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 series Kim Possible are 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: For anybody that was wondering; no, I haven't died/been abducted by aliens/given up on this story. Unfortunately, my muse decided to up and leave me for an indiscriminate amount of time, hence the reason for the long delay between my last update and this one. However, I'm somewhat back on track now and have finally managed to complete Chapter Four for your reading and reviewing enjoyment. Hopefully this chapter holds up to my usual standards and the reader's expectations.
As usual, before we begin, a shout out to those that took the time to review the previous chapter. Thanks to: Sentinel103, CajunBear73, Katsumara, Lefty11, jkrust78, Yamal, Reader101w, GirlyGirl88, KP's Man and an anonymous reviewer; it's your feedback that keeps the creative juices flowing. Also, I'd like to extend a special thanks to SlightlyobsessedHaylz for agreeing to be a sounding board for some of the ideas that have bounced around in my head on how this story should proceed.
With that out of the way, on with the story!
CHAPTER FOUR
Global Justice Agent Rhonda Bartlett couldn't help but yawn profusely as she sat down at her desk with her super-extra-large cup of used motor oil that the GJ commissary tried to pass off for coffee. Taking a sip of the exquisitely-horrid brew, she pulled a face as she put the cup on her desk and logged into her workstation.
In the cubicle beside her, Chrissy Cameron saw this and laughed. "Ron, why do you drink that stuff when you can barely choke it down?" she asked.
"Because, grasshopper, when one is a caffeine addict such as myself; one needs to ingest it in some form in order to function in the morning," Bartlett replied airily. "Besides, I'm too cheap to go to Starbucks and pay six bucks for a cup of coffee that's no better than the sludge they give away in the commissary."
"I'm gonna buy you a gallon travel mug and a coffee maker for your birthday," Cameron quipped, shaking her head.
"Don't bother; I have a coffee maker and a travel mug that I never think of," Bartlett said as she waited for her email client to open. "I've kinda developed a taste for this stuff, anyway; I find I miss it after I have a couple of days off."
"You, Rhonda, are one sick cookie."
"Which is why you love being on my team, right?"
"You just keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better, sweetie."
"Bite me."
"No."
"That's insubordination," Bartlett shot back as she skimmed her emails.
"Does that mean I get the day off?"
"Dream on."
"It was worth a shot," Cameron shrugged as she returned her attention to her workstation.
Bartlett chuckled under her breath, but said nothing more as she focused on the mass of emails she'd accumulated over her off-duty hours. Sometimes I wish they'd disable "Reply to All," she thought as she weeded out the correspondence that really had no bearing on her or her team in the slightest; idly sipping at her coffee as she did so.
She'd just about completed her daily email cleanup when the telephone extension on her desk rang. Without bothering to look at the caller display, she grabbed the receiver midway through the second ring and placed it to her ear. "Agent Bartlett," she said simply.
"Rhonda, Dr. Director here," the Global Justice administrator said on the other end of the line. "When you get a second, could you come down to my office? There's no immediate rush; just whenever you get a minute."
"I'll be right down; I actually have a minute right now," Bartlett replied, trying her best to not let her confusion show in her voice. Hanging up the phone, she turned to address Cameron as she rose from her seat. "Hey Chrissy, I just got called to the principal's office; we'll take a look at whatever new info we've got on WWEE when I get back."
Cameron nodded and glanced back at her own workstation as she spoke. "Well, I can tell you right now that I've got squat, but I'll round up what the others have when they get in so we can dive right into it when you get back," she said. With an impish grin, she added, "Good luck with the principal."
"Thanks," Bartlett chuckled as she walked away.
In her office, Dr. Betty Director sat behind her desk, staring at her computer screen with a disturbed expression on her face. Mere moments ago, she'd received an email from one of the top members of the UN Security Council—Global Justice's chief governing body—that contained information troubling enough to make the veteran agent's blood run cold.
Her thought process was momentarily interrupted by a knock on her office door. "Come in," she called out, sighing at the prospect of the conversation she was about to have.
Bartlett opened the door and stepped into the Spartan office. "You wanted to see me, Dr. Director?" she said as she swung the door shut behind her.
"Yes, Rhonda; come in and have a seat," Director replied with another sigh, motioning for the younger woman to take a seat. As Bartlett moved to sit in one of the chairs across the desk, however, she noticed the non-descript Styrofoam cup the agent was carrying. "Is that the sludge from downstairs?" she asked, momentarily distracted from the task at hand.
"Yeah," Bartlett chuckled with a shrug as she sat down. "Chrissy had the same reaction, and I'll tell you what I told her; don't ask me to explain it, but somehow I've developed a taste for this stuff," she explained, taking a sip as if to support her statement.
"You must have more adaptive taste buds than I do; in over twenty years I still can't hack the stuff," Director deadpanned, then cleared her throat. "Of course, I didn't call you down here to discuss your palate for burnt coffee; we have a much more serious issue on our hands that I wanted to share with you."
"I'm not sure I want to know."
"You probably don't; but at the same time it's best if you do know," Director replied almost sympathetically. "I have to confess that I was rather disturbed when I read the information I'm about to share with you."
"I hate it when you say stuff like that," Bartlett groaned as she raked her fingers through her chestnut-brown locks. Taking a deep breath to steel herself, she sat up a little straighter and squared her shoulders. "Okay, let's hear it," she finally said.
