STANDARD DISCLAIMER:The characters of Kim Possible, Dr. James Timothy Possible, Dr. Anne Possible, Jim and Tim Possible, Ron Stoppable, Wade Load, Steve Barkin, Bonnie Rockwaller, Monique, Tara, Felix Renton, Rufus the Naked Mole Rat, Drew "Dr. Drakken" Lipsky, Shego, Dr. Dementor, Lord Montgomery "Monkey Fist" Fiske, Señor Senior Senior, Señor Senior Junior, Dr. Betty Director, Special Agent Will Du, Global Justice and any and all other minor characters/locations from the television seriesKim Possibleare the sole property of the Walt Disney Corporation, and are used herein without permission or contest to their ownership for the sole purpose of personal, non-profit entertainment. Any and all minor characters that have not appeared in the television series, and this storyline, are the sole creation and property of the author and may not be reproduced without prior consent (if you want to post it, just ask).

A/N: Yeah, it's been awhile coming, but finally—just when I'm sure some were about ready to give up on me ever updating—here's Chapter Three for your reading and reviewing pleasure. Thanks to Sentinel103, Lefty11, Yamal, Katsumara, XanQenadius, CajunBear73, Reader101w, jkrust78, Sk8ingLemur, slightlyobsessedHaylz, KP's Man and sistergrimm97 for reviewing last chapter; your continued encouragement and support are just the fuel my creative fire needs to keep stoked.

CHAPTER THREE

Two black Lincoln Town Cars weaved their way through the midday Albuquerque traffic, going largely unnoticed by the majority of the commuters on the city streets. While earth-shattering, headline-making news hardly ever happened in New Mexico's largest city, corporate VIP's were a regular feature; making a miniature convoy of luxury cars with black-tinted windows a common sight—especially when they were seen pulling into the underground parking of a corporate complex.

If the identity of one of the second car's passengers had been known, however, it could have been a different story.

"Welcome to your new headquarters, Savannah," the woman seated beside the newly-liberated Savannah Tucker—aka Peregrine—said as the two cars pulled to a stop inside the parking garage, "should you choose to join us, anyway."

"Considering the way you were talking when you first picked me up, I can't really see myself having much choice in the matter," Tucker scoffed in reply as they disembarked. "Last time I checked, jail-breakers aren't exactly well-received by the guards if they get picked up again."

The other woman smirked knowingly. "You're getting the idea," she said as they boarded an elevator, "just don't make up your mind until you hear all the details from our boss. I've seen others take the offer just so they didn't have to face a return to the clink; even though they weren't really up for the assignment they were offered."

"Do I dare ask what happened?"

"Let's just say their contracts were revoked rather quickly."

Tucker nodded, but said nothing else as the elevator doors opened at the twelfth floor. She followed her escorts off the elevator and through a few hallways to a set of double oak doors at the end of one in particular, where they stopped.

"Here we are," the woman that had accompanied her said as she opened the right-hand door. "This is where we part company and all your questions will finally be answered."

"Thanks," Tucker said awkwardly as she stepped across the threshold and into the large office.

Her mind barely registered the heavy wooden door swinging shut behind her as she took in her surroundings. While the room's décor was fairly Spartan; the mahogany desk, oak-paneled walls, plush carpeting on the floor and leather chairs suggested the room's regular inhabitant carried a flair for the luxurious.

As she scanned the room, her attention was suddenly drawn by the high-backed leather chair behind the desk swiveling around to face her, revealing its occupant to her at the same time. Even seated, she could tell he was easily over six feet tall; his upright posture, silver hair and charcoal suit giving him a distinguished appearance.

A broad, welcoming smile broke across his features as he laid eyes on the young woman standing at the far end of his office. "Ah, Miss Tucker; I'm so glad you could join us this afternoon," he said warmly, rising and motioning to one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Please, do come in and have a seat."

"You guys really have me at a disadvantage," the young woman said as she took the seat to her left, her gaze never leaving her host's as he sat back down. "You know who I am, everything about me and what I've done, yet I don't have the slightest clue who the hell you are or why you went to all the trouble of busting me out of the joint."

"Fear not, Miss Tucker; all questions will be answered for you before you leave this office," he replied. "Before we begin, can I get you something to drink: water, coffee, tea… something stronger, perhaps?"

"Just some answers will be fine," she retorted, crossing her arms and legs and glaring at him. "How about we start with this so-called 'organization' and why it saw fit to so generously commute my sentence?"

"I suspected you would want to get right down to business," he said with a nod.

"You're goddamned right I do," she spat. "I don't know of too many organizations that would go to all the trouble of hacking a government website—especially not the US Marshals—and re-arrange a schedule so they can stand in and break a prisoner out from under the jail's nose. I figure you're either a black ops branch of the government… or you've got more money than you know what to do with, in which case I don't know why you would want me in the first place."

