CHAPTER TWO

"SATURDAY EVENING"

"Oh man, Kim, is this the coolest place or what?" Ron, who'd traveled from the Amazon rain forest to the Swiss Alps, was suddenly eyeing Southern California like a sugar deprived 10 year old in a candy store. "Disneyland, Dodger Stadium, In and Out Burgers, the gir…ouch!" Another semi-lethal finger-fu jab in the ribs. "The girrr—illa exhibit at the LA Zoo."

"So not the drama, mouse ear boy. Apart from a few roller coaster rides and girrrillas, what's LA got that Middleton hasn't got? And need I remind you of the one thing Middleton has that this place doesn't?"

"Hmmm, let's see. Lethal blizzards? Mr. Barkin? Future black hole exile? Oh, I know. The most bondiggity cheerleader best friend-girl friend in the known universe. You're right. Middleton wins, hands down."

"Nice save, BFBF. Now let's see if we can find this Mr. Quest before Drakken and Shego show up. Wade, can you give us a lock on his location?"

"Stay on the Pacific Coast Highway, go past Brookhurst about a mile and a half. You'll see a yellow stucco house facing the beach with a black '67 Jaguar convertible parked in front."

"Got it. Rocking again, Wade." A few minutes later, Kim parked the Sloth next to the black Jaguar. Even though the Sloth could easily go from a standstill to 100 mph in a few seconds, for the time being its nomenclature seemed fitting next to its cousin.

Kim rang the doorbell. A somewhat tall, thin but muscular man opened the door. He had a tan even Bonnie would envy, and a mop of slightly thinning sun-bleached hair. He was barefoot, wore a black tank top and a pair of military green cargo shorts. "Sorry, kids. I already subscribe to enough magazines to stock a Barnes & Noble."

"Mr. Quest?"

"Yes. Do I know you?"

"My name's Kim Possible, and this is my, um, Ron Stoppable. We're here to save you."

Quest frowned. "You've got your religion, I've got mine. Now leave…"

"No, I mean, you don't understand, Mr. Quest. I, we, go around the world protecting people from mad scientists, and there's this guy with a blue face named Dr. Drakken who's coming after you and…." Kim suddenly realized that outside the world of Middleton where people were used to her odd heroics, she sounded ridiculous to this man who seemed rather bemused and quite capable of taking care of himself. To her surprise, he invited Kim and Ron inside. The house had a Spartan, retro look to it. She and Ron sat down on a low-slung white couch with metallic legs behind a long, dark teak wood coffee table. What appeared to be an original Jackson Pollock painting hung behind the couch. There was no television or even phone in the room, only a bookshelf with a set of Encyclopaedia Britannica and two small portraits, one of a distinguished gentleman with a rust colored beard and the other of a little white bulldog.

"Can I get something for you to drink? And then I want to know exactly who you two are, and what this is all about."

"Coffee for me, please and thank you, and a diet Pepsi for my friend, Ron." Kim gave Quest the brief Team Possible History for Dummies version of her saving the world from wacked out villains such as Dr. Drakken, bringing him up to date on Drakken's intent to steal Dr. Benton Quest's robotic brain research. He surprised her a second time when he both took her seriously yet didn't seem overly concerned or impressed.

He laughed. "Been there, done that, kid. I was saving the world with my father when your parents were still watching Yogi Bear cartoons." Kim and Ron looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders. Yogi who?

Not one to back down from a challenge, Kim said, "Well, it doesn't look like you've got much to show for it now. Surfboarding in hippie paradise, bumming off comic book royalties…"

"Listen, kid," (grrr, if he calls me kid one more time…), "twenty years of getting chased, shot at, tortured, harassed, with no home except a jet plane and my father's research laboratory—that kind of life gets old after awhile. Besides, even if this Drakken guy shows up, he won't find anything. My father's robotic brain research was destroyed years ago, at his own request."

"Why?" Kim was stunned.

"Years ago, scientists had little understanding of diseases like Alzheimer's. My friend, guardian, and mentor, a guy named Race Bannon, started suffering from severe dementia and memory loss. My father, Dr. Quest, was trying to invent something to help Race Bannon and others like him. But then he was approached by some government agency, Global Justice, I think. Global justice, what a laugh." He did not look amused, however. "They wanted to know if my father's work could be used for 'intelligence' work, counter-espionage, that sort of thing. After a few odd break-ins into his laboratory, Dr. Quest realized that the potential harm from his robotic brain project far outweighed the good. So he asked me to help him destroy all his notes and experiments. He apologized over and over to Race. I think it finally broke my father. At first I was furious at him, but now—it took a lot of guts to do what he did. I admire him a lot more than whichever idiot let this Drakken character steal the technology behind that Diablo mess." Kim squirmed a bit.

