Disclaimer: Kim Possible and all associated characters portrayed and/or implied inside this fanfict belong solely unto Walt Disney Productions.
Endless Search
The Possibles and Stoppables weren't alone.
Shego had her own worries. Of course, she didn't care about Ron. It'd been over 2-weeks. She hadn't seen or heard anything from Princess, despite the breadcrumbs she'd left for Princess' Brain Boy-Geek. No one showed up to thwart their latest schemes.
She'd often dreamt about ending Princess. Shego never realized how boring her life would become without the prissy cheerleader. Listening to Drakken drawl on about his latest scheme and staying locked inside her lair bedroom became the highlights of her days.
She couldn't complain too much, though. She antagonized but never expected Princess would wail on her so savagely. Ever bone still ached and muscle burned with exertion. No doubt, Prince Charming did something stupid, as men so often do. Tweaked, Princess took out her aggravation against her rival, the comet-powered lady who could take a beating.
Another week passes. Princess still hadn't showed up. Drakken stayed locked inside his lab. Doing what? Shego didn't know or care, too worried about her Princess. Kim Possible wasn't a friend. Miss Go was a debacle. That person was dead, buried, and forgotten. Her concern was purely professionals, at least that's what she told herself. A thief must know her rival's location at all times.
Shego quickly showers, grabs a holo-emitter, and heads out. She searches the redhead's usual haunts, even peeks inside Wade and G.J.'s personal files. 3-days wasted. She came up empty-handed. Tired, she swallows her pride placing a HenchCo ad, before returning unto the lab for some sleep. She'd barely slept 8-hours. Z.Z. Top wakes her up singing, 'Bad To The Bone'.
She snatches up her cell phone, "This had best be life or death, yours".
"Is this Curious-But-Crazy-Bitch342?" A mystery voice reaches into her mind's deepest recesses.
Shego snaps her head up, awake in 2-seconds flat. "Speaking," she drops the attitude.
"Are you still seeking Kim Possible's location?"
"I am. A thief must always know her enemies' whereabouts at all times," she regrets that last part.
"Is the $35,000 reward still available?" The caller ignores the last part.
"If your information's accurate, Mr..." Shego stipulates her conditions.
"Curious George-7936," the caller identifies himself.
Shego accesses his HenchCo profile. Usefulness, 75%. Accuracy, 95%. Reliability, 50%. That last part gives her ample reason to doubt his credibility. He flaked half the time, if paid before the info was proven accurate. "Here's the deal. I'll transfer the agreed amount into a time-locked account..."
"Time-locked?"
"It's a special HenchCo account. Your account will post a pending transaction. They money, though, stays in this special account for 24-hours. That gives me time to verify your information. If it checks out, the money will auto-post into your account by this time tomorrow. Do you agree?"
His rating wasn't the best. And he needed money fast. "Fine," he agrees. "The redhead's hospitalized at the U.S. Army Medical Research Institute of Infectious Diseases".
"Infectious diseases? Why's she there?"
"Don't know. Don't care. Where's my money?"
She hesitates paying him over his blasé attitude. A deal was a deal, she resolves. She did offer him, or anyone else, $35,000 to learn Kimmie's whereabouts. She opens her laptop, accesses an overseas account, and then transfers the funds into her special holding account.
"The pending transactions should post..."
A computer beeps on the other end. "Ah, yes, I see what you mean. 24-hours and the money will be mine. Thank you, Curious-But-Crazy-Bitch342. I hope we can do business again sometime in the near future," the caller preens, before hanging up.
Fiery Brunette
Shego leans back propped upon her pillows. She knew Princess' location, but not how she wound up inside an infectious diseases center. Her nemesis incapacitated, possibly dying. No one could stop her crime sprees now. She should be invigorated and planning her next heist. And yet, why did her victory feel so hollow? All she could think, she and Dr. D weren't infected. That left one possibility.
Shego storms downstairs. A viral rage invigorated each step. "Drakken!" She yells across the main area. Henches scatter in every direction.