"Very well, then," he said, rising from his seat. "To answer what I assume is the most burning aspect of your query—are we government or not?—no, we are not affiliated with the United States Government in any way, shape or form." Wandering over to a liquor cabinet, he paused long enough to pour himself a snifter of brandy from an expensive-looking crystal decanter before continuing his speech. "We are, however, an organization deeply vested in the capitalistic interests of several independent contractors."

A snide chuckle escaped Tucker's throat. "So what you're saying is you're a bunch of high-priced mercenaries to the criminal underworld, is that it?"

"That would be one way to put it," he growled under his breath, adjusting his tie as he fought to maintain his composure. "I prefer to look at it as a premium-quality service provider to individuals outside the mainstream corporate sector."

"Yeah, yeah; polish a turd and it's still a turd… can we get to the point?"

"Very well," the man grumbled as he returned to the desk and put his brandy down. "You've been selected to join our organization for one main reason, your abilities and skill set aside: your physical resemblance to—and your knowledge of—one Miss Kathryn Shavaun Gogh, alias Shego."

"Shego?" she repeated with a raised eyebrow. "Everything I know about her is just what I read up about her on the internet; it's not like I'm an all-knowing power on the subject."

"Perhaps not, but it's been well-known fact amongst several circles that you used Shego as your inspiration when you left the Go City Police Department," he said evenly as he sat down behind the desk and rested his elbows on the polished surface, steepling his hands before him. "Many have commented your fighting styles—lack of comet-induced plasma powers notwithstanding—are eerily similar.

"It is also well-known amongst those same circles that Shego has effectively renounced her villainous ways by teaming up with Kim Possible and Global Justice, helping them to capture her former employer once and for all… dragging both you and the Phoenix Corporation down along with him," he continued, a sinister grin starting to cross his lips. "We believe that not only can you help us achieve our goals, but we can help you avenge your incarceration and the tragic death of your former employer."

"Hey, that asshole Hawk brought that on himself," she retorted, "but anything that'll help me get back at that Possible bitch for getting me locked away, I'm game for."

"As I suspected," the man said with a pleased grin as he retrieved a half-inch thick sheaf of papers and placed it in front of her. "Of course, we do have certain terms and conditions that potential employees must be willing to meet before we can take them under our employ; everything you need to know is documented in this contract."

"So what happens if I decide I don't particularly care for these so-called 'terms and conditions' that are in this contract? I'm not gonna sign my life away to be somebody's slave, y'know."

"Oh, we're certainly not in the business of recruiting slaves; you will have ample free time to do as you please—in fact we encourage you to take full advantage of your free time in ways you enjoy—however we do ask you to be available within twenty-four hours' notice, with few exceptions. Should you decide, however, that you don't agree with the terms and conditions of the contract—which are non-negotiable, I'm afraid—then you will be returned to the facility from whence you came in a most unpleasant manner."

"Is that the five-dollar-word version of 'say no and we beat the living fuck out of you before we dump you on the front doorstep of the prison we sprung you from'?" Tucker scoffed.

"I've never quite heard it put that way before," he chuckled lightly. "That's a little more extreme than what we would do, however we would be sure to demonstrate our displeasure in your refusal."

Tucker nodded, but said nothing else as she continued to read through the contract. Her expression darkened as she took in the finality of the language within the document, prompting her next question. "The more I read this, the more I wonder if there's any way to get out of this outfit alive," she commented with a scowl. "The way some of this shit's worded, it looks like a 'termination of contract' is pretty much the same thing as a thirty-ought-six round to the left temple."

"Again, our methods aren't quite that severe," he replied, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled in front of him. "While treachery and betrayal are dealt with in a most severe fashion, we do permit our agents to retire when they are no longer able to carry out their assigned tasks efficiently."

"What if somebody doesn't like the job and just plain wants to leave?"

"You may not have come to that part of the contract yet, but it clearly states that all employment contracts with our organization are lifetime in duration, terminable only by death. Retirement is permitted, although there are certain aspects of the contract that remain bound to you even on retirement."

"So if I want to quit, I'm dead?"

"As I said, all our contracts are lifetime in duration," he repeated with a malevolent grin—which would be better described as a grimace—suggesting no humor in his statement. "We do, however, employ whatever measures necessary to keep our employees happy. For instance; have you had a chance to review the salary portion of the contract?"

"That's a shit-ton of zeroes," she confirmed.