Director shifted herself in her seat; almost as if she were stalling. Finally, she took another deep breath and spoke. "I received a forwarded email through the night from one of the chief members of the UN Security Council that he originally received from an inside source within the US Marshals office, describing a series of events that wouldn't be out of place in a Jerry Bruckheimer film."
"Is that just his way of saying 'we screwed up hardcore, but this is how we're gonna spin it'?" Bartlett interjected with a quirked eyebrow.
"Not this time, no," Director replied with a shake of her head as she took a sip from a mug on her desk. "Yesterday morning at 0630 hours local time, two United States Marshals were scheduled to collect one Savannah Eloise Tucker from the county correctional facility in Colorado Springs for transport to more permanent lodgings at the women's Federal Correctional Institution in Dublin, California. According to paperwork at the Colorado Springs prison, protocol was followed to the letter; the prisoner was transferred from the custody of two guards—one male, one female—to the Marshals at precisely 0632 hours, ostensibly to board a JPATS flight to California. Of course, the pilot allowed them a bit of extra time to get to the airport—after all, traffic is always a variable factor in any trip—and waited an extra forty-five minutes beyond their scheduled departure time before he started to worry."
"Were they hijacked on the road or something on their way?"
"That would make a lot more sense and be a lot easier to explain, but no," Director replied with a humorless chuckle. "When the pilot finally started suspecting something was amiss, he tried to call both marshals; each with no success. Finally, he called the Colorado Springs office and asked the dispatch officer if there'd been a change in the schedule he hadn't been made aware of… and that's when everything went to hell in a handbasket.
"The dispatch officer he spoke with, luckily, was the same one that had set up the orders the day before for those two marshals to escort Tucker to Dublin from Colorado Springs, and she remembered issuing their orders to them via email the previous morning. When she looked up their duty orders in the database, however, she discovered they had been reassigned to a commercial flight to Boston."
"Let me guess," Bartlett interjected, "classic case of the right hand doesn't know what the left hand's doing; too many hands in the pot… pick your cliché?"
"Again, that would make things a lot easier on everybody—and would leave a clear trail of accountability—but no," Director said with a shake of her head. "Everybody in that office that had access to modify those orders was questioned and came back clean; the IT department investigated and found the orders were modified using a generic user account that existed just long enough to issue the order, and then was removed from the system."
"What about Tucker? She was still picked up in Colorado Springs; did the marshals that got assigned the job think they had to drive all the way out there?"
"That's just it, Rhonda; nobody got re-assigned to Tucker," Director stated darkly. "Those two marshals that picked her up were imposters."
"That's messed up," the young agent stated flatly. "Who could possibly have the resources to not only impersonate two federal law enforcement agents, but also be able to hack into their database—one of the most secure in the nation, I might add—and reassign agents at their leisure?"
"This is where we come in," Director said. "Effective immediately, your team is on special assignment; find out who busted Tucker out of prison and tampered with federal records—they also removed any record or mention of Tucker from the Colorado Springs facility and the institution in Dublin—and bring them down."
"So the Marshals drop the ball and we have to go in and clean up their mess? Since when is Global Justice a mop-up crew for US federal departments?"
"If this were strictly a US Marshals and a Department of Corrections SNAFU, we wouldn't be," Director replied, "but Savannah Tucker is a Global Justice prisoner, so we have a vested interest in recapturing her."
"She is?" Bartlett said with a quizzical expression. "The name doesn't ring any bells with me; has she been in custody for awhile?"
"No; in fact, she was only apprehended last week. Perhaps you would recognize her alias more than you would her legal name." With that, the eyepatch-clad woman turned her monitor around to show the agent across the desk the mug shot and personal information on the missing prisoner.
It took every ounce of energy and willpower Rhonda Bartlett possessed to not drop her coffee to the floor. "Fuck."
Not all that far away from Betty Director's office and blissfully unaware of the meeting taking place there, Kate sat at the small table in the kitchenette of her temporary lodgings with her morning cup of coffee in hand and a toasted bagel with peanut butter on a plate in front of her. It felt like nothing could kill her good mood that morning; not only was she looking forward to meeting up with Jake later that evening (it's not a date!), but she'd received an email that morning from her lawyer stating she was a few signatures and a check away from getting the keys to the house she'd looked at the previous morning. In fact, she was still staring at the email on her laptop with a hint of disbelief in her emerald eyes. Man, when they said 'quick sale', they weren't joking, she thought incredulously as she re-read the message.
Her train of thought was derailed by the sound of her cell phone ringing. Groaning in frustration—she'd just taken a bite of her bagel and the peanut butter was stuck to the roof of her mouth—she took a quick drink of her coffee as she went to retrieve the device from her purse. Not bothering to look at the caller ID, she flipped it open and placed it to her ear with a muffled, "Hello?"
"Hey Katie," Jake's voice said on the other end of the line. "I didn't wake you up or anything, did I?"
Swallowing hard to get the final remnants of peanut butter from her mouth, Kate managed to reply; albeit slightly breathlessly. "Hey Jake; no, you didn't wake me up, you just caught me with a mouthful of peanut butter," she said with a self-effacing chuckle. "What's up?"
"I was just about to go to the market to pick up a few things for tonight and figured I should double-check that we're still on," he replied. "I don't normally keep much for produce in my fridge; with my schedule, half of it ends up wilted, rotten or otherwise ruined before I get to it."