Drakken didn't know what he'd done, only whatever he'd done, he was on his own. "Oh, snap," he glares around his lab. There was one way in and one out. He was trapped.
Shego storms inside. Palms aflame, matching the inferno in her retinas. "What'd you hit Princess with inside that lab?"
"A vial," he draws back.
"I know that," she snaps curtly. "What was inside that vial?"
He didn't respond fast enough.
She punches his lab desk. Her fist leaves a sizeable dent in solid steel. She reiterates her last question, "What was inside that vial, Doc?"
Drakken falls back on his mystery partner's prescribed story He plays stupid, "I don't know".
"What do you mean you don't know?" She yells, flaring her plasma.
"I panicked, okay?" He throws his hands up in exasperation. Hoping she didn't kill or injure him too badly. He'd pray, if he was a praying man. "She beat you..."
"Beat me! Quit being so damn asinine," she backhands him across the lab. She picks up and bends the solid steel desk with her bare, plasma-infused hands. "We discussed my plan in great detail. I'd allow Princess to work me over. You hit her with the knockout gas. We escape; the cops discover her and the buffoon and later link my dummy accounts with Team Possible. Authorities would them for our crimes, like we'd pay them as our lookouts. My plan was flawless. How could you screw up so royally?"
He'd taken her abuse for years. It gets more potent when she loses. He couldn't take it anymore, "What are you so upset about? Do you care about Kim Possible? Is that why we've lost so many times in the past?"
"I care nothing about her, You Idiot," Shego screams in pure ire, ignites her fist, and demolishes a lab table between them. She grabs his lapel, drags him through its debris, and pins him against the lab's far back wall, "You really don't know me, do you? Let's get one thing straight, Doc. I only care about two things, two: (1) my life and (2) my reputation.
I jeopardized my reputation by permitting Princess to work me over. I took one for the team. Did you do your part? No! You threw those vials of only God knows what. That asinine act endangered our lives. We'd both be dead or, at the very least, infected and locked inside some lab, if Princess didn't act so fast and erect that quarantine bubble.
Adding insult to injury, her buffoon told everyone how Princess 'beat me'. My HenchCo ratings have dropped 10-points already, not counting my losing several endorsements within the villain community. Contacts, that took years to develop, all because you couldn't do your part!"
"I didn't know..."
"Of course, you didn't," she cuts him off. "You rarely, if ever, think through your actions. Trust me, Your Idiosyncrasies, are why we've lost time and time again. But, by all means, go ahead and imagine some sordid love affair between Princess and me, if it makes you feel more like a man. I don't' care. Know this, Doc, you ever put my name, reputation or life in jeopardy again. Our partnership is over, no exceptions, contract or not!"
Watchful Eye
"I understand," he cedes her point.
"I hope you do".
He discerns something else bothering his henchwoman. Bottling up emotions are never healthy, and especially so, when your partner's irascible and wields plasma. "What else is bothering you, Shego?"
"Well, you're smarter than you appear," she castigates his intelligence.
"What's that supposed to mean, Shego?" He complains behind gritted teeth.
"Your incompetence didn't just damage my HenchCo reputation, but exposed us globally in the worst possible way, ever!"
"So," he shrugs it off, "what are you so worried about. We can..."
"No," she castigates him sharply, "there's no we, Dr. D. You pay me to protect you. I'll certainly do my best, but can't possibly fight every law enforcement agency in America, in addition to Interpol and Global Justice".
"I don't see this issue, Shego. I trust you".
"Doc, field agents have orders, 'apprehend with extreme prejudice'. Code, shoot to kill, if they show any sign of resistance".
"Why?" He pales over the possibility.
"Princess' buffoon told DOD about us stealing those chemicals. They inventoried the shattered beakers ascertaining we stole Emmio-7 mutagen. Their 'brain child' painted another Lil' Diablo disaster. Preside Valentino convened the NSC upgrading our threat status".
"We should contact Hench..."