"Just one of the perks of working for us," he said, reiterating part of his sales pitch. "Not only are our employees—especially our specialists, as you would be classified—well-compensated for their employment, but we also offer ample reset time following an assignment and the freedom to come and go as you please. All we ask in return for that is that you are always reachable and able to return for assignment within twenty-four hours of being contacted."

Tucker sat silent for a long moment, staring at the bottom of the contract's last page; the blank line where she would affix her signature if she agreed to the terms and conditions staring back at her as she mulled over what the man in front of her had just said. Finally, she looked up at him again, only to see he was holding an expensive-looking fountain pen towards her with an expectant expression on his face. "You almost look like you know whether or not I've made up my mind," she quipped.

"Nobody has ever been in this office with a contract in front of them this long without signing," he replied simply with a knowing grin.

Tucker met his gaze with a steady one of her own. Finally, after an almost unbearable pause, she slowly leaned forward and placed the contract on the desk before accepting the pen. Signing her name along the line with a flourish, she placed the pen on the document and looked up at him, meeting his gaze again, albeit this time with a small smile on her face. "Who am I to break from tradition?" she quipped.

"As I suspected you wouldn't," he said as he rose, prompting her to do the same. Extending his hand to her, he added with a grin, "Welcome aboard, Miss Tucker."

"Thanks," she said, "Mr.—?"

"You can call me Gray," he said.

Major Steve Barkin, USMC (ret'd.), vice-principal of Middleton High School, sat in his office with a résumé in his hands, re-reading it and its accompanying reference letters to ensure he was clear in his understanding of the applicant before they were scheduled to arrive in—his eyes flicked briefly to his watch—five minutes. As he took in the applicant's history and qualifications, he couldn't help but sense a hint of familiarity with the subject matter… almost as if he'd read this particular résumé before.

His train of thought was derailed by the telephone on his desk ringing. "Yes?"

"Mr. Barkin; your two o'clock appointment is here," the voice on the other end said.

Punctual, he thought with a small, approving grin. "Thank you, Mrs. Klein; send her in," he said gruffly, disconnecting the call.

Precisely thirty seconds later Barkin understood why the résumé he'd been studying seemed so familiar as a statuesque, raven-haired beauty appeared in his doorway, professionally and immaculately dressed in a black skirt-suit, white blouse, black hose and black pumps and her hair pulled back into a tight ponytail with a discreet hair elastic. Even so, there was no denying the familiar, mint-green hue to her skin or the piercing emerald-green of her eyes. "Hello, Steve," she said evenly as she pushed the door closed behind her.

It took a couple of attempts before the one-time jarhead found his voice again. "Sarah Go?" he managed to stammer. "What're you doing here? According to this, I'm supposed to be interviewing a Kathryn Gogh for a teaching position, not you."

Kate sighed; this was going to be every bit as difficult as she'd feared. "Steve, I am Kathryn Gogh," she said as she smoothed her skirt and sat down across from the administrator, crossing her legs as she continued to speak. "When we met a few months ago, I wasn't myself and was afraid for my life; I dug up one of my fake identities and used it to get a job here while I was hiding from my brothers and the villain that had messed with our minds." Opening the briefcase she'd been carrying, she extracted a sheet of paper and passed it across to him. "This will explain everything."

Barkin accepted the letter and glanced at it, his eyes flickering immediately to the name at the bottom. "Doctor E. Director, COO of Global Justice?" he read aloud. "You've already got a reference letter from her; why are you giving me another one?"

"It's not a reference letter, Steve; just read it and you'll understand."

They sat in silence for the next two minutes as Barkin read the letter from Dr. Director, which explained the… unusual set of circumstances that had befallen Kate over the previous few months. When he finished, he placed the letter on his desk and sat back again, breathing a long sigh before speaking. "So let me get this straight," he began, "you came here to hide from your brothers when this Electronique character zapped you and reversed your personality, and left again when you all got put back to normal. Now you're leaving that old lifestyle behind and you're looking for a job by which to make an honest living; is that it in a nutshell?"

Kate nodded, her gaze never wavering from Barkin's. "That sums it up pretty well, yeah," she said.

"Only in Middleton," he muttered under his breath, leaning ahead to rest his elbows on his desk and his chin atop his clasped hands, a pensive gaze etched on his features as he considered how best to continue. Finally, he took a deep breath and lowered his forearms to the desk as he prepared to speak.

"Your qualifications are good and I already know you can be a damn fine teacher, so that's not my problem," he began, his gaze again locking with hers. "My problem lies in the fact that I'm sitting here interviewing a convicted felon—that's already been employed here under false pretenses—to be part of a team responsible for the education and safety of almost twelve-hundred high school students, regardless of how many letters of recommendation, pardons and vouchers you've brought along to build your case. You might have a clean record now, but all it's going to take for this situation to turn into a publicity and logistical nightmare is one student recognizing who you are and pointing it out to their parents, who in turn come to us and then to the media when they realize we were aware when we hired you."

