Sorry for the long delay. My pc got trashed and lost the original second chapter. But Netflix has Kick Buttowski and the spirits of writing did visit me. So here's another chapter. Enjoy

It was prom and they walked in arm and arm. The gym froze, like it had five years before, gazing in shock at them together. Only this time he wasn't wearing a luchador outfit and she wasn't dressed up as an operatic Valkyrie. She wasn't even sure what she was doing here, but no one else had asked her to the biggest night of high school (well at least other than graduation), so she's accepted his offer to escort her to the dance.

Kick had grown, but he was still shorter than her. Most girls would have found that embarrassing, but Kendal Perkins wasn't going to let that stop her. Or the fact that despite five years and several growth-spurts between them, Kicks' eyes barely were higher up than the breasts that had formed with maturity, along with the slightly wider hips and longer legs. He was still stocky, but it was more hard muscle and scar tissue than baby fat. The arm she held onto delicately was hard as stone, and she couldn't help but flush at that. It reminded her of the time they had dance, for a grade and a trophy, and he'd pushed her abilities to their limits and been so sure and strong and intense. If she hadn't hated him (no that was the wrong word) then it would have swept her off her feet. As it was, it had sent a rush of something through her and it stuck with her even over five years of still not being able to stand the daredevil shrimp. So she'd said yes, just on the secret, slight chance that he'd show her that again on the dance floor tonight.

He looked so small and vulnerable in the hospital bed. Even with all the casts and wires and tubes and things sticking in and out of him. Machines beeped and whirred, stabilizing him, keeping him alive. Coma, they said. It didn't make sense to her. She'd been out and recovering, they let her come see him. The guy had fucking face planted more times than she could count when he was twelve alone and it had only gotten worse as the years went on and he tried even more extreme things. It didn't make sense that crashing his stupid bike into her stupid car could do this to him.

Kendal sat there beside his bed. Her arm and leg were in casts and her head wrapped in bandages, but they couldn't get her away from him for long. They could barely make her go to her own room to sleep most nights, even after having gone to the trouble of putting her room next to his, which took some doing in ICU. They generally only allowed half hour visits, loved ones traveling back to the waiting room, filled with chairs and recliners for those who had driven themselves to the point where sleep overcame the need to watch out for the loved one's chances of passing on.

A nurse came in, one Kendal hadn't seen before. She ignored all the machines and placed her hand lightly on Kick's chest and Kendal felt her heart freeze. The woman's eyes were two different colors. One was icy blue, the other black as night. She stared right at Kendal and the young woman whimpered. There was something about this woman, a sense of finality, of the end, of things older than mankind, even though the nurse was young.

"Please," Kendal said, "Is there nothing you can do? He can't die, not like this. Not from crashing into me."

If their entrance had shocked the gym, then their dance had blown them away. Her elegant dress, all white lace and silk, swirled about in gentle waves as he spun her. His tux, pure white, with a crimson bowtie and vest, looked awesome on him. It had taken a lot to get him to not wear a jumpsuit and helmet. She understood why he wore it, he had the same curly hair as his mother and sister, and she couldn't imagine that such a thing would be fun for a little boy, or even a young man who wanted to be awesome. But he still grew it, rather than shaving his head, and part of her wanted to lace her fingers in those wavy curls and see if it was a soft at it looked. So unfair that a boy would have such wonderful hair and she had to spend hours on hers.

He didn't throw her around this time. It wasn't wrestling mixed in with opera this time. This time it was martial arts mixed with ballet. She'd heard that after his first growth spurt, he and Gunther had gotten Gunther's father to teach them the warrior skills of the Vikings, and it showed through Kick's movements as power and strength and confidence, not just in the focused way of Karate or Kung Fu, but as something more dangerous, more lethal, and it sent a rush through her. He might be eye-level with her breasts, but his eyes locked with hers and she felt captured by that gaze, prey before the predator.

The nurse stared at her, hand still resting on Kicks chest. Kendal found her hand holding on tightly to Kick's. Their eyes locked over his body and Kendal felt her mind torn with emotions she didn't know or understand.

"You know he's in a lot of pain," the nurse said softy.