"Wise up, Dr. D," Shego contemns his daftness sometimes. "You can bet, DOD's already pressuring Hench, even as we speak. He won't hesitate to give us up. Those agents simply haven't found the proper incentive yet. And what about our enemies, like Dementor?"
"Isn't he dead?"
Shego cuts her eyes.
"He doesn't..."
"...know our current lair? Wise up," she slaps him upside the head. "We're squatting in one of his old lairs now. Don't you have any brains? Ghee Whiz!" She shakes her head cursing under her breath.
"Get ready to move within the hour," he directs his henchwoman.
"Gladly," she storms outside his lab rallying the henches. Not one dared argue given her sour mood and volatile temperament.
Chance Meeting
3-months pass. Kim was still under 24/7 observation.
He'd been discharged over 3-months ago. Ron barely left his room, except to bathe, take restroom breaks, go to work then straight home, and occasionally snacking. He'd lost so much weight. His parents started to really worried about his mental and physical health.
Dean and Pearl realized, he wasn't coping with Kim's condition very well. Pearl didn't bother knocking anymore. Her son seldom answered the door anymore. That giant 'Do Not Disturb' sign grew more intimidating with each passing day. She understood a man needed his space, but simply couldn't stand by and watch him waste away any longer.
She heads straight downstairs, eases into the living room, and sits on the sofa beside her husband. "Dean," she leans into his chest, "we have to do something. He's still locked inside his bedroom, like an inconsolable hermit".
"Hermit? Pearl, really," Dean chuckles dismissively. "He's only worried about Kim".
"I worry about her, too. He needs help. Inconsolable grief has crippled his social life".
"What social life?" Dean shrugs. "Even before the accident, our boy usually spent every waking moment with Kim, on missions, going to college, or grabbing a naco at Bueno Nacho, except when he went over Felix's house and played video games".
"Speaking about nacos," she regretted her son's inability to make friends, "did you know he hasn't ate one since being discharged".
"No, I didn't," he admits his own ignorance. "I can't say it really surprises me, though".
"Oh, and why's that, Dear?" She senses something weighing heavily on her boy's heart.
"He'd planned on taking Kim there and proposing..."
"What?" She sits up straight eyeing him and glaring back upstairs, "He never said anything to me".
"Well, he asked my advice nearly 6-months back," his father boasts, putting an arm around his wife's right shoulder.
"What's he been doing these past 6-months?"
"Working, where else?" Dean thought that much should be obvious.
"All those broken dates, missing their special Fridays, his nervousness around her lately, avoiding her calls, being blunter and acting strange..."
Dean cuts his eyes trying to keep a straight face.
"...well, okay, stranger than usual," she chortles momentarily, but gets serious again. "I can't speak for Kim, but, as a woman, his actions would tell me, 'I'm bore with this relationship. I think we need a change and need to see other people'".
"I agree, Pearly, he didn't handle this proposal like we think he should have," Dean understand her misconception. "You'd love his chosen engagement ring: a three-prong rose gold ring, adorned with 1-karat center diamond stone, accented by a custom teardrop shaped 1/3-karat diamond border with matching 1/3-karat diamonds along all the three prongs around the band".
"How much did it cost?"
"$2,200".
"He was serious," she imagines Kim elation over receiving such a precious gift.
"He was".
"Kim isn't here to accept or reject his proposal. He can't stay locked inside his bedroom indefinitely. Whether she lives or dies, he must learn to embrace life again, Dean".
"I'll speak with him, Dear".
"Thank you," she pats his left knee heading into the kitchen".
Father's Knows Best
Dean couldn't deny. He, too, worried about his son's recent reclusiveness. He opted to give him some space, not anymore. He eases upstairs, approaches his room, and knocks lightly.
Ron grunts loudly. A sure sign, he didn't wish to be disturbed.
