Boilerplate Disclaimer: The various characters from Kim Possible are all owned by Disney the great and powerful. Any and all registered trade names property of their respective owners. Cheap shots at celebrities constitute fair usage.

That Among These Are

Shego scanned the sidewalk as she sat at the small table waiting for her order, "Jump a continent and lose myself in a big city. Kim won't find me here – and Paris is beautiful in the spring."

She ignored the footsteps behind her, assuming the sound belonged to the waiter. She didn't even turn around as a croissant and caffè Americano were placed in front of her. Startled, she half turned as a second croissant and coffee were also placed on the table. Kim took off the white apron and sat on the chair opposite Shego outside the bistro.

"I slipped the waiter a couple Euros and he lent me the apron and let me bring out our breakfast," she explained.

"Our breakfast?"

"Well, it's hardly lunch at ten in the morning... You're paying for breakfast, right? I'm paying for dinner."

"Look, Possible, that's–"

"That's the other thing I want to talk with you about."

"The other thing?"

"Yes. But it can wait. The first thing is, do you know how to smoke?"

"What's the other thing?"

"I told you, it can wait. To me, you look like the kind of girl who smoked in the girl's room back in high school – maybe even middle school."

"I don't–"

"Oh, I'm sure you don't now," Kim said with a wave of her hand. "The question before you, is did you? Do you know how to smoke?"

"Yes!" Shego snapped, wondering what was going on.

"Well," Kim asked, placing a Gauloise pack on the table, "could you teach me how?"

Completely puzzled Shego glanced back and forth between Kim and the cigarettes.

"Oh, I'm not planning to take it up seriously," Kim assured her. "But there are all these books and movies where the characters in Paris sit at a sidewalk cafe and smoke a cigarette as they watch the world and think existential thoughts. So, here we are in Paris, here we are at a sidewalk cafe, and this is supposed to be the most famous brand in France."

"I've heard they're crap."

"You haven't tried one?"

"No."

"Good," Kim squealed, "we can have our first time together."

"Will you quiet down," Shego warned in a harsh whisper. "People are staring."

"Well, duh, we're two hot women sitting here, about to smoke... In the old movies it was like smoking made women look sexier or something. I don't think that's true anymore."

Shego sighed with relief, "Finally, something that made sense out of your mouth. It never made anyone look more sophisticated."

"But it's still Paris, we're still at a sidewalk cafe, and we still have a chance to sit here and think existential thoughts."

"If I give you a smoking lesson... You never smoked in high school?"

"Would I be asking for a lesson if I knew how?"

"Frankly, Possible, I have no idea what you'll say next. Fine. Smoking lesson. I hope you hate it. And I refuse to think existential thoughts."

"Oh, I plan to hate it," Kim assured her. "I'll cough and feel vaguely ill. But I'll have sat at a sidewalk cafe in Paris with a beautiful girl and we shared a cigarette."

"Huh? Beautiful girl?"

"You, obviously. You don't find it terribly romantic?"

"I find it a little creepy."

Kim shook her head sadly, "There's no romance left in your soul? Maybe we can talk about that as we share a cigarette and gaze into each other's eyes."

"Okay, I'm finding this a lot creepy, and we're not sharing a cigarette," muttered Shego. She opened the pack and shook out two cigarettes. "Unfiltered?"

"Did Humphrey Bogart smoke filtered?"

"He died of lung cancer."

"All the more reason not to get the habit. I just want us to be able to say, 'We'll always have Paris.'."

Shego decided to ignore anything Kim said. "If you're smoking cigars or pipes you need to draw to keep them lit," she explained as she handed one to Kim. "Cigarettes more or less keep themselves going once lit. Good ones anyway. I've got no idea about this crap. Don't take a deep puff, especially if you've never smoked." Her finger blazed. She lit her own coffin nail and then Kim took her hand and brought it to her own cigarette.

Kim's small attack of coughing was music to Shego's ears as Kim tried her first puff. "And people like this?" the redhead asked in disbelief.

"You get hooked," shrugged Shego. "Then it gets relaxing."