"You and I both know that argument doesn't hold any more water than one of Drakken's world conquest schemes," Kate replied, her eyes cold and hard as she glared at Barkin. "You said it yourself, I have a clean record; there's nothing there that makes me ineligible for this job and unless you can prove you found a better candidate based on either experience or qualifications, not giving me the job would be tantamount to discrimination… or is that the real reason you've got your boxers in a bunch?"

"This isn't personal, if that's what you're getting at," he said, "but I would still like to talk about that afterwards, if you'll let me."

It was her turn to sigh when she realized that the subject she'd wanted to simply avoid was going to come up anyway. "Fair enough," she said, resigning herself to her fate.

"As for the argument I offered, that wasn't because I was in the process of informing you that you wouldn't be hired on those grounds—as you said, that's discrimination—but just to make you aware of what you might be facing if you do accept the position. There are people out there that, regardless of how many pardons and recommendations you come with, will only see the stigma that you carry because of who you used to be; that's enough for them to start calling for your head."

"I can handle the lynch mobs, if that's what you're worried about," she replied evenly. "Besides, nobody seemed to mind before when I was here."

"That was then, Miss Gogh; now's a different pot of beans," Barkin countered. "It's a little more obvious who you used to be—back then nobody could've ever guessed who you really were—and I'm sure that there are a number of parents that would be more than a little upset if they figured out who was teaching their children."

Again Kate sighed, but this time out of frustration. In a dark corner of her mind, she fantasized briefly about jumping across the desk with her fists flaming and telling him to either spit it out or quit wasting her time, but she kept her cool… almost. "Okay, Steve, quit beating around the bush; are you giving me the job or not?" she spat.

Despite the tension he felt interviewing a former flame (no pun intended), Barkin chuckled softly. "Yes, Miss Gogh, you have the job if you want it," he said. "Not only is the entire district starving for qualified teachers, but you just demonstrated the type of professionalism we don't see nearly enough in the public school system."

"I don't follow," Kate said, perplexed.

"Miss Gogh…"

"Steve, call me Kate."

"Kate," he amended, "I saw it in your eyes; you were about ready to jump across this desk and remind me who you used to be and we both know there's not a damn thing I could do to stop you. Instead, you held your temper—you didn't even light up your hands—and semi-politely asked me to get to the point. If you can handle that, I'm sure you can handle a bunch of teenagers."

For the first time since she set foot on the Middleton High grounds that day, a smile crossed Kate's lips. "What can I say? I'm capable of being persuasive without resorting to violence," she remarked with a shrug, "and don't worry about bad publicity. You read the letter I just gave you from Dr. Director; these kids are every bit as safe with me here as they would be with any other teacher… and they might even learn a thing or two from me in the process."

"That would be a benefit," the former soldier replied, still grinning softly as he reached across the desk. "Welcome to Middleton High, Miss Gogh… or should I say, welcome back?"

"Thanks, Steve," she said, shaking his hand and returning the grin.

As they released the handshake, Barkin again rested his arms on the desk and laced his fingers together, his expression changing from professional to personal. "Now, about the other thing…" he began.

Kate held up her hand to cut him off. "Steve, just stop right there," she said with a pained expression. "I know I cut out awful abruptly after everything got sorted out with Electronique and that wasn't fair to you, so I'm going to apologize for that right now… and the dogs," she added with a slight flush on her cheeks.

"No apology necessary," he said. "I understand things were pretty messed up and all, but that doesn't mean we can't try again."

Again, a long sigh escaped the former villainess' lips as she looked forlornly at him. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear, Steve, but yes it does," she said softly. "Even though I wasn't exactly the same person I am now, I still remember everything and what it was like being with you. You really are a great guy and all, but I really don't think it would work out between us."

"You don't?" he said, deflating slightly at her words.

"I'm sorry, Steve, but no," she replied, shaking her head sadly. "Like I said, you're a great guy and I'm looking forward to working with you, but I really think you'd be better suited with somebody else; somebody more like I was when I was Sarah Go."

It broke Kate's heart to have to let him down—as necessary as it was—but she was impressed with how well he took it. "You're probably right," he finally said with a nod. "I'm used to the idea of Sarah Go; if Possible's stories about you are any indication, you're certainly not that woman."

"No, I'm not," she agreed with a relieved laugh. "Listen, Steve, thanks for understanding; I really do think you're a great guy and I would like to think that we can be friends, I just don't think trying to pursue something together would be a good idea."