His house, his rules, Dean barges inside anyway but stops cold gasping in shock. His son's room was spotless. A prayer shrine set up in he far right corner. His and Kim's pictures centered the table. A wall-mount birdcage jewelry organizer displayed Kim's ring and matching necklace. Prayer candles flicker roundabout their portraits erecting a prayer circle. Ron wore a traditional Jewish prayer shawl reading healing prayer scriptures over their pictures.
Ron discerns his door open. His father's knock was distinctive, and gait even more so. "What do you want, Dad?" He asks without turning around.
"Ron, you've sulked long enough. Your mother..."
"...should mind her own business," Ron pounds his pillow.
"Listen here, Ronald…!"
"No, Dad, for once, you'll listen," Ron stands his ground. "These walls are pretty thin, Dad. I heard you and mom talking downstairs. I'm not sulking or being a recluse. I'm praying, Dad; living my faith".
"For what, Son? Praying God's will, or forcing yours?"
"I can't say, Dad," the blonde boy admits with tear-stained eyes. "I only know, Kim was dying. She wasn't responding to any treatment. I start to pray. Her immunity kicks into overdrive baffling every army specialist there. Half accredit their medicinal cocktails; the rest refuse to comment one way or another. Either way, she still has months of recovery ahead, and rehab after that. I believe, prayer moved God's hands giving her a fighting chance. That isn't forcing God's will".
"You're learning, Son," Dean grips his shoulder. "But, you've forgotten a few things".
"I have? Like what, Dad?" He listens with full attention.
"I proud, Son, you haven't forgotten your Jewish roots. However, you must remember. We're Messianic Jews. We believe in the Torah and New Testament. James 5:15 states, 'And the prayer of faith shall save the sick, and the Lord shall raise him up".
"I know, Dad," Ron explains his pray approach. "Likewise, Romans 12:12 builds upon this concept teaching believers. We should rejoice in hope, and be patient and long suffering in times of tribulation, and constant in prayer. And that's what I'm doing".
"Son, constant there doesn't mean praying 24/7 without ever sleeping or spending time with your family and friends. Remember Paul's example. 1 Thes. 5:17 states, he prayed without ceasing, but still found time to write epistles, witness to others, even at times worked a regular job and slept, Son".
Ron considers his dad's advice. He didn't call him a liar. His dad understood the bible in a way few ministers did. "How does that relate unto my situation, Dad?"
"Constant here denotes praying with diligence, Son," Dean explains without getting too theological. "We should preserve in prayer. Matthew 21:21-22 defines preserving as praying without doubt. You ask God's will, and then leave the decision in His hands, and continue to believe despite what transpires in the natural. Knowing, that's God Almighty's answer".
"What your point, Dad?"
"Simply this, Son. There's nothing wrong with prayer. Even Jesus, though, socialized".
"I see your point, Dad," Ron leans over blowing out his prayer candles. "My actions discredit my faith. Mom's right, too. Kim would scold me over becoming a hermit". He laughs lightly caressing her photo, sitting on the table. "I'm gonna head to Bueno Nacho and grab a grande size naco meal, Dad".
"Do you need any money, Son?"
"Nah, I have my own, Dad, but thanks for offering," Ron grabs his jacket and heads out.
His father follows him downstairs.
His wife waits until the front door closes. "Well?"
"He was holding a 24/7 vigil for her recovery, Pearl, like I suspected all along".
"Is he going to start socializing again?"
"For now," her husband replies with considerable doubt. His son agreed to easily. "Only time will truly tell, Pearl". He wraps her lovingly within his arms again. Hanna stays in the background watching but saying nothing.
Making Introductions
Prying eyes observe the blonde leave. She reaches for the nearest phone dialing her new partner.
Drakken recognizes her Caller-ID boding, "You have good news, Missy?"
"The blonde just left his house".
"It's about time," Drakken huffs. "I thought that kid would mope forever".
Drakken had changed a good bit since they'd met. He'd grown a backbone and insisted she follow his instructions to the letter. Bassett-Hound-666 humors him to achieve her objective, assigned by her real boss, Arlin Helion, head of Necros. "What do we do?" She gives him enough room to grow.
