"Are you awake?"

"Unh... I think so," she croaked. Everything hurt. She tried to think of where she could be, or how she got there, but all there was in her head was pain. She tried to ask, but nothing came from her mouth except a pained whimper.

She looked down at herself, blinking. Everything was blurry—she didn't know if she'd always been this nearsighted, but she didn't like it.

Everything was white. White gauze covered her left arm, her torso, and the upper part of her left thigh. There was a cast on her other leg... and... oh God. She was missing toes?

Considering how much pain she was in, that she figure that if she only lost toes, she was doing better than she thought.

Her head hurt the most. She asked the woman that had just spoken to her to please shut off the lights and put the blinds down. It helped, a little.

Speaking was painful. She was informed that she had multiple skull and jaw fractures, and that her mouth had been wired shut for weeks. They took out the wires four days ago.

Sleep was uncomfortable. Her back hurt. They told her she was lucky, her back had been completely broken, but by some miracle there was no severe spinal chord damage. Oh God. Everything was broken. Her back, her ribs—her face, apparently—her leg, her wrist, her pelvis.

And then there were the burns. The nurse had started to clean her burns, and the searing pain made her black out. They covered her entire left side, from her neck to her thigh.

When she opened her eyes again, there were a hundred tubes all over her, including one in her throat. They told her they kept her sedated after she passed out, because coded and needed to be put on a respirator.

Days passed. She tried to think, to remember how she'd gotten to that hospital. Nothing came up in her mind. They asked her what her name was, but she didn't know. It started with an A, maybe. Her face was still swollen and painful, too much for them to try to match her picture anywhere.

Her vision got better, briefly, but then the painful blurriness was back. They said there was possible neural damage to her eyes.

There were x rays and MRIs and CAT scans, and therapies and surgeries. She wished she could pass the time faster—or slower. She wasn't sure. She never knew how much time passed.

Weeks passed. She asked to see herself in a mirror, once. Her eyes were green. Her hair was very, very bright. Like fire, or lava. She had pale skin, marred by purple and red bruises, disfigured by swelling and cuts that were beginning to scar.

She wished she knew what happened. But she didn't dare to ask. She didn't want to know. But she wished she did.

That conundrum was enough to induce another headache. She blocked it out as best she could, and went to sleep.

There was someone. His face lingered just outside her memory, but she knew he existed. And he loved her. She could feel the tingle on her lips that said he was... someone very special to her. She wondered who he was, what his name was, if they could find him.

She'd dream about him, but in the morning, her dreams were gone, just like her memories were.

She cried.


When he received the news, he'd panicked so violently that Mr. Barkin had to sprint to aisle 72 to find emergency sedatives. In a strange fit of compassion, Mr. Barkin also took him home and put him in his bed. Giving him tea that he'd secretly infused with a touch of brandy, he left the boy to his grief, calling his parents as well as the Possibles. Only then did Mr. Barkin understand the reason for the younger man's pain, but Ron didn't think anyone would ever understand the depth.

He didn't leave his room for weeks. He was depressed and filthy, without the motivation to shower or shave, eat or sleep. His parents, unsure of what to do, left him alone. He lost his job at some point, but he didn't care. Friends flocked in from all over—Felix returned from Stamford University, Monique arrived from France, where she was doing a semester abroad. When they saw him, numb and empty as he was, they took up residence in his living room and refused to leave, somehow getting the dull blonde to eat and drink, to get some rest, and most of all to finally start taking care of himself. He didn't try to get his job back, but his friends eventually were convinced that he'd take care of himself and gave him space.

Even people he didn't expect flocked to Middleton from all over. Bonnie had not gone to college. Junior and her had moved off to some Caribbean island to live it up, but flew in when they were notified. Bonnie immediately called together the Mad Dog alumni, the cheerleaders that had been on the team while Kim had gone to school with them. People flew in from places like Alaska to places like Madagascar.

He spent Christmas in Kim's room. He got a small tree, lights, and decorations, and all of the stuffed animals, flowers and candles that had been overflowing the Possible home were transferred to her room. He bought her gifts with the severance pay he got. He placed them under the small tree in her room. A charm bracelet, those fancy Pandora ones. A soft purple sweater she'd been complaining about for weeks, since she wasn't able to afford it. Extra small. She was always tiny. He'd always been small too—but in a scrawny way, but he eventually filled out some. She stayed thin, even as she grew taller... curvier, slightly... but one thing never changed about her: she always fit perfectly in his arms. He could still smell her on him, on the days where her memory haunted him constantly. He bought her her favorite perfume set: Amber something or other, from Bath & Body Works. She always smelled like that, kind of fruity, and kind of spicy. He remembered how her lips curved in a challenging smirk when she was about to fight; he bought her her favorite lipgloss. It tasted like cherries, and so it was his favorite too.

Sometime in January, he packed up the lights and the tree. The uneaten candy and mints were put away, and he put her still-wrapped gifts in her closet, or in the drawer of her nightstand. He lit her candles, and then he cried again. Anne came and cried with him. When her husband asked if they should maybe clean out her room, she agreed only to give her clothing to charity, but not to remove her belongings... she knew Ron needed to be in there.

February came. He spent Valentine's day in her room. He got her another gift—a box of Godiva chocolates. And a watch from Macy's that was pretty and feminine and reminded him of her. It was the last of his savings but he didn't care. He slipped the watch in the drawer of her nightstand, and left the chocolates on her desk.