Again Barkin nodded, apparently coming to terms with her rejection rather quickly. "Somehow I think that probably would be the best arrangement," he said with a grin, demonstrating yet again there were no hard feelings.

Twenty-five minutes later, the former villainess was walking across the mostly-empty Middleton High parking lot, feeling ten times better than she felt when she'd crossed it in the opposite direction. Now that she had the interview—not to mention having to go face-to-face with Steve Barkin again—behind her, she could relax and focus on enjoying the rest of the day.

She had just reached her car and was putting her briefcase into the trunk of the vehicle when she realized her cell phone was vibrating in her jacket pocket. Withdrawing it as she slammed the trunk lid down, she cast a brief glance at the caller ID; a broad grin crossing her black-painted lips when she saw the name displayed. Flipping the device open, she tucked it between her ear and shoulder as she withdrew a cigarette pack from the inside pocket of her jacket. "Aren't you on duty?" she asked playfully as she placed a cigarette between her lips.

"Yeah, but I had a minute free and wanted to give you a call and find out how it went today," Jake replied on the other end.

"Taking an awful chance, aren't you?" the malachite vixen countered, leaning against the quarter panel of her Charger. "What if I was in the middle of my interview and you just blew it for me?"

"Right, Katie; and I'm on my way to Nashville right now to sign a record deal," he quipped with a laugh. "If you were still in the middle of your interview, you'd sound a hell of a lot madder than you do and you'd be on your way to hunt me down and lay a serious thumping into me right now."

"Okay, you got me," she laughed, unable to keep up the charade. "I actually just got out and back to my car."

"Now that, I believe," he said. "So are you gonna tell me how it went or are you gonna keep me in suspense?"

Rather than answer right away, Kate instead hummed tunelessly in an "I don't know" suggestion as she retrieved her sunglasses from the dashboard of her car and put them on. "Well," she finally said as she leaned against the front fender and took a drag on her cigarette, "I'll put it to you this way… you're talking to Middleton High's new algebra and introductory trig teacher."

"Katie, that's awesome! Congratulations!" he exulted, his excitement obviously genuine. "You do realize we have to celebrate now, right?"

"Um… see previous question; aren't you on duty?"

"I didn't mean right now," he retorted dryly. "I meant on my next day off."

"Oh, I gotcha now; got anything in particular in mind?"

"How about a home-cooked dinner at my place tomorrow night… or is that too date-ish for your liking?"

"No, no; that's fine," she said, "the thought of a meal I don't either have to prepare or pay for sounds like my kind of celebration."

"Who said anything about you not making it? I just thought you'd like to eat at my house instead of yours," Jake said innocently. "I can't even boil water."

Kate could hardly believe her ears. She was just about to light into him for being an uncouth jerk when she heard him attempt to hold back a chortle. "You ass," she groused, "I actually thought you were serious for a minute!"

"Now what kind of a person would I be to invite a friend to my house just to make them cook?" he asked between laughs. "I can't promise a gourmet meal, but I haven't poisoned anybody yet, so that's gotta count for something."

"Like I said, not having to pay for it or make it myself sounds good to me," she chuckled. "As long as your non-contaminated streak stays alive, I'll be happy."

"I think I can manage to put something at least somewhat edible together," he said. "Listen, I gotta run; is seven o'clock good for you?"

"I'll be there," she replied with a grin. "Should I bring anything with me; a bottle of wine or something?"

"Nope, just bring yourself; I've got it covered."

"Okay," she giggled, crushing the butt of her cigarette under the toe of her shoe. "I'll see you tomorrow at seven."

"Can't wait!" he replied enthusiastically, ending the call.

Kate stood for a moment and stared at her phone with a wry smirk on her face. She was slightly amused—and not just a little flattered—that Jake had sounded so genuinely excited and proud of her for winning the position at Middleton High. With another shake of her head and a quiet chuckle, the raven-haired woman climbed into her car and left the school parking lot.

Just as she merged into traffic, the questions started coursing through her mind. I forgot to ask him what the dress code's gonna be; what do I wear? Do I go for a dress, or do I go for the casual khakis and T-shirt? Should I go for somewhere in between? What if I overdo it? What if I under-do it?

"Augh!" she exclaimed, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sat at a red light. "Get a hold of yourself, girl! This is just Jake we're talking about; he won't care if you show up in a ratty Yankees sweater and cutoffs!"

Still doesn't mean you can't try to look good for him, another voice—which sounded suspiciously like Kim's—said in the back of her mind. He's doing something special for you; maybe you should do something special for him.

"Oh, for Christ's sake," she muttered, "she calls me 'Sis' once and now she's in my head giving me advice!" Although, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea…

"Mon, can you tell me how anybody can mess up a hanging display?" Kim asked as she straightened a rack of sundresses that had been ravaged by a group of giggly fourteen-year-olds mere moments before. "I mean, I can understand the T-shirts stacked on the tables, but this…" she motioned at the newly-tidied rack, "…boggles the mind."

