shego to show her appreciation, and Shego glanced up from her Rolling Stone magazine to wink back, then went back to reading. Kim took another toe off her foot and munched it contentedly. On the TV, one of the sky-scrapers of Tokyo fell over, revealing itself to be a cardboard cut-out.

Cut-out cut-it-out cut-scene cut to Shego and Kim fighting, fighting seriously, fighting amorously although only the director had the vision to know it, the actors were just doing what they thought they were supposed to to make it look real. The script said to make it look real, and they were good actors. They were good actors because this was the only scene they ever played, over and over. The thing is, they were getting it right every time! Why didn't the director move on to the rest of the movie? Why did he keep insisting on more and more takes of this one thing? Kim didn't really mind, though, because this was the only scene in which her and Shego would even appear once the final cut was made.

Then something changed, because Shego's arm had passed right through Kim's block, and her hand was sticking straight into Kim's chest through her black turtle-neck sweater, up to her elbow, in fact. Kim looked down at the embedded arm, and then up to Shego's face – you're not supposed to do that, she said, but Shego only smiled and shrugged. CUT! PRINT! said the director.

PRINT! Prints. Fingerprints on a birth-certificate, baby fingerprints, baby footprints, black ink on the green-printed paper with Kim's baby photograph in the right-hand corner. Luckily, Kim thought, it was only her face, and didn't show the birth-marks that covered the rest of her body, neck to foot, like tattoos. In fact, they kind of looked like tattoos, all swirly and abstract, the swirls winding around each other but never crossing, never intersecting, just two continuous lines. How did you get birth-marks like that? The doctor asked, and then added Hey look, they meet after all, right here in the small of your back – well, no wonder Kim had never seen that. I don't know, Kim said.

I don't know – the green slime fell onto her head drenching her red hair and flowing over her shoulders. Kim knew this would happen, and had already closed her eyes in anticipation. Not that it would have hurt to get it in her eyes – the stuff was actually edible, she knew, tasting a little like shrimp and oranges. Ron quipped Don't you want to get rid of that stuff, Kim, and Kim said Not really, but what would you suggest? setting him up. Well, maybe some water – and the water drenched poor Ron as he stood there, soaking his feet, his legs, up to his waist, his belly, coming up over his breasts... Hold it hold it, said a man in a tool-belt that Kim always called Schneider, though that wasn't his name. That's – not - right, he said, pounding on the table to emphasize each word. That's-not-right, Thud-thud-thud. Thud-

thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud. Kim opened her eyes. She had no idea where she was, or what had happened, but she did know that the water was up to her chest, and she somehow knew it was going to get higher. She knew she had to get outside. But how? She looked around to get her bearings.

A man in scuba-gear was outside her window, pounding on it to get her attention. That was odd. Was it raining outside? Must be a hard rain – that would explain all the water. How funny he looked, his lips distended over the mouth-piece. He was pointing at something at the edge of the window. Kim couldn't read it – the letters didn't seem to want to line up, but it was red, whatever it was. A red handle of some kind. She reached for it. The man seemed to want her to pull it, because he made jerking, tugging motions with his arm. Okay, funny underwater-man. Kim pulled just like he was showing her.

Shit! Give me a chance to get away, girl! the rescue-diver thought. But before he could, the explosive bolts fired, nearly knocking the breath out of him. He filed the mistake away in the back of his mind with the others from over the years. The dreamy way the girl had looked at him and smiled should have told him that she wasn't thinking straight – probably had a concussion – but that sort of thing was the paramedic's job, not his. His job was to get her to the paramedics. And he would, but it wasn't going to be easy. For one, the young pilot seemed to be completely untrained – her harness was still locked down. And of course, now that water had completely filled the cockpit, she was panicking – arms flying and pulling desperately on anything she could get ahold of. Including him, if he should get within her reach.

So. His call. The proper thing to do was to let her drown, then get her to the surface and to the waiting paramedics as soon as possible. That would keep him safe, and, in a way, even be safer for the girl, too. That's what the instructors always said to do. He knew already that he wouldn't play it that way – he never did. He couldn't just let someone drown... What the instructors never said, but he'd learned from experience, was that if you can just get air to the victim, let them breathe, they'll calm down almost immediately. He took his pony-bottle out of his BC pocket and opened the valve, then swam partially into the now-absent side window, keeping just out of reach.

Kim was trying desperately to pull herself out of the chair, to go up, up where there was hopefully some air. It was infuriating that something was holding her down, but if only she could pull harder... with all her might... maybe...

Something was in her mouth. She shook her head to get rid of it, but it remained, and air started coming out of it. He grabbed at it instinctively, covering whatever it was with her hands, making sure it couldn't get away. She began to breathe. After half a minute, it occurred to her to open her eyes.

Three minutes, max, and the way this girl was gasping, probably half that. Time to go, babe he thought, and reached in to punch the plate on her chest that would release the harness. But – faster than he would have believed possible – the girl grabbed his wrist and just held him there, six inches away from the release button. He looked at her face and saw her head follow his arm up to his shoulders, finally looking him in the eye. He took out his mouthpiece and smiled at her, then pointed to the Rescue Diver patch on his vest. The girl nodded, and released his wrist. Well, I'm impressed... He'd never seen anyone in this sort of situation come to their senses so quickly. He'd have a story to tell the guys, when he got back.

Kim hadn't so much come to her senses as all that, in fact, she still had no idea what had happened, or where she was, who this man was, where the air had come from – she had no idea about anything at all, truth be told. But the funny underwater man seemed nice – she could see that. He seemed like he could be trusted. That was a good thing, since she didn't seem to be able to help herself in any way... maybe he would be able to help her. She let him do whatever he wanted – a rare experience for Kim. It was a smart choice.

"------------------------------------------------------"