"I know," Kendal said, "But he always said live till it hurts. To do it all, and then some."

"He likely will never be able to do anything strenuous in his life again," The nurse said, "Even if he wakes up, he could be stuck in this bed forever."

Kendal felt her throat tighten. Such a life would be a nightmare, even for her. For Kick, it would be hell on earth. She looked down at his body, at the hand on his chest. "Then…then he'll find a way to still do something crazy." She whispered softly.

The nurse smiled, Kendal could hear it in the woman's voice. "You're probably right," she said softly. Kendal's eyes lifted up and she caught the name on the nurse's badge, Hela. "I've watched him come in to this hospital time after time. But he's never been this close to me before."

She'd gone to the bathroom to get away. It was too much. She didn't like him. Hell, she couldn't stand him half the time. But when they danced, everything else vanished. Just his eyes, powerful and assured and confident in a way that put her on edge because no one else had a right to be as confident as she was, and most of the time she wasn't sure she was that confident.

Someone had spiked the punch. Someone always spiked the punch, and she'd had about two cups. Kick hadn't though, he'd brought a can of that cheetah chug drink of his (made with the sweat of real cheetahs) and only drank that, because he knew someone would spike the punch too. She leaned against the door of the bathroom stall and tried to control her breathing. A couple of stalls over, she heard a girl crying and wondered if it was because of a fight or one of those prom night babies the psa's were always complaining about during sex ed. The stupid things were embarrassing, and she hadn't even had sex. Not because she was a prude, but there were always better things to do and school work to get done and honestly the only boy who had asked her out (that she'd accepted) in the last three years was Kick and that was for tonight because it was just sad to go to prom by yourself, and it was better to go with someone you didn't like than go alone.

Hell, he was just about the only boy to ever kiss her, and he'd stolen her first kiss…

The nurse paused to look out in the hallway as a janitor passed by, long handled mop sticking out of his bucket. He looked into the room, then at the nurse, and Kendal saw that an eye patch covered one eye. He shook his head slightly and then moved on. The nurse sighed and leaned down, kissing Kick's forehead, before pulling away.

She left without saying a word, leaving Kendal there holding Kick's hand.

Kendal wasn't sure she'd wanted to go out there, but her feet had taken her back to him. She played haughty, because that's the only way she knew to act around him. But she was still the deer to his wolf, and as they spun around the dance floor to a slow song (how had that happened she'd been determine not to dance where they'd be so close 'cause his scent and his strength would wash over and how could she take that from someone who annoyed her every day. He wasn't like Renaldo, with all his logic and equations and sharp edges, this was Kick with his chaos and awesome and blunt in your face way of dealing with things) and he held her firmly but gently, letting her both lead and making her follow by turns, just as they had five years ago.

It had started with a kiss, but after it went further. So much further, driven by the buzz and the peer pressure of all the other girls talking about who they did and how good they were depending on their egos, the boy's ego, and if they liked who they'd been with or wanted to shame him. Kick treated it with the same focus and diligence he did anything he wanted, and Kendal wondered if this had been his plan or it just happened, and she tasted the punch on his mouth too and knew she wasn't the only one buzzing. He'd been prepared, bless him, not by his initiative but because Gunther's father said he knew young men and dances and he wasn't letting a student of his off without proper protection.

Kendal looked down at Kick and felt the tears well up in her eyes as she held his hand. "Please Kick, don't die," she said softly, "I'm so, so sorry for what I did to you."

Her first. His first. So many firsts. He could have had so many girls, but he didn't want them. She could have had so many guys, but she didn't want them either. She wasn't even sure they wanted each other, or if hate and disdain was what pushed them, led them, to that. Or if it was secretly the respect they had for each other.

It was the not knowing that made her turn her back on him. They could have gone forwards. But she was scared. Scared of the man he was becoming, and realizing that she was just a little girl. So the next day she treated him like nothing had happened. And she saw the pain in his eyes. And felt her heart rip. But she was helpless. So things went on as normal, as each night she tried to bury the confusion deeper and deeper.

Till five years later the scream of steal covered the scream of a young woman who watched her first fly past her windshield in a blur.