"I know; I've been trying to figure that one out ever since I first started here," the mocha-skinned teen replied as she glanced up from the clipboard she was looking at. "To this day, I have yet to find an answer that satisfies me."

"Glad to know I'm not the only one," the redhead sighed as she idly straightened a stack of the aforementioned T-shirts. "Oh well, at least it gives me something to do when it's slow."

"At least until the next wave of 'tweens rolls in," Monique added dryly.

Kim rolled her eyes at the thought of another rabid pack of freshmen attacking her meticulously-maintained displays, but took a cleansing breath and dismissed it as part of the job. Besides, most of them really weren't all that bad… not bad enough, anyway, to make the famous heroine consider giving up her employee discount.

Her train of thought was derailed by the sound of the chime announcing a customer entering the store. Putting down the T-shirt she'd been folding, she turned to greet the newcomer with a sunny smile on her face; the canned greeting dying on her tongue when she saw who the customer was. "Hey Kate," she said brightly.

"Hey Kim, Monique," the jade-skinned woman replied as she approached her former arch-foe. "Can I borrow you for a few minutes? I could really use your opinion on something."

"Sure; what's on your mind?"

Casting a quick glance at Monique, Kate crossed her arms and took a deep breath before she spoke. "Remember when Electronique messed with my mind and I came to you about going on a double-date with Steve Barkin and I mentioned something about working for Drakken not leaving me much chance for socializing?" she said in a rush.

"Yeah," Kim drawled, wondering where her friend was going with the topic.

"Well, I've run into another social dilemma that I could use your input on," she continued, her left hand traveling up to fiddle with her ponytail, "but this one's a little more complicated."

Kim crossed her arms and quirked an eyebrow. "Would this have anything to do with the guy Mom said you ran into last night; an old friend of yours that you referred to as 'your Ron'?" she asked.

A slightly embarrassed chuckle escaped the pale woman's lips as she nodded. "Yeah, it does," she replied. "I should've known that your mother would've told you about that."

"Well, I haven't heard any of this story yet," Monique interjected as she approached the other two women, "so why don't you start at the beginning?"

"You didn't tell her?" Kate asked Kim with a hint of incredulity, nodding her head in Monique's direction at the same time.

"Not my story to tell," Kim replied with a shrug. "Besides, even though Mom told me about it, she only gave me the Cliff's Notes; I'd kinda like to hear you tell it yourself."

Kate heaved a melodramatic sigh of resignation as she looked at the expectant expressions on the two teenagers' faces. "Okay, fine," she finally said with a smirk, recounting the tale of how Jake had been her closest friend and moved away not long before the fateful day the comet hit and changed her family's lives forever.

"It must've been quite a shock to run into him last night," Kim commented.

"Oh yeah, he was the last person I expected to see there," Kate replied, "although your mother wasn't much higher on the list, either."

"So who recognized who first?" Monique asked.

"Jake thought he recognized me when I went to get refills," the former villainess replied, laughing lightly at the memory. "He was looking at me while I was standing at the bar and I gave him hell for staring at me; I thought he was just another high-on-himself bar band guitar picker that figured if he wanted me, he could have me… just because he was in the band." Again she laughed as she continued. "It was when I gave him shit that he figured out who I was."

Kim and Monique both laughed. "So fast forward to when you left the bar; what happened then?" the redhead asked.

"We went to an all-night diner next door and talked over coffee and a sandwich till almost four," Kate replied. "Since we didn't have much chance to talk while we were at the bar, we used that time to get caught up; during the conversation, I'd mentioned I had a job interview today."

"That explains the snappy threads," Monique interjected. "What was the interview for?"

"Would you believe you're talking to the new algebra and introductory trig teacher at Middleton High?"

Both of the younger women gawped at her in amazement. "You mean you actually decided to go back to teaching?" Kim said. A sudden gasp soon followed the first comment and her hand flew to her mouth. "Oh, my God; you had to talk to Barkin, didn't you? How did that go?"

"Yes and yes," Kate nodded. "Believe it or not, I got through the interview okay and I managed to let Steve down easy; once he considered the differences between me and Sarah Go—that's the alias I used when he hired me the first time—he realized that trying to pursue a relationship probably wouldn't work out as well as it did then."

"I'm assuming we're getting closer to the dilemma?" Monique deadpanned.

"Yeah," Kate nodded wryly. "After the interview, I was on my way back to my car when Jake called me and asked me how my interview went; when I told him I got the job, he wanted to celebrate by having me over for dinner tomorrow night."