"Wild horses couldn't stop me," she said with a grin, even though he couldn't see it. "Barring some major catastrophe between now and then—and by major catastrophe, I mean something that puts one of us in the hospital—I'll be there."
"I was hoping you'd say something like that," he said. "Alright, now that that's settled, I should get moving so everything'll be ready in time. See you at seven?"
"Count on it," she replied, snapping her phone shut once they'd signed off. Practical to a fault, she thought with a chuckle as she closed her laptop and brought her dirty dishes to the kitchen sink. I guess some things really don't change.
After giving the kitchen a quick tidying from making her breakfast (including dishes and all, a process that took roughly five minutes), the mint-skinned woman proceeded to her bedroom to get dressed and start her day. With the email she'd received, it promised to be a busy one; especially if the purchase process kept going at the rate it seemed to be maintaining… not that she was complaining, of course; the sooner she could get out from under Global Justice's thumb, the better she liked it.
Ten minutes later, Kate re-emerged from the bedroom; her bathrobe replaced by a white T-shirt and low-rise blue jeans. A lightweight brown suede jacket and hiking boots completed the ensemble. Grabbing her purse and car keys from the stand next to the door, she shut the lights off and left her quarters to get a start on her day.
She was just crossing the motor pool parking area when a voice calling her name made her stop. Turning to face the source, she grinned when she saw who'd beckoned to her. "Agent Dawson, as I live and breathe," she joked, waiting for the agent to catch up to her, "long time no see."
Agent Mark Dawson returned the grin as he drew alongside her. "Yes, it has, Miss Gogh," he replied. "It's good to see you back on your feet after your altercation with Drakken."
Kate chuckled as they continued through the motor pool. "Believe me; nobody's happier about not having to spend more time in the hospital than absolutely necessary than I am," she said sincerely. "Now the next step is getting on with my life."
"I heard you managed to land your old position at Middleton High again," Dawson remarked. "I have to admit I was surprised; I figured you'd be more likely to go into some arm of law enforcement, maybe even join Global Justice."
"No offence, but Global Justice is probably the last place I would go if I was gonna go the law enforcement route," the mint-skinned woman deadpanned. "It's one thing to work with Kim once in awhile, but it's not something I want to do full-time… I just want to have a normal life."
"Complete with a picket fence, a husband, two cars and two-point-two kids?" Dawson quipped as they arrived beside Kate's Charger.
An almost wistful grin crossed the young woman's black-painted lips as the thought crossed her mind. "Maybe someday," she replied in as soft a tone as Dawson had ever heard.
For just a moment, the agent forgot he was on-duty and talking to an individual that not only was he professionally involved with—for the time being—but was also a reformed international criminal. Instead, he merely saw a young woman that was making a conscious effort to change her life and realign it for the better; something that he could not only respect, but also found just a little alluring. He did, however, manage to give himself a mental shake before he said something inappropriate and instead shot Kate a sincere—if benign—smile. "For what it's worth, I hope you get everything you're dreaming of," he said. "As far as I'm concerned, you've proven yourself and have earned the right to be happy."
"Thanks, Agent Dawson," she said as she unlocked her car.
"Please, call me Mark," he corrected, "Agent Dawson just seems so… formal."
Another chuckle rose from her throat as she opened her car door. "Okay, Mark," she said, "but only if you'll call me Kate; if 'Agent Dawson' is too formal, then so is 'Miss Gogh'. I'll be hearing enough of that when I start back at the school in the fall."
"Deal," he laughed. Before the moment got too awkward, he motioned to her open car door as he spoke again. "On that note, I've held you up long enough; I'll see you around, Kate."
"Not if I see you first," she riposted with a saucy grin as she climbed into her car and shut the door.
Dawson stood rooted to one spot as he watched the former villainess start her car and drive away with a pensive look on his face. Only when the gleaming black sedan went through the gate and out of sight did he finally move; he had to actually physically shake himself out of the stupor he'd found himself in. Wiping a hand over his face, the young agent adjusted his tie as he continued on his way.
He wasn't sure when it happened, but somewhere along the line Dawson realized he was starting to look at Kate in a less than professional manner. Instead of looking at her and seeing a reformed criminal that was doing her level best to atone for her transgressions and make an honest living, he looked at her and saw a beautiful young woman that he would love to get to know better. Sure, most might be put off by the fact her skin tone was roughly the same shade as pistachio ice cream; others might be intimidated by the fact that she could sling potentially lethal plasma bolts with a thought; still others might be wary of the fact she didn't need the plasma in most cases in order to wipe the floor with them. For Dawson, however, all of those factors merely added to her mystique in his eyes.
"So what are ya gonna do about it?" a snide voice in the back of his head asked. "She's not technically a ward of Global Justice anymore, so it's not like there's anything standing in the way of asking her out."
"Maybe that's not such a bad idea," he muttered aloud as he unlocked the navy-blue Chevy Impala he'd been assigned and tossed the briefcase he'd been carrying into the passenger's seat. As he slid into the driver's seat and shut the door, a plan started to formulate in his mind; a plan to somehow win the affections of Kate Gogh.
In another part of town, another young man was thinking not how to win the affections of a woman he was attracted to—that part had already been accomplished with an unexpected ease—but how to break the news of the latest development in his life to her. He already knew without even talking to her that it wouldn't go well; the only question was would she be heartbroken, or raging mad?