"You know how I know you like me?"

Shego ignored her good intentions and stared at Kim in disbelief. "Now what are you talking about?"

"You never burned me. I've seen you melt glass. You lit the cigarette just now with your finger. So many times you could have–" Kim took another puff and started to cough again.

"I've saved your life. I've never hit you with the heat I can generate. It doesn't mean I like you."

"Yes it does. And now we look terribly sophisticated, sitting at the sidewalk cafe sipping our caffè Americano and... Can you blow smoke rings?"

"No."

"You're right, the women never did that in the movies. After breakfast we shall stroll hand-in-hand along the Champs-Élysées. We'll find some little Halal place for lunch – doner kebab or merguez sandwiches. We'll share a cigarette after eating – passing it back and forth. It will touch my lips, and then yours, and then mine again... It will be almost like sharing a kiss, won't it? No wonder they did it in the old–"

"What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You're in the most romantic city in the world with a beautiful woman– You do think I'm beautiful, don't you?"

"What does that–"

"Am I beautiful?"

"Yes, but–"

"You could tell me more often. A girl likes to hear it, you know. Honestly, sometimes I think you take me for granted."

"I'll take you to the nut house," muttered Shego.

"Afternoon? Luxembourg Gardens? You've been here nine days, have you seen them yet?"

"No, I–"

"Good. They're gorgeous this time of year. I'm paying for dinner – to thank you for saving my life. You can pay next time. Want to ride in the taxi with me to the airport this evening?"

"The airport?" Shego asked, her voice dripping with suspicion.

"I have classes. I know you can't bear to see me leave but–"

Shego held up a hand to stop Kim from talking. "How are you feeling? Smoking making you ill? Do I need to take you to your room and put a cool washcloth on your forehead?"

"Don't worry. I'm okay – and I brought aspirin just in case. We'll finish our cigarettes and head to the Champs-Élysées."

"Has it occurred to you I'm trying to keep a low profile? I'm keeping my nose clean and trying to not attract the attention of any undesirables. Here in France they're called gendarmes."

"Oh, I figured that out, and am trusting you realize that the easiest way for you blow your cover is by starting a fight."

"You're threatening me?"

"I hardly call inviting you to walk hand-in-hand down a famous street a threat. Besides, as low a profile as you're keeping, they probably won't even remember you – if you don't steal anything. And they'd be looking for a woman by herself, if they were looking. Which they probably aren't. If we hold hands they'll assume we're lovers and leave us alone. The French love lovers."

"They also love snails and frog legs. The French are different from you and me. They're crazy. Well, they're different from me anyway."

"Sorry dear, no excuses will be accepted. We only have today to make a memory of Paris... If you go to the airport with me you can stare wistfully at my plane as it takes me back to the US."

Shego weighed her options. Clearly Kim was setting a trap of some sort, perhaps the Gendarmerie was on alert. But there was no good way to get away from the redhead immediately. She'd pretend to go along until a better moment to escape presented itself.

The green woman had to admit it felt good to be out of the poor part of Paris and able to gaze in shop windows. And Kim was correct. Then gendarmes didn't given them a glance as they strolled along holding hands. Shego refused to relax.

"Look!" Kim exclaimed and dropped Shego's hand to point up. "There are people on top of the Arc de Triomphe! How did they get... You're going to say if we get out there we'll find steps or an elevator or something."

"Pretty sure that's the case. Place a small bet?"

"I'm already paying for dinner, remember."

"We haven't had lunch, and I paid for breakfast."

They found the entrance for the elevator to the museum, from which stairs led to the deck on top.

As they took in the view of Paris Shego smirked, "So, you're paying for lunch."

"How do you figure?" demanded Kim. "I predicted you'd say we'll find a way to get up if we get out on this traffic island – or whatever the French call this. And we got out... I wonder when the French built those tunnels?"

"Doesn't matter. We got here and I was right."

"I was right. I predicted what you'd say."

"Wait, you're saying we both win?"