"We arrange a chance meeting between the buffoon and your girl. She's conditioned for him. Is she aware of her obligation during this assignment?"
"Indigo knows nothing about our arrangement," she assures the blue idiot. "That way, fickle teenage sentimentality can't possibly undermine our mission. She'd do as told, Doctor".
"Get started, but know this. Let my henchwoman learn about this. You both become expendable. Get my point, Gama Rose?"
"Crystal," she grits her teeth fuming mad. She'd surely kill him, if not for her mission.
"Ned, my Main Man," Ron greets the Bueno Nacho manager.
Ned heard the rumors. Many claim Ron and Kim perished during their last mission. Global Justice and their families kept it quiet not to endanger an on-going operation. "Ron, you're alive," he hides his own concern behind a joke, high-fiving his best customer.
"Yea," Ron grins lopsidedly, "Alive and kicking".
"Haven't seen you inside here in quite some time, Man," he lets his concerns slip. "Where have you been hiding that mug for the past 3-months?"
Ron shrugs, not really giving an excuse, "Working through some private issues, Man".
He didn't need to say anymore. Ned heard about Kim's accident. Word was, doctors didn't think she'd make it long. He drops the issue sensing the blonde's discomfort, "What do you want today? Anything for my most loyal customer".
"A naco grande special, for here," Ron rubs his palms together.
"Coming right up," Neds rings up his order. The naco meal gets displayed on the order screen back in the kitchen.
Ron waits patiently.
Ned returns his meal a few minutes later joking, "Fate smiles upon you this day. Here's your meal. And your usual booth just became available, too".
"I'll enjoy one for Kim," he grabs his tray, heads towards their table, and sits down. He barely takes two bites.
Monique walks inside the restaurant approaching his table. "So," she teases the blonde, "you finally leave your Kimmie-shrine".
"Yea," he rubs his nape nervously, not over her needling him, as much as her redhead shadow's striking resemblance to Kim, only shapelier. "I decided, Kim wouldn't approve my becoming a monk, I mean, hermit". He quickly corrects himself recovering his composure.
The redhead girl covers her mouth chortling. Positive, she had his attention.
First Impressions
"You can say that again, Blondie," Monique glares between the two. "Oh, by the way, she's the NGIT".
"NGIT?" Ron shrugs.
"I think she means, 'new girl in town'. My name's Jame Indigo Ferrara. My mom and friends call me, Indigo, though".
"Where ya from, Indigo?" Ron initiates a conversation losing his shyness.
"I'm originally from Aurora, Illinois; a suburb in the Great Chicago area, near Kane County. My dad, Nicholas Ferrara, was a cop there. He was killed in the line of duty. We moved here to make a fresh start. It's what he'd wanted".
Ron didn't usually notice such things, but caught Monique eyeing them suspiciously. He didn't care what she may be thinking. He felt a kindred connection with this grieving young woman. He hadn't lost his love yet, but knew, it could happen any time. He held hope he'd hold her again in his arms. The only difference, she can never hug her father again.
Monique clears her throat sharply breaking up their 'puppy-dog' eyes make out session asking, "Any plans this weekend, Ron?"
"What about a movie? The theater's playing a rerun of Watchmen, an action-packed flick about a small band of superheroes battling a super villain, determined to throw the world into nuclear war to save the planet and people. Go figure".
"Why not!" Monique snorts, "We could do dinner and shopping afterwards".
"I can't," Indigo opts out. "My mother draws survivorship benefits. Our money..."
"Relax, Indigo. I think that was her point".
"Huh? I don't understand," Indigo stares between the ebony girl and blonde boy.
Monique rolls her eyes regretting ever introducing these two. Now, new girl's making moves on her best friend's man. Ron was so daft. He didn't notice. She did, though.
"You've just sampled sarcastic Monique," Ron explains the ebony girl's eccentricities. "She's a very talented, outspoken fashion diva, but usually turns sarcastic when feeling like a 5-wheel".