Ron sighed as he replayed the conversation he'd just finished with his sensei…
Earlier that morning:
Ron exhaled deeply as he picked up a towel and wiped the sweat from his brow. Despite the cooler temperature of the early morning hour, his intense morning workout regimen of running and kata—after a warm-up of weight training in the basement—left the young man's white training gi thoroughly drenched and stuck to his body in several areas; albeit not uncomfortably.
Draping the towel around the back of his neck and over his shoulders, the towheaded teen bent down to pick up the water bottle that his pet naked mole rat, Rufus, was pushing in his general direction. "Thanks buddy," he said as he retrieved the plastic bottle and twisted the top off, taking a long drink as he let the cool morning air wash over him.
Looking around his surroundings as he let himself cool down and his breathing normalize, Ron couldn't help but think—not for the first time—how fortunate he was for the grove of evergreens that stood in the back portion of his parents' property. Not only was it a picturesque location with the Rocky Mountain foothills as a backdrop, but a convenient clearing in the middle of the stand of limber pine offered him a place to practice his kata and work on mastering his control of the Tai Xing Pe'Kwar powers he'd been endowed with some two years previous.
As part of his training with his powers, Ron would spend between one and two hours after each of his training sessions meditating in the middle of the clearing. Sometimes he would receive a visit in his mind from his sensei, while others he would simply spend his time reflecting on the power bestowed upon him and learning how to summon and control it without allowing it to consume him.
Early on in his "exchange trip" to Yamanouchi, Ron was given a brief history lesson on mistakes made by past holders of the mantle he now carried. Some mistakes were mere cases of poor judgment that were easily rectified, while other errors had been more costly; the worst of which nearly decimated an entire village and just as nearly obliterated the region's entire shōgunate. Needless to say, that was a dark time that nobody attached to the Tai Xing Pe'Kwar powers or their master ever wished to repeat; hence the reason for the history lessons.
Taking a deep breath, Ron tipped the water bottle to his lips again and drained it in one long draught, replaced the cap and tossed it beside his workout bag before taking a seat in the middle of the clearing in a classic Lotus position and closing his eyes. With his wrists resting against his knees and his palms facing up, he slowly cleared his mind and allowed himself to sense and be one with the mystical force of the Tai Xing Pe'Kwar master that flowed through him.
Almost immediately the young Monkey Master could sense not only his powers coursing through his body, but also a welcome presence in his mind. "Have you been waiting long, Sensei?" he asked; a cliché echo in his voice.
"No, Stoppable-sama," Sensei's voice responded, also with the cliché echo, "I had just reached out to you when you arrived on the astral plane. Thanks to the discipline you've shown your studies, I was able to easily deduce at what point you would be meditating."
"Thank you," he said humbly, recognizing the thinly-veiled praise the old Yamanouchi master had just paid him, "you honor me with your compliment."
"As you honor me by allowing me to enter your mind," Sensei countered, "however I have not come here merely to praise your progress; regardless of how well-earned it is."
"I am your humble student, awaiting your guidance, Sensei."
Even though he couldn't see his Sensei, Ron was sure that if he could, he would have seen the man's flowing beard and moustache twitch as a smile crossed his lips, even though there was no sign of it in his voice as it echoed through the young man's mind again. "You have progressed well in your training, Stoppable-sama," he began, "however you have reached a critical stage in your mastery of the power of Toshimiru and Tai Xing Pe'Kwar. In order to properly complete the final stage of your training—and confirm your title as the Ultimate Master of Tai Xing Pe'Kwar—it is imperative that you come to Yamanouchi and complete your training in person."
Once upon a time in the not-too-distant past, a revelation like that would have broken Ron's concentration and sent him into a literal and mental tailspin. As his sensei had pointed out, however, his discipline and concentration had improved by leaps and bounds over the past year; the effects of the old master's statement merely causing a brief moment of static in his head before he regained his center. "With all due respect, Sensei, do I absolutely have to return to Yamanouchi to complete my training? Is there no way to finish it as we've done to this point?"
"I'm afraid not, Stoppable-sama," Sensei replied gravely. "As I said, it is imperative that you come here for the last leg of your journey; in order to truly fulfill your duty as Master of the power of Tai Xing Pe'Kwar, you must come to Yamanouchi to complete your studies… as well as a trial."
"Trial…?" Ron repeated incredulously. "Is this one of those David Carradine things where I have to brand my forearms or something?"
Sensei chuckled at his disciple's appraisal of the situation at hand. "Worry not, Stoppable-sama; that ritual of which you mention belongs to the Shaolin monks, not Tai Xing Pe'Kwar practitioners and followers."
Ron breathed a sigh of relief as he realized he wouldn't have to somehow maim himself to take the final step towards full mastery of his monkey mojo. "That's good; Kim's probably gonna be upset enough when I tell her I have to go to Japan to finish my training… she'd probably blow a gasket or five if I told her I was coming back with dragons branded into my arms."
Again, Sensei couldn't stifle the brief laugh that rumbled from his throat. "I believe you are correct in your assessment," he said, the amusement still evident in his voice for a moment. When he continued, however, his voice was as grave as it ever was. "Unfortunately, I must ask that you do not reveal to Possible-chan what you must do until after your task is completed."
This time Ron did almost lose his focus; for a moment, he caught a brief glimpse of the clearing in which he sat, but he was able to gather his wits and return to his meditation. "But why can't I tell her where I'm going?" he asked indignantly. "It's not like Kim doesn't know about the school or what I am; why should I have to keep this a secret from her?"