"Sure, I think we're both winners." Kim held up a fist, inviting Shego to give her a fist bump.

Shego shrugged and bumped fists with Kim. "Not where I want to hit you," muttered the green woman.

Kim attempted a saucy wink, "Where and when?"

Shego blushed slightly, "Stop that," she ordered. "And who pays for lunch?"

"Got some change in my pocket. Flip a coin?"

Kim lost the toss. "No fair," she grumbled, "I'm paying for dinner too." She brightened slightly. "But you remember you said you'd pay for dinner next time?"

"I never–"

"In Mexico, when I brought your stuff to you."

"That wasn't–"

Kim took the older woman's arm and snuggled against her. "It doesn't have to be expensive. Just a nice romantic dinner – candle-light, of course. We could–"

"We could find your kebab place for lunch," sighed Shego.

Kebab places are, virtually by definition, not to be found along the streets in the higher rent areas. Still, it requires little time to find a dingy spot on a back street. A swarthy man sat smoking at one of the two small tables on the sidewalk outside. He moved inside to take their order and prepare their meals.

"And some garden after this will appease your need to torment me?" asked Shego. "No Eiffel Tower?"

"We were on the Tower, I'm trying to put that memory out of my head."

Shego reflected a moment, "Okay, Possible, that makes sense."

"There it is again."

"There what is again?"

"The other thing I want to talk with you about."

"What is it?"

"We will discuss that at dinner."

"You're doing this just to keep me curious enough not to hit you over the head and dump you in the Seine, aren't you?"

Kim shrugged, "Hey, if it works. Oh, and since I paid for lunch you'll pay for something sweet and an espresso for dessert this afternoon if we find a pâtisserie."

"Which are as common in Paris as politicians in Washington."

"Can't throw a rock without hitting one," giggled Kim.

"And they probably deserve it – the politicians, not the pastry shops."

"But first," Kim said firmly, and pulled the Gauloise pack from her bag, "we share a cigarette."

"No."

"Yes," insisted Kim pulling out one cigarette. "Just like the movies."

"You're pushing me, Possible," Shego growled in a threatening tone.

Kim smiled brightly, "I love pushing you," she purred.

"Careful, that sounds..." began Shego. She shut up. Kim knew exactly how it sounded, it sounded like an invitation.

Despite his own smoking the manager, or owner, or cook, or all of the above gave the pair a dirty look as they shared a cigarette. Shego wondered if the glare made her uncomfortable, or simply spending time with Kim. Kim ignored the stare.

As expected they found a pâtisserie within a stone's throw of the kebab shop. Shego didn't mind taking the taste of the cigarette out of her mouth. Now convinced that Kim planned the ambush at the Luxembourg Gardens after lulling her into a sense of security the green woman suggested a change of plans. "Not sure I want those gardens you mentioned."

"Why not? Statues of famous women there."

Shego was now certain Kim planned an ambush for her at the Luxembourg Gardens. "How about someplace else?"

"We're closer to the Tuileries... Or we could just walk hand-in-hand along the Seine."

Perhaps Kim carried a GPS device and the Gendarmerie would be ready wherever they went. "Maybe someplace a little less public?"

Kim giggled, "Now you're thinking. But not your hotel, this is far too early in our relationship for–"

"That isn't what I meant!" Shego insisted in a panicked tone.

"You're cute when you blush. It should have been what you meant. I gave you too much credit."

"I'm just trying to remind you I'm a wanted woman."

Kim winked, "You certainly are. How about a cemetery? There's one I've wanted to see, but something always comes up. The Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Some famous people buried there. if you want to give me a little kiss in front of the tomb of Oscar Wilde I think he would approve. He had a thing for guys, you know."

"I'm not a guy."

"Oddly enough, neither am I. And that's why I'm sure ol' Oscar would approve."

"I... I..."

"If you haven't come up with a snappy answer by the time we're there you owe me a kiss."

Shego's brow furrowed, "Is that the one where Jim Morrison is buried?"

"Could be. I can't remember all the famous people buried there. I hear it's a great cemetery – they say people are dying to get in."