"Sounds kinda like a date to me," Monique commented with a grin; Kim's expression mirroring hers.

Kate shook her head emphatically. "No, it's not a date; we used to hang out and do stuff like that all the time."

"Kinda like another pair of old friends I know," the fashion maven muttered with a pointed glance at Kim.

Rolling her eyes, Kate ignored what Monique was implying and continued. "Anyway, my problem is I'm not exactly sure what would be appropriate to wear; it's dinner at an old friend's house to celebrate a new job. On the one hand, since it's not a date I don't want to pass off the vibe that I might think it is; while on the other hand I don't want to downplay what he's doing for me by showing up in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt."

A mischievous grin crossed Kim's lips as she glanced at Monique—who nodded her agreement—before she spoke again. "Kate… is this really what's bothering you about the whole situation?" she asked.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Monique decided to jump in so the comet-endowed woman wouldn't concentrate any potential ire solely on Kim. "I think what Kim's getting at is: are you more worried about dressing appropriately, or are you more worried about impressing Jake?"

"I already told you, Jake and I have been friends for a long time; it's not like that!" Kate retorted defensively.

"So if it doesn't matter and it really is just two old friends having dinner together, why not just go in whatever?" Kim challenged. "Before we got together, Ron never bothered to wear anything special when he came over to the house and neither did I. Really, we still don't even though we are together; only when he's picking me up for a date."

"Did he ever invite you to his house for dinner to celebrate a new job or anything?" the mint-skinned woman countered. "This doesn't fall under 'just dropping by', y'know."

"Wise woman speaks truth, kemo sabe," Monique acquiesced as she turned to Kim, "this ain't as cut and dry as we're making it."

"I suppose you're right," Kim agreed with a sigh. "So what would you suggest?"

Monique pondered the situation and the subject for a moment as she scanned the store; eventually approaching a rack of dresses and selecting one, holding it up for the other two to appraise. "How about something like this?" she ventured. "Casual, but still a little dressy at the same time; even just your choice of shoes could make the difference."

Kate considered the garment that Monique had in her hand, finally nodding. "It's worth a shot, at least," she finally said with a shrug as she took the dress from the dark-skinned woman and headed for a fitting room.

"She seemed awful insistent that it's not a date," Kim commented once Kate was out of earshot.

"Like I said, sounds like a couple other 'old friends' I know," Monique retorted with another pointed glance at her. "Before you and Ron pulled your collective heads out of your asses, how many times did you swear up and down—both of you—that you were 'just friends'?"

"We were," the redhead insisted, somewhat unconvincingly.

"No; the two of you just refused to acknowledge what the rest of the world in general already knew," she countered matter-of-factly. "Why do you think the first words out of Bonnie's mouth that night were 'it finally happened'? We all saw it coming, girl."

A sheepish grin crossed Kim's lips and her cheeks flushed lightly as she conceded her friend's statement. "I guess some things can be just as hard to see when you're too close as when you're too far away," she said.

Kate chose that moment to re-emerge from the fitting room wearing the dress Monique had selected—a teal halter-style, knee-length number—and approached the teens again with her arms outstretched. "So," she said, "what do you think?"

Two pairs of eyes—one green and one brown—examined the garment on Kate's athletic form for a moment before Kim broke the silence. "I think it's exactly what you're looking for; something that's middle-of-the-road between casual and dressy," she said with a grin.

"You don't think it's too flirty?" Kate said uncertainly as she examined herself in a mirror on a support column.

Kim shook her head in the negative, surreptitiously scanning the store for other customers as she spoke. "Kate, it's summertime and you're a woman; 'flirty' is synonymous with 'it's fucking hot and I'm only wearing this for decency's sake'," she said in an undertone that would only be heard by the three of them.

"She's right," Monique agreed, "you'd have to wear a burlap sack to not look just a little sexy… and with your curves, even then I couldn't make any guarantees."

"Besides," Kim continued as the mint-skinned woman continued to appraise her reflection in a mirror, "if Jake's as true a friend as you say he is, he'll probably notice you dressed up a little for him and compliment you—maybe even thank you for taking the time to dress up—but that's where it'll end."

A small smile crept across Kate's lips as she considered what they said. "I think you're right; this is what I was looking for," she finally said. "It's the sort of thing I could wear to my niece's baptism in the morning and to the club that night."

Kim grabbed an identical dress and started for the cash registers. "I'll ring up the sale while you get changed, Kate; that way I'll just have to take the security tag off and put it in a bag for you."

"Thanks, Kim," she said as she returned to the fitting room to change back into her suit.