Sensei had expected this outburst and was prepared for it; in fact, he realized that he would have been more disturbed had Ron not been upset by the news he couldn't tell Kim. "Your task is something that you must undertake alone," he replied patiently, "and should Possible-chan have any inkling that you may be placing yourself in danger…"
"…she would insist on coming with me," Ron finished with a sigh. "Okay, so I have to find a way to make myself lie to the woman I love to explain why all of a sudden I'm gonna be gone for… how long will I have to do this task?"
"You will be required to spend a total of three weeks at the school," Sensei replied, "however if all goes well, you will be permitted to summon Possible-chan during the final week; at which time, you will also be permitted to explain your sudden departure."
Ron couldn't help the exasperated groan that echoed inside his mind at the prospect of trying to get a full three weeks off from Smarty Mart. "If I even have a job to go back to," he muttered.
"I do not understand, Stoppable-sama?"
"Oh, I'm just trying to figure out how I'm gonna convince my manager to give me three weeks off when I'm still only a student employee," the young kung fu master explained. "Normally we don't even get vacation time, so I'm not sure how this is gonna work."
"Worry not about your employer, Stoppable-sama," Sensei said, "we have already attended to that; you have been removed from their schedule until your return from Yamanouchi."
In his past dealings with his sensei and the resources of the Yamanouchi school, Ron had learned that sometimes it was best to not question their methods or their abilities; when they said something was going to be "attended to" or "taken care of," it always was. He didn't pretend to understand how they managed to clear his work schedule without getting him fired; but he knew that if they told him he'd been cleared, then he'd been cleared. "That's one less thing for me to worry about, I guess," he said, grateful they had taken the time to ensure he still had a job when he came home; he didn't relish the thought of trying to explain taking three weeks off to his boss. "I'm assuming my travel arrangements will be the same as my last visit to the school?"
"That is correct," Sensei replied. "You will rendezvous with a Yamanouchi operative at the Middleton Airport tomorrow morning at precisely six o'clock; he will supply you with your boarding passes at that time."
"I understand, Sensei," Ron intoned. "If there is nothing further, I ask to be excused so I can start thinking up a plausible story for Kim."
"Of course, Stoppable-sama," Sensei said, "I look forward to seeing you upon your arrival; it has been too long since we've conversed face-to-face."
With that, Ron's meditation was broken and his eyes opened, again revealing to him the clearing in which he sat. Sighing heavily, he unfolded his legs and stood, casting a baleful glance at Rufus, who was sitting on his workout bag and gazing at him. "Well, buddy; looks like I have to go back to Japan for a few weeks," he said. "Apparently it's time for me to go through the final phase of becoming the Ultimate Monkey Master."
Rufus chattered happily at the news, but when Ron started shaking his head in the negative, the naked mole rat stopped and stared quizzically at his human. "Sorry, Rufus; I have to go by myself this time," he said, "and I can't even tell Kim where I'm going. Sensei looked after clearing my work schedule, but I still have to come up with a reason I'm going away for three weeks and she can't come with me."
Present:
Half an hour since the end of his astral conversation with Sensei and Ron still hadn't thought of anything plausible. He'd definitely managed to come up with several scenarios that he could use to explain his sudden disappearance; each one more ludicrous than the one before. Even he'd realized some of them were downright ridiculous, but he would still run them by his freakishly-intelligent mole rat; each one earning the same reaction.
"Okay, okay!" Ron conceded when Rufus blew what was probably the fifteenth raspberry in thirty minutes. "I get it; that idea sucked, too!" Growling under his breath in frustration, he stood quickly from the fallen tree he'd been sitting on and began pacing the diameter of the clearing. "I don't understand why Sensei couldn't just cook up some sort of cover story for me; if he could clear my work schedule, that should've been a piece of cake!"
He paced the entire width of the clearing a couple more times before coming to a sudden stop in the middle, facing away from where Rufus sat watching him. "It's part of the trial," he muttered, snapping his fingers. "I'll bet almost anything that's why he didn't come up with a cover story for me; it's part of my trial!" Spinning on the spot, he strode quickly to where his workout bag and his pet were and gathered them up, placing Rufus on his shoulder. "Come on, Rufus; we have to cook up a story for Kim that won't result in me either ending up dead or single… or both."
Meanwhile, not too far away, an unsuspecting Kim was humming softly to herself as she dried and put away the dishes from breakfast; twitching her hips in time to the song in her head. Every now and then the humming would escalate far enough that one could catch the odd word from the lyrics, but not enough to completely discern what song it was.
Doctor James Possible peeked up at his only daughter from the breakfast nook over the top edge of his newspaper and grinned as he watched her at the kitchen sink. "You remind me more and more of your mother every day, Kimmie-cub," he said with a hint of humor in his voice.
"What do you mean, Dad?" she said, turning to cast a quizzical gaze at her father.
James closed his paper and folded it up, putting it on the table before answering. "When we first got married, your mom was constantly humming and singing to herself whenever she did anything around the house; especially if she was cleaning or washing dishes. The way you were standing there and half-dancing and humming, well… for a second it was twenty years ago."
Kim giggled at her father as she grabbed a plate and started drying it. "Having a bit of a nostalgic moment, are we, Daddy?" she said as she placed the dish in the cupboard.