The green woman sighed, "Are you sure you're in college? That's sixth grade humor."

"Sorry. Let's find the nearest underground stop and get going."

The cemetery was huge. Shego began to nurture a hope they would not find the tomb of Oscar Wilde. They stopped in front of a large monument and Kim suddenly took her in her arms. "Wha?"

"Oscar Wilde. Have a snappy comeback, or will you give me a kiss?"

"And if I–"

Kim assumed Shego would refuse. Kim didn't give her the chance. Kim's arms held Shego tightly, and the surprised older woman didn't resist as hard, or as quickly, as Kim expected. The redhead took it as a good sign.

Shego pushed Kim away. "You kissed me!"

"I know. I was there. And you're not bad... I mean, you are bad, but you kiss–"

"Damn it, Possible! Why did you kiss me?"

"Because we're standing in front of Oscar Wilde's tomb and it looked like you weren't going to kiss me. Oh, and that was the other thing again."

"What other thing?"

"The thing we'll talk about at dinner tonight."

"You're just saying that to keep me from killing you, aren't you?"

"No, serious topic. But later." Kim grabbed Shego's hand, "C'mon, let's see how many names we recognize before we leave. Oh, can't stay late – I've got that plane to catch at nine."

Kim announced she was a point ahead when Shego failed to recognize the name Peter Abelard. (Kim remembered the name from Western Civ. I.) Once it became competition Shego became interested and pulled into the lead from a course in music by recalling Georges Bizet and Edith Piaf.

Kim thought she'd pull back to a tie when she pointed at the grave of Marcel Mouloudji and asked, "Do you know who that is?" Shego shook her head no and Kim answered with a smirk, "Famous mime. Point for me."

"Famous mime? Sure you aren't thinking of Marcel Marceau?"

Kim grimaced, "Okay. I... Is Marcel Marceau still alive?"

"How would I know? But I win by default."

"What? I made a mistake! I don't get a point, but I–"

"You tried to cheat. I happen to be an expert on cheating and I know it when I see it."

"I wasn't cheating! I just made a mistake. And how do you know this Marcel Mouloudji guy wasn't a mime too? Maybe all mimes are named Marcel."

"Lame, Possible. Really lame."

With time constraints looming Kim wasn't able to find a romantic spot for dinner. Wang Fu (Best Chinese food in Paris – the sign read, in English) was obviously new, plastic, and catered to the tourist crowd.

"Polish," Kim whispered after their blond server gave them menus.

Shego responded, "I'm guessing German."

When she returned with their water she responded, "I'm a Polish citizen, but my mother was German," when quizzed.

They ordered. "Did you have as much fun today as I did?" Kim asked cheerfully as they waited. "Oh, I apologize. I wanted to take you someplace better. But you still need to find a place with candlelight for when you take me out to dinner."

"How would I know how much fun you had today," retorted Shego.

"I'm glad you asked," Kim replied and put her hand down on top of Shego's and gave the older woman's hand a gentle squeeze. "I had a wonderful time with you today. We really need to do this more often."

As Shego sought words to convey how much she disagreed with the opinion their appetizer arrived.

"The potstickers are okay," Kim said.

"Hard to screw 'em up. They probably buy them frozen by the ton and just steam them here. And now, Possible, you're going to tell me what this other thing you wanted to talk about is. You've been threatening me with it all day. What the hell are you talking about?"

"Wait for the entrees."

There was a slight delay as they shared orders of General Tso's chicken and Szechuan pork. "This stuff is junk," was Shego's opinion. "They call this the best Chinese food in Paris?"

"Eeew, scary thought," Kim pointed out. "Maybe this is the best Chinese food in Paris. I mean, who says, 'Let's go to Paris for Chinese take-out!'?"

"Then we are damn fortunate not to go to the place with the worst Chinese food in Paris. And give me your problem. I want something to distract me while I eat this."

"Okay, but this is really two parts. First is you are usually calling me Possible, or sometimes Kim."