Once the former villainess was out of earshot again, a devious smirk crossed Monique's lips as she approached Kim. "If that boy is even remotely straight, he's gonna have a hard time keeping his eyes off her in that," she murmured with a giggle.

"You don't think that dress is a little much?" Kim countered uncertainly as she rang up the article. "It shows an awful lot of skin for a celebration dinner."

"I will admit—and keep in mind I'm as straight as an arrow—that even my loins tingled a little looking at her in that thing," the mocha-skinned woman conceded, "but it's like you said; she's a woman—a damn fine woman, to be sure—and it's the heat of summer out there. No matter what she does to stay comfortable and look good at the same time, she's gonna end up turning some heads."

"I suppose, it's not like it's in Little Black Dress territory," Kim mused. "God only knows what would happen if she did wear something like that."

"I'm thinking he'd probably melt down," Monique quipped as Kate reappeared from the dressing room, clad again in her skirt and blouse, her jacket draped over one arm and the dress on top of it. Picking up the second dress, she gave Kim a grin. "I'll put this back for you while you close the deal," she said as she stepped out from behind the counter.

Kate put the dress—along with her credit card—on the counter so Kim could close the transaction. "So you're gonna come over tomorrow afternoon and help me get ready, right?" she asked as the younger woman ran her employee discount card through the reader, followed by Kate's Visa.

"Do you really need me to help you get ready?" Kim countered incredulously. "I thought this wasn't a date?"

"Not really, but in a way it kinda is," the mint-skinned woman replied with a shrug. "Besides… I always wanted to play dress-up with a little sister," she added with a wink.

Kim laughed as she put the slip in her till and handed Kate her copy. "Well, when you put it that way, how can I refuse?" she said as she removed the security tag from the dress and placed it in a bag. "What time do you want me there?"

"How's two o'clock sound? We can do a late lunch or something beforehand, then you'll have the rest of your night free to go do something with Ron."

"Works for me," the teen heroine said as she passed the bag across the counter. "Sure you don't need anything else?"

"What, are you commission-based now?" Kate retorted.

"No, I just want to make sure you're prepared."

"I think I'm good," the raven-haired vixen said with a grin. "See you tomorrow, Kim."

"Bye, Sis."

"Sis?" Monique echoed as she returned behind the counter to stand beside Kim. "Was there part of the story I missed; like Kate's really your long-lost older sister or something?"

"No, no; nothing like that," Kim replied with a shake of her head as she started counting her till. "The night Ron got shot, Kate and I ended up spending the night in a hotel not far from the hospital; after we had some second-rate Chinese food, I took a shower and then Kate took her turn after me. I was thinking about how our relationship had changed since graduation night and realized that she was quickly becoming the big sister I never had; when she asked if I had a brush after she took her shower, I called her 'Sis' without even thinking about it and it kinda stuck."

"So in the last two or three weeks you two have managed to put the last three years behind you?" the dark-skinned fashionista said incredulously. "How does that work?"

"It did get a bit personal over time, but the majority of our aggression towards each other was professional," Kim explained as she deftly counted a stack of twenty-dollar bills. "After we talked at graduation and everything that came afterwards, we started to really hit it off; I'm actually getting along better with her now than I did when she was Reverse-Polarized."

"So does this mean that Kate's your new BGF?"

A sharp gasp passed Kim's lips when she finally realized just how her comments may have sounded to Monique. Dropping the wad of bills she was counting (she knew she'd have to re-count, but that really wasn't a pressing concern at the moment), she quickly closed the gap between herself and her friend and embraced her. "Mon, that's not what it means at all," she said, "you'll always be my BGF."

Monique returned the hug, at least partially reassured she wasn't being replaced by the former villainess in the best friend department. She did, however, feel ashamed that she would suspect Kim capable of casting her old friends aside in favor of new ones. "I know, Kim," she said, "and I'm sorry I would ever accuse you of replacing me with her. After all, you had two best friends before you and Ron took that next step; nobody ever said you couldn't again."

"I've actually got three best friends, now," Kim corrected as they disengaged. "Just because Ron and I are dating doesn't mean he's not still my best friend, y'know."

"Yeah, but now that you're dating, the day's gonna come that he pisses you off and you need to scream about him to somebody with a pint of fudge ripple ice cream," Monique replied with a smirk. "That's where your best friends come into play."

Kim smiled; Monique's mention of "best friends" in the plural not going unnoticed by the redhead. "Trust me, you and Kate will be the first ones to hear about it if Ron does something to tweak me," she promised as she retrieved the stack of bills she'd been counting and started over again.

"We'd better be," the fashion maven mock-scolded with a twinkle in her eye. "Sometimes group therapy is better than one-on-one; especially when it comes to man troubles."

Kim just grinned and nodded; thankful that she had friends she could count on.