"I guess you could say that," he chuckled. "Sometimes I just want to forget that my little girl's all grown up," he added wistfully.
"Aw geez, Dad," the teen heroine sighed as she put the tea towel she'd been using on the counter and approached her astrophysicist father, "you don't have to be so melodramatic about it. Yeah, I'm out of high school now and going to college in the fall, but I'm still me."
"And we—your mother and I—couldn't be any more proud of you than we already are," he added as he smiled up at her. "I just find myself wishing I could go back to those days when you were still playing horsey on my knee and asking me to teach you to ride your bike without training wheels."
An understanding grin crossed Kim's lips. "I think you're just going through what every father goes through when he realizes that his daughter's not the little girl in pigtails anymore," she said as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and hugged him. "Just remember that no matter what, I'll always be your little Kimmie-cub."
"I know, sweetheart," he whispered as he hugged her back, "and for the record, I have no problem with the pace that you and Ronald are progressing at; he's a fine young man that any father would be glad to see his daughter with."
Kim kissed him on the cheek at the admission he'd just made. "Thanks, Daddy," she said softly, "that means a lot to me."
James glanced at his watch as Kim slipped from his arms. "Holy Toledo; if I don't get moving, I'm gonna be late for work!" he exclaimed, his father-daughter moment having preoccupied him. Draining what was left in his coffee cup, he quickly grabbed his briefcase from beside the table and stood up just as his wife entered from the living room. "I'll see you tonight, dear; love you," he said, kissing her briefly on the lips as he headed for the door.
Anne glanced at the clock and then turned to Kim with a quizzical eyebrow raised. "Your father's never this late getting out of the house," she said with a hint of surprise in her voice. "Any idea what held him up?"
"We just had an impromptu father-daughter moment," Kim replied with a shrug. "While I was drying the dishes and putting them away, he said I reminded him of you when you first got married; that's what started it all."
"Let me guess; you were standing at the sink and half-dancing to a song in your head?"
"What can I say; I'm my mother's daughter."
The elder redhead laughed as she playfully hip-checked her daughter. "Well, come on, daughter; show me some of those moves and help me with the living room. Since it's just the two of us, we can crank up the stereo."
Twenty minutes later, an oblivious pair of redheads were in the living room of the Possible home, dusting and tidying the room to the unmistakable strains of Guns 'n' Roses; both women too absorbed in the driving beat from the massive stereo system to notice when Ron entered the room. Even though he was dreading the task that awaited him, at the same time he couldn't help but take notice of the sight that met his eyes when he first entered the room. I guess the old saying's true; the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.
He'd always known that Kim had gotten the majority of her physical features from her mother; other than the green eyes she'd inherited from her Nana Possible, there was no question that her hair and overall build came from the O'Reilly side of the family. Now, seeing his girlfriend and her mother similarly dressed in old, cut-off jeans and tank tops, moving to the beat of "Paradise City" as they cleaned, it was obvious to the young man that Kim had also inherited her dancing grace from her mother. I wonder if Mrs. Dr. P used to be a cheerleader in high school, too.
Any further musings were interrupted at that point as Kim noticed her boyfriend standing in the doorway and turned the music down. "Hey, baby; what're you doing here?" she asked as she stepped up to him and planted a quick kiss on his lips.
"Well, hello, Ron," Anne chimed in cheerily as she watched her daughter greet her boyfriend.
Ron took a moment to savor the feeling of Kim's lips on his and her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her lithe body pressing against his. After the conversation he was about to have with her, he wasn't sure if he'd ever have the opportunity to feel it again, so he figured he better enjoy it while he could. "Hi, Mrs.—I mean, Anne," he said, acknowledging her mother as his arm settled around his girlfriend's waist.
"Not that I'm not glad to see you, but I thought you had to work today," Kim said as she disengaged from their embrace.
"I did, but something came up," he replied, unable to hide the foreboding tone in his voice as his reason for stopping by came crashing back into the forefront of his mind. Casting a pointed look at the woman he loved like a second mother, he continued. "Can we talk alone for a minute, Kim?"
"Sure," she said with a baffled glance at her mother. "I'll be right back, Mom."
"Okay, sweetie," Anne replied apprehensively as she watched the two teens leave, hand-in-hand. She'd noticed from Ron's body language when she first saw him that something wasn't right, and she knew without a shadow of doubt that Kim saw it, too. She just hoped whatever was on the young man's mind, his best friend/girlfriend could sort it out and return him to his usual, happy-go-lucky self.
Kim led Ron to her bedroom and sat down on the foot of her bed, patting the spot beside her for him to sit down. "I can tell something's on your mind, Ron; what's the sitch?" she asked once he'd taken a seat beside her.
Ron took a deep breath as he prepared to do something he'd sworn since the battlesuit incident at the beginning of their senior year he'd never do again: lie to Kim. "Well, it's like this, KP; I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, and I think I'd like to get a little more in touch with who I am and where I came from."
"Where you came from?" Kim repeated, nonplussed. "I hope you plan on clarifying on that, because so far you're not making much sense. We both know that you were born and raised in Middleton, your parents are Dean and Jean Stoppable, you're my best friend, my boyfriend and my partner; what more do you need to know?"
"I don't mean where I came from in a literal sense; I mean my family's roots," he explained. "I'm leaving tomorrow for Tel Aviv."
Understanding dawned on the teen heroine's face, quickly replaced by confusion again. "Are you going alone?" she asked, sounding almost hurt.