Shego looked puzzled. "To the best of my knowledge Kim Possible is your name. Did you change the pronunciation to Throatwobbler Mangrove when I wasn't looking?"

"But you never used to call me by name. I was usually Princess, or Pumpkin, or sometimes Cupcake. I like those little signs of affection, and now that–"

"Those weren't signs of affection!"

"Of course they were. It was obvious to everyone you had a deep crush on me. Now, of course you had to be careful – I was a minor – but now that–"

"Dammit! I wasn't–"

"In denial? It's okay, you can admit your true feelings now. I'm twenty-one. Twenty-two in... Would you like some hints on what you can get me for my birthday?"

"I'm trying to tell you, Possible, that–"

"No, no. Princess. Or do you prefer Cupcake?"

"Look, Pumpkin–"

"Is that your favorite? I guess I can live with... Is there supposed to be a veiled sexual reference in–"

"Princess! Fine! Princess. There was no flirtation there I was trying to distract you!"

"With terms of endearment? You really need to drop the denial now that you've kissed me."

"You kissed me!"

"Let's call it mutual. But I fear I've been remiss."

"Remiss? How? Or when you say remiss do you mean you've lost your mind?"

"No, just your garden variety of... Can I have a little more of the chicken? I don't think it's as bad as the pork." Shego shoved the plate towards Kim, who helped herself. Kim resumed, "Remiss in not giving you a pet name. Do you have one you like? I'm thinking maybe Cherry, 'cause we'll know it's from mon chéri, and think of Paris every time I use it. Or Hotlips? What about Hotlips? I mean, your lips weren't physically hot when we kissed – they were nice, very nice! But could you make them hot? That would–"

"Can you be quiet for a minute, please? I feel like the cat in a Pepé Le Pew cartoon."

"What language are you talking?"

"Pepé Le Pew? You've never heard of Pepé Le Pew? Classic cartoon."

"Sorry. No idea what you're talking about. Pepé Le Pew was a cartoon cat?"

"He was a skunk. Pepé is one of the classic Warner Brothers stable of characters. But there was always a cat in the cartoon too."

"Warner Brothers? Ah, we were a Disney family."

"That explains a lot. Disney, saccharinely sweet. Warner cartoons were much better – sarcasm and cynicism."

"And perhaps that explains a lot," Kim giggled. "So, tell me more about this Pepé Le Pew."

"Some black cat would get a white stripe some way, and then everyone would run from her, thinking she was a skunk. But Pepé Le Pew, he was a skunk–"

"You had mentioned that."

"Anyway, he'd get a crush on her and she'd run away, and he'd chase her, and chase her. Every time she felt safe she'd turn around there'd be Pepé."

"Did he ever catch her?"

"Huh?"

"You said it was a chase cartoon. Some chase cartoons the chaser never catches the chasee. Did he ever catch her?"

"They, uh, had several different endings he–"

"Did they end up together in some of them."

"Ah, yeah. Uh, usually."

Kim smiled, "Good. I love a happy ending don't you?"

"Look, Possible–"

"Princess, remember?"

"Fine, Princess, you–"

"Really need to get to the airport. Much as I'd love to stay here with you, I need to get back. Coming to the airport with me to see me off?"

Kim picked up a boarding pass at check-in, but that wasn't good enough for Shego, who needed proof the redhead was leaving. In France, as the US, access to the gate area is restricted. But, as Kim said, the French love lovers and Shego was allowed to see her 'girlfriend' off on her return to the States. Kim went down the jetway and did not sneak back into the terminal. The plane left. Shego breathed a sigh of relief.

Back in her hotel room the thief finished packing. "Drop this off at the PO before I leave," she thought, looking at the little parcel on the desk. She'd discovered the GPS in her duffle soon after reaching France. She hadn't destroyed it, even knowing Kim would probably trace her using it. The parcel was addressed to Zimbabwe. Shego was not going to Zimbabwe. "Happy Harare, Princess." The green woman almost felt a tinge of regret. Today had been fun. Weird, but fun. After leaving France she'd try and figure out whether it was more weird, or more fun.