March came. It was her birthday, and he spent that in her room, too. He got her a Club Banana gift card. He got a new job, and he even smiled when he put the card in her nightstand, next to her watch and her lip gloss. He wrote her a letter to go with it.

My KP:

I wish I knew why you had to go. I miss you all the time. But I see you everywhere. At the mall, at the lake, when I go by the school on the bus. I um... sort of abandoned the Smarty-Mart gig. You were always visiting me there, and it got too overwhelming to remember making out with you in the stock room or buying you pretzels at the stand near the entrance, or kissing you after you had a red slurpie...

It hurt too much to stay. So I left. But now it's different. I still miss you painfully... but instead of just laying down, I'm doing what you would want me to do. I'm fighting back. I want to remember you, not be in pain. It will get better for me some day.

I know though, why I have to go. I won't... stay in Middleton after this. My new job is temporary. I'm saving for a ticket to Japan. It's a one-way ticket. I won't be back in this town, this state, or this country... ever again. I've decided to move on. I know you wouldn't want me tied down here by your memory. So, I'm going to carry you with me. You would want me to do better, because you loved me. You would want me to fulfill whatever potential you thought that I could have... and I need to find that potential for myself. You'll be with me somehow, I know you will.

For now I'll just keep working, keep thinking about you, loving you... I'll never stop doing that, I promise.


She imagined what her parents could look like. She knew, vaguely, that her eyes were green, and that her hair was red. It was short and matted... she'd had stitches and various surgeries while she was...

She wondered about her age. She guessed herself to be maybe seventeen. She told the nurse that, and she agreed. There was a police officer with her the next day, and she told him what she had guessed about herself. He agreed to look through the national missing persons lists to see if there was anyone missing that could be her.

Outside, snow turned to rain, and rain turned to sunshine. She glanced at the date on the wall. June 21, 2013. she'd been there more or less six months.

Why did no one search for her? By now they probably thought she was in someone's freezer or something drastic that way.

She closed her eyes. These days, it helped with the headaches. She wore sunglasses constantly, not bothering to take them off, even at night. She had begun therapy only a couple of months before. She could hardly stand, let alone walk. She didn't want to anyway. There was no where to go. She was alone, after all.


Ron!

She yelped, bolting upright, his name on her lips. Ron, Ron, Ron. His name was Ron. He was hurt, she saw it. Something happened to him. God why couldn't she see his face?!

She screamed for the nurse, tears spilling down her cheeks. The nurse came running moments later, terrified.

"Ron," she cried desperately, her hand grasping the woman's. "Please, Ron... you have to find Ron, don't let him die... please don't let my Ron die! Please!" She was screaming again by the end of her plea.

A male nurse came in, trying to calm her down as he gently pried her hands from the other nurse's shirt. "Who is Ron?" He asked gently when the other nurse scurried away, mumbling about water and medication.

"I don't know," she sobbed. "He's my Ron. I can't even see his face but he's mine and I don't want him to die... please."

"I'm sure that whoever he is, he's alright, okay?" The man said. He was tall, and kind of solid... he had messy brown hair and blue eyes that were full of kindness. He had a cowlick on the side of his head, making his hair even messier.

She pleaded with the kindness in his eyes to not let him die.

"Look... I don't know your name, or where you come from... but if he loves you the way you say, hes wishing and looking for you every day. He'll be okay, and someday, he'll find you. Okay?"

She sniffed and nodded.

"Do you want to tell me what you dreamed about?"

"I don't remember. All I remember was..."


Ron dodged the blade almost expertly, blocking the next blow smoothly. A star sailed past his head, but he ignored it. Sensei was in trouble. Sensei became mother and father to him when he moved here. He spoke to his parents occasionally and missed them greatly. But he knew he needed to be here to heal. Sensei understood his grief, and helped him discover that part of his destiny was to keep Team Possible alive. He trained hard, day and night. Eventually he didn't cry anymore, and the dead pain in his heart lifted, to be replaced with the less heavy ache of always missing her.

Now the Academy was under attack, and fury heated his whole body. They would not take this from him, too. People lived here. They'd found some sort of peace, and they were happy. He'd needed that so much. Now they were attacking, and he felt himself be filled with foreign power. That had happened once before, when the Lorwardians were attacking... her... and he shuddered. He did his best to control it, his wild imagination conjuring images of the mountain lighting up with white-blue fire that turned it into a nuclear wasteland. He shook his head and fought harder, until they wouldn't come anymore.

His arm was bleeding, but he ignored that too.

Sensei was behind him. He was saying something. He tried to focus.

"It is over, my son," his deep voice said.

He lowered his blade, his eyes darting around. "Are they gone?"

"They have retreated. Yamanouchi is safe. You are injured, please let Yori take care of you."

The slight girl pulled the red silk scarf from her hair and tied it around his arm in a tourniquet. She gave him a hesitant smile, and he finally allowed himself to be taken back toward the campus medical office to be treated. There were lots of people that were injured worse than him, and he stopped abruptly. "These people need help."

"Be reasonable, Stoppable-san," Yori told him. "We must take care of you so that you can help these others."

He glared. "Kim would help them first."

Yori sighed. "Kim would make sure she is well enough to help."

"She would do whatever it takes, and so will I. Help me or get out of my way."

In the past two months, Yori had learned that that threat was a valid one. She turned to the nearest injured student, and he sighed in relief. They were able to administer first aid to the majority of his students before the pain in his arm, back and torso became too much.

He leaned back against a tree. Against his will, his eyes slipped closed. He drifted, and as he did, he imagined drifting with her.