Ron took her hands into his much larger ones and held them tenderly as he looked into her eyes. "I'm sorry, KP, but this is something I have to do myself," he said sincerely. "Maybe when we're out of school or on summer break we can go together and I can show you some of the things I found, but this feels like something I should do the first time alone."
"How long are you going for?"
"Three weeks."
"O-okay," she stammered, the thought of not having him around for that long starting to weigh heavily on her mind. "At least we'll be able to talk with the Kimmunicator."
Ron shook his head sadly at that statement. "I'm not taking it with me," he said. "I'm gonna talk to Kate and see if she'll stand in for me if a mission comes up while I'm gone."
One thing that Kim Possible was famous—or infamous?—for was her volatile temper. In a unit of time yet to be defined, the redhead's emotions spun from slightly put-out and upset over her boyfriend going away to downright, chew-nails-and-spit-tacks mad. "I sincerely hope you were joking when you said you weren't taking your Kimmunicator with you," she seethed dangerously.
He'd been afraid of this reaction and hoped whatever damage might be done to their relationship as a result would be reparable when he was able to make contact again. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he forged ahead. "No, Kim; I wasn't kidding," he whispered. "I have to do this without any distractions."
"So that's all I am to you, huh? A distraction?" she spat, wrenching her hands from his grasp and standing over him with her hands on her hips and fire in her eyes. Even though she only stood five-foot-seven to his six-feet even, she easily towered over him as he looked at her from where he still sat. "What in the hell could I possibly distract you from, except maybe the latest Zombie Mayhem game?"
"It's not like that, KP…"
"Oh, no!" she interrupted, a full-blown tirade building up inside her. "Don't you dare 'KP' me, buster! You're the one that came in here and just dropped the news on me that not only are you taking off to Israel—that part I understand completely—but you're going off the grid! Ron… I can't talk to you right now; I think you should leave."
"Kim…"
"Now, Ron," she insisted, not meeting his gaze as she pointed at the trap door leading to the lower levels of the house.
Sighing, the towheaded young man slowly rose from the foot of the bed and shuffled toward the stairs. When he reached the top step, he turned to face her; only to see she had turned so her back was to him and had wrapped her arms around her torso. "I love you, Kim," he said softly, hoping she would turn around and look at him again.
She didn't, but when she spoke, he could hear a slight quiver in her voice; one that he was sure only he and her parents would ever notice. "You've got an awful funny way of showing it," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, Kim." With that, Ron descended the stairs and left the Possible home.
Kim remained standing in the same spot for some time, staring at the photograph on her nightstand from their junior prom; the night they shared their first official kiss as a couple. After a couple of minutes, she realized she couldn't see the picture clearly anymore; it was only then she realized the tears she had been trying to hold back were starting to win the battle. Sniffling heavily, she blinked—causing one large tear to roll down each cheek—and turned away from the bed, staring instead at a spot on the floor by her feet.
"Kimmie?" her mother said softly from the trap door. "Kim, what's wrong? Ron looked miserable when he left; did you two have a fight or something?"
"Nothing's wrong, Mom," Kim replied, still staring at the floor and fighting to keep her composure, "other than my boyfriend is apparently an asshole in disguise."
"What are you talking about, Kim?" Anne asked as she entered the room and approached the younger redhead. "What's going on between you two?"
Kim took a shaky breath as she turned around and finally met her mother's gaze. "Ron just told me that he's decided he wants to get back to his roots, so he's taking off tomorrow for Israel… and he's not taking the Kimmunicator with him," she said, her composure breaking with every word.
"Did he say why he wasn't taking it with him, or why he didn't ask you to go along with him, for that matter?"
Kim sniffled and nodded before she spoke. "He said he felt like this trip was something he had to do by himself," she explained, her expression turning bitter as she continued. "He said he didn't want any 'distractions' when he went, so he wouldn't be taking the Kimmunicator with him."
Anne sighed deeply as she digested the information she'd just been presented. She really wasn't sure what to say that would help to calm her fiery daughter; especially when it came to matters of the heart… and especially when she felt herself sympathizing with Kim's ire once she considered how she would feel if her husband fed her a similar line. As it turned out, however, she didn't need to think of anything to say just yet, as Kim's tirade continued.
"He didn't want a 'distraction'! Is that all I am to him now, a fucking distraction? Where does he get off telling me that I'm a distraction to him? He's been the goddamned distraction for the last five years!" she raved, anger being the prevalent emotion at the moment.
"Kimberly Ann, that is enough!" Anne snapped, using her best "mom" voice. "You may be an eighteen-year-old woman now, but don't think for one moment I won't drag you into that bathroom and wash your mouth out if you keep that kind of language up!"
Her mother's lecture had the desired effect and took the wind out of Kim's sails. Exhaling deeply, the teen sat on the foot of her bed again and rubbed her tear-stained cheeks. "I'm sorry, Mom; I'm just so hurt and confused right now that I'm not thinking."
"I understand how you feel, Kimmie," Anne said softly as she sat down beside Kim and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. "I can't say that I know exactly how you feel, but I can understand why you're upset."
"'Upset' doesn't even begin to describe the emotional roller-coaster I'm on right now," Kim muttered with a derisive snort. "I mean, is this something I should be mad about; is it something that should worry me… what does it mean?"
"I wish I had an easy answer for you, sweetie," Anne murmured softly, "but I don't."