"Quit lying to my girl here, Ron Stoppable. I know how she feels. I, too, was once the poorest girl in my neighborhood. All my friends went to the movies, out to eat, joy riding in their cars, etc. I couldn't, too busy worrying where my next meal would come from, how to keep a roof over my head, and where I could obtain my clothes the cheapest. I just didn't want to put her on the spot".
"Thank you, Monique," Indigo smiles, holding up her right fist.
"Don't mention it, Girl," Monique bumps fists.
Lasting Impressions
"Monique's right," Indigo retracts her hand. "I can't afford to do any of those things. Mom barely affords the rent and pay the monthly utilities. That's why I start my new job at Smarty Mart, early tomorrow morning, 7:00 a.m.".
"That's where I work," Ron livens up around the new girl. "What's your department?"
"Cashier," Indigo brushes strands of hair off her left ear. "I need extra money. They're the only place hiring around this area. Dad isn't here anymore. It's just us girls now. Mom needs my help keeping food on our table. I can't simply waste hard-earned money on such frivolous activities. I can, however, cook, cater/organize parties..."
"How good a cook?" That part piqued Ron's interests more.
"I'm earning my masters degree in Culinary Arts online from Milkens Institute School of Public Health".
"And you're working as a cashier?" Monique arches a brow, confused more than ever.
"Yea. Why?"
"Damn, Girl," Monique turns spy gleaning what she could, "why didn't you become a chef at one of the local restaurants. You'd earn more cooking that ringing cash registers all day at Smarty Mart".
"I did, believe me. Every manager turned me down over my inexperience. A few did offer to hire me as a waitress. Fact is, I can earn more cashiering than waitressing. And besides, I despised the thought of all those strange men pinching and touching me in all the wrong places. I dream about one day opening my own restaurant. A respectable man will honor a girl's dignity".
Ron started to like this girl, more and more.
Monique didn't miss his growing infatuation.
"Where do you live, Indigo?"
"Two houses down and one over from yours, Ron".
'So, it's Ron now. She just meets him, but already knows his first name and where he lives. This girl's laying it on thick,' Monique goes from mad to livid hearing...
"Would you like to share my naco?"
"Never had one," Indigo plays dainty.
"Nacho meets taco". Ron halves his naco, "Here's your half of the naco".
"Mmmm," she savors her first taste dabbing her lips. "That's delicious".
"And we have a winner," he throws up both hands.
Indigo double high-fives him laughing boisterously.
"Sorry to break this up. We really must get going," Monique needed to separate these two, quick. If she didn't, they'd probably end up making out right here.
"Ah, do we have to leave so soon, Monique," Indigo protest mildly.
"Do you want a ride home?"
The new girl nods, "Yea".
"I have 30-minutes. That leaves me just enough time to drop you back home and get to work on time," Monique gives a reasonable excuse.
"It's okay, Monique," Ron destroys the dark toned girl's ploy. "My scooter's right outside. I can give her a ride home. I'm headed her way".
"I'm impressed," Indigo jokes.
"Don't be," Monique prepare the brain dead girl for a shock. "You haven't rode his scooter before".
Indigo glares between the blonde and ebony girl.
Monique eyes this traitor with growing uncertainty. Positive, she wouldn't spend one more minute with Ron after riding his scooter from hell. She turns and leaves without another word.
Drakken mostly stayed inside his lab avoiding Shego. She read him too easily. It was scary. Would she support his latest operation? Or consider it a breach of trust? He could chance her quitting like she threatened last week.
His cell phone chimes with his operative's latest email. Drakken retrieves his phone smirking at the latest photo. The blonde dropped off the new girl at her house. He preens, his plan was progressing better than he could've ever imagined.
"Wait a week, and start the media campaign," he replies unto his operative in the field.
"That should really get the redhead's attention".
"Oh, that comes later. Just do as you're told, or else," Drakken texts a response laying aside his cell.
Gama Rose grits her fists so tight. She thirsted for that idiot's blood, but couldn't touch him. Her boss would surely kill her, if she did.