As usual, thanks for the reviews. I treasure the kind words. They keep me from climbing a clock tower. (I kid.)
"Well Kimmie-cub, you can stay here tonight," her farther said. "No need for you two to try and head back to your apartment in Go City at this time of night. Ah. . . Kim? You can take the couch in the den. It's comfy."
"That's fine, thanks," Kim said. She was taken aback; an apartment? Together? Before they're even married? Geez, I hadn't realized we'd been that close. Or that I'd been that oblivious to how Ron felt towards me, or a hundred other things.
"Thanks daddy," his daughter replied.
"Just. . . keep the noise down this time, OK?" he continued.
"DADDY!" she exclaimed, her face turning slightly pink along with Ron's, who suddenly found a picture over the fireplace quite fascinating.
"Hey, the three months you two were dating before you moved in together was. . . awkward enough, what with finding Ron in the kitchen WAY too early for him to have gotten here from his house in the morning, let alone the 'bad dreams' you had," her mother said. Kim said nothing, and simply turning a deeper shade of red.
"It's OK Kim, you don't have to be embarrassed. It's probably what I would have done," her twin said with a shrug of her shoulders and a wan smile.
With a few more jabs and innuendos, the Possible and Stoppable clan took to their beds save one. Kim sat on the living room couch. She stroked it absentmindedly as she thought about what could have been. . .
"A date. . ." he said looking at her expectantly. "Not that I'm asking," he'd said abruptly when she had hesitated in surprise.
"No, of course not, 'cause we're friends and that would be. . ."
"Awk-weird?"
"That's the word, awk-weird," she said to cover herself, and gave a half-hearted grin.
God, if only she'd realized. He's meant it; he'd wanted to her to have come as his date. Hell, at the wedding she'd even caught the bouquet, and he'd caught the garter; if that hadn't been a sign. . . Ron had been pretty embarrassed when he realized what he had to do since it was a mixed wedding with other rituals besides Jewish ones, although she'd suspected that other people in attendance had thought they'd made a cute couple. This was confirmed when all the single guys besides Ron had given a knowing glance amongst themselves and taken a stride back when the bride had thrown it.
"Come on Ron," she'd teased when he hesitated, and with a devilish look, "Just pretend I'm Shego."
That had brought a smile to his face as he theatrically slid the garter up her leg with a mock naughty smirk; she'd felt a tingle when he'd done so.
She laid back on the couch, her emotions overwhelming her. Finally she could let them out, could allow them to sweep over her. Soft footsteps went unnoticed as she sobbed against the cushions of the sofa.
"Kim?" his voice spoke, though it wasn't really him. She sniffled and wiped her face.
"Yeah?"
"Are you OK?"
"I'm Kim Possible," she said in a mock serious tone, "I can do anything."
"Kim. . ." Ron said, sitting next to her and putting a hand on her shaking shoulder.
"I'm fine," she said. "You should be in bed with. . . with. . . with your fiance."
He gave a short laugh, then realized she'd put more spite in her words than she'd meant to. "Sorry," he said, with an apologetic tone. He rubbed her shoulder meaningfully, full of pity at what she'd gone through. She turned to him; it was Ron's face, Ron's body, it was Ron, and she leaned in to kiss him, so wanting it to be him she felt his lips touch hers for an instant, stiffen, and then pull back.
"I'm sorry," he said standing. "I didn't mean it like that." She'd confused him; not like that was hard to do, but she hadn't meant to.
"I shouldn't have done that, shouldn't be here," she said, but then with a pained and questioning expression she looked at Ron, her Ron, and continued, "but where do I belong?"
Having no answers for her, Ron shrugged and shook his head as he slowly rose from her side.
"He's in sector 7-G! All units converge!"
His last moments of consciousness ended as he called out, the guard slumped to the floor from the lightening kick he'd received from the lanky but broad-shouldered blond man who hurried on down the hallway. He dashed around the corner, right into a pair of scientists who'd been rushing to safety at the sounding of the alarms. Knocking carried files and glasses and the two of them out of his way, he moved on, slamming against the wall at the next corner.
No one holds the master of Tai Shin Peqwar captive, he thought as he sidled along the wall towards what appeared to a be an exterior door. He gingerly tried the lock and let a small smile escape as the bolt slowly ratcheted open and a sliver of warm, natural light shown through the doorway.
Shego snored. Loud. Far too loud for a one Drew Lipsky to have a decent night's sleep in her bed. He shuffled sleepily down the hall, trailing a bed sheet to cover himself. How had it come to this, he wondered. The days and weeks since the attempt were a blur. Capture, escape, flight, and finding themselves stuck in a miserable little hovel in a rainy, well, rainier, part of Washington state. The week of eating tinned meat until Shego had gotten fed up and gone fishing.
He'd stared at the fish fillet, a little nervous about the green fire Shego had enveloped and flash cooked it in; he'd never been quite sure what to make of her powers. Sure, the rational scientist in him knew it wasn't dangerous (as long as he stayed on her good side), and she didn't walk around setting off Geiger counters, but still. . . And then she pick up her piece and treated it in the same way. With a quick blow across it to cool it down, she smiled predatorily and wolfed it down. He'd watched her a little disturbed. Shego had usually ate somewhere else, and seeing that she ate food like that- that blasted buffoon sidekick of. . . HER. . . put him off a little bit. She noticed him staring.
"Whhrt?" she'd said with her mouth full, and he'd smiled. For a moment she'd looked like a girl he'd known a long time ago in a different life.
"You got a little something right. . . here," he'd said, and reaching over, dabbed at her cheek. They were both tired, hungry, wet, and irritable, none of which was conductive of Shego taking any joking. His hand touching her face was a good couple of strides beyond anything she'd ever considered appropriate or not Drakken-goes-ouch worthy. Maybe it was the tiredness or the good food, but she hadn't move to take his arm off at the shoulder.
She had slapped him, but it wasn't as hard as he'd thought it would be, or the reaction she'd thought she'd have. She'd returned her attention to her food, keeping one eye on him the whole time.
Later that night, he'd sat by the round stove staring at it for a long time. Finally, he took off his trademark blue lab coat, and tossed it in the fire. "Shego," he'd said turning around to face her side of the cabin, "don't call me Dr. Drakken anymore."
"Whatever," she'd pretend mumbled. She'd been half asleep, but when he threw his jacket into the stove she'd come fully awake, and not just because of the noisy crackling of the cheap coat as it burned.
As he turned in, he'd thought he heard her whisper, "Goodnight Drew."