Both women sat in silence on the foot of Kim's bed as mother tried to comfort daughter in any way she could; for the moment, that simply meant being there with her as she processed the events of the past few minutes. It pained the neurosurgeon to watch as the younger redhead's emotions played out in the various expressions that crossed her face, culminating when more tears started to roll down her cheeks.
Finally, with a mournful wail, Kim broke down and buried her face into her mother's shoulder and started bawling like she hadn't done since she'd fallen off her bicycle and skinned her knee when she was five. "I don't get it, Mom," she sobbed. "After all we've been through together; after everything we've shared… how can he not trust me enough that he has to completely cut me off? Do you think… do you think maybe he doesn't love me anymore?"
Anne heaved a deep sigh as she held her weeping daughter. She had to admit that the theory was more than a little plausible. Ron's sudden departure was out-of-character enough that it could be argued that it was the last act of a desperate man trying to run away from something… or someone. If that proved to be the case, then her opinion of Ron—to say nothing of her husband's—would be sorely diminished.
On the other hand, however, she felt she knew Ron better than that. Even with all his eccentricities and foibles, he was a brave and respectable man; not to mention she knew for a fact that he had more respect for Kim and their relationship than to just run away if something wasn't right. That fact alone told her that there was likely more to his sudden departure than met the eye.
Taking another deep breath, she finally spoke. "Honestly, I don't think so, Kim," she said. "As—unique, shall we say—as Ron is, I really think if that was what was going on, he would've talked to you about it."
"You really think so?"
"Think about it this way; what was Ron's biggest worry when the two of you started dating?"
Kim took a moment to consider her mother's question as she grabbed a box of Kleenex from her nightstand. Withdrawing a tissue and wiping her eyes and nose, she finally spoke as she wadded the used paper in her hand. "He was scared that if we didn't work out as a couple it would ruin our friendship, too," she finally said.
"So if he was so concerned about your friendship surviving when you started dating, do you really think he would throw it all away like this if he felt that being romantically involved wasn't working out as originally planned?"
Kim took a deep breath as her mother's logic—as sound as ever—sunk in. "Not a chance," she said. "Ron's a lot of things—most of which are parts of what make me love him as much as I do—but ever since we got together, he's always been ready and able to talk to me if something was bothering him."
"I agree," Anne said with a nod and a small smile. "Time and again he's had faith in you and proven how much he loves you… this time, maybe you should have a little faith in him."
"Thanks, Mom; I needed this," Kim said, sitting down beside her mother and embracing her tightly. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm more than just a little piss—I mean, tweaked about him just taking off and totally cutting himself off from me like this, though."
"You certainly have the O'Reilly temper," Anne chuckled, ignoring Kim's near-slip, "and quite frankly, I don't blame you for being pissed off at him. Having said that, I think you have too much invested in your relationship to let this be the absolute be-all and end-all of it."
"So I should just let this go, is that what you're saying?"
For the first time since their conversation started, Anne's countenance darkened as she responded. "Not a chance," she stated vehemently. "If you lived together, I would say make him sleep on the couch until after your next Shark Week; as it stands right now, I would say cut him off for at least that long."
Kim flushed lightly as she listened to her mother speak so candidly about her sex life, but she was quickly becoming accustomed to how accepting both her parents were of her relationship with Ron and soon recovered. "Provided he's got an acceptable reason for this stunt he's pulling—better than the line he fed me, anyway—I might banish him for a week. I don't think I could handle cutting him off for that long; if he comes back when he said he would, I'd just be finishing Shark Week right around then, so that would mean almost two months."
An almost evil smirk crossed the elder redhead's lips. "Trust me; if you're mad enough at him and you've got as much of me in you as I think you do, I think your anger and adrenaline will overtake your libido and you won't give it a second thought. Besides," she added, "a woman doesn't always need a man to satisfy her cravings."
"Mom!" Kim cried in exasperation, her cheeks flushing bright red. "I'm just getting used to the thought of you being okay with the fact that Ron and I are active and now you're talking about that?" She paused to take a couple of deep breaths before she continued; the color finally starting to leave her cheeks. "Are you trying to scar me for life?" she asked with a sidelong glance at her mother.
"If I was trying to scar you for life, I would tell you where and when I lost my virginity," Anne deadpanned. Bumping her shoulder into Kim's, she stood up and held a hand out to her daughter. "Come on, you look like you could use a little pick-me-up to take your mind off this for awhile; how about we get changed and spend the afternoon at the spa, my treat?"
For the first time since Ron had first dropped his bombshell announcement on her, a hint of a smile graced Kim's features. Taking her mother's hand, she allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, allowing her momentum to carry her into Anne's arms, where they both embraced. "Thanks, Mom," she whispered.
"What're mothers for?" Anne replied as they disengaged. "Meet me downstairs in ten minutes and we'll go."
"Okay," Kim nodded as she watched her mother disappear through the trap door leading downstairs.
A/N: I figured this was as good a spot as any to stop; I considered continuing on, but it seemed like a decent spot to end the chapter. Ron's in hot water with Kim, Global Justice has been tasked to find the newly-escaped Peregrine and Kate appears to have a new admirer. Among the things to look forward to in the next chapter will be the dinner with Kate and Jake (Kate: "It's NOT a date!") and some more details into the final trial of the Monkey Master.
Thanks for reading, and remember: leave a review, get a response!
Cheers,
Deuce