"Mr. Quest…"

"Stop calling me 'Mr. Quest.' Name's Jonny."

"OK, if you stop calling me 'kid.' My friends call me Kim."

"Fair enough…Kim."

"Mr., I mean, Jonny, Ron and I probably can appreciate your past better than most people. And I'm sure you can handle yourself fine against Drakken. But his sidekick, Shego, believe me, she is front-page bad news. I would feel a lot better if you'd let us at least stake out your place for a day or two."

"What, stay outside? Nonsense. I have a couple of spare guest bedrooms upstairs for when my brother Hadji and his family visit. I'll be out for several hours. Make yourself at home; help yourself to anything you find in the kitchen. One other thing, as much as I admire black turtlenecks, this is Southern California. I assume you brought other, more appropriate duds. If not, there are plenty of shops around here for wardrobe downsizing." He picked up a surfboard off his back porch and headed towards the beach.


"So whaddya think of this guy, KP?"

"Nice enough, weird, but kind of full of himself. He's right about one thing, though…" She contacted Wade with her communicator. "Wade, the latest on Drakken and Shego?"

"Oh, you'll love this, Kim. I have a satellite fix on their rent-a-car. Their on-board map finder is getting them hopelessly lost—heh, heh, heh." Wade took a long slurp of grape soda. "They should be pulling into a sleazy motel in Long Beach around midnight. I think you can expect them in the morning, but for the time being, you and Ron can relax."

"Thanks, Wade. You're cute when you gloat." Wade turned a shade of maroon and signed off.

Kim and Ron stored their mission gear into the guest bedrooms. She changed into a jade one-piece swimsuit with a black linen skirt, Ron into a pair of red cargo swim shorts and a simple, white cotton t-shirt. He watched her as she came downstairs and shook his head in amazement.

"What? What's wrong," she asked, twisting around to see if a loose thread hung from her skirt. "Gosh, I'm so pale, I look like a red-headed fish filet."

"Just what I was thinking, KP," Ron said as he walked around her, sizing her up and down like a chef at a fish market. "I think you need a little Ron marinade to soften you up." He stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist, and started kissing her neck.

"Not now, lover boy, we're still in mission mode, even if just on yellow alert. Let's do an inside and outside perimeter check." The rest of the house looked similar to the main living room, with wood and stone floors and a Frank Lloyd Wrightish feel to it. The house curiously lacked modern, electronic gadgets. A small black and white TV sat on the counter in the kitchen, which sparkled in stainless steel. In a sunken den area they found a turntable and an extensive collection of vinyl jazz albums. On the turntable was side one of Provocative Percussion by Enoch Light and the Light Brigade. "Never heard of it," said Ron, "let's try it." After a few seconds of pops and crackles, they heard syncopated bongos and a xylophone crooning "I'm in the Mood for Love." "This stuff is too cheesy even for Rufus. I was expecting at least the Beach Boys."

Kim just smiled and thumped the beat with her fingers on her knees. It was certainly different from their usual cheerleader music; it was kinda corny…and very romantic. "Let's dance," she said as she pulled Ron out of his chair with a sultry look. She tossed her hair and started her best-guess approximate Tango.

The big band strains of "Whatever Lola Wants" started next. "So whatever Kimberly wants," said Ron, "the Rondo is here to provide." He started wiggling his shoulders and hips to the rhythm, snapping his fingers, as he performed a fair Dirty Dancing imitation around her; she responded in kind. Forty minutes later, they both collapsed on the floor, laughing and a bit over-heated, though not from just the dancing. "I think the inside perimeter of the den is safe now," said Ron.

"Think so, Rumba Boy? Let's check the outside."

"I'm starved, KP. I need a protein fix."

"Well, in the interest of your health maintenance, I think we can extend our outside perimeter to one of the restaurants along the pier. Ruby's Diner sound sufficiently bondiggity?"

An hour or so later, sustenance level back to safe zone, a contented Kim Possible did a very quick and cursory visual check for potential signs of wacked scientists, her arms and fingers entwined with those of her equally contented boyfriend as they walked down the beach, the sun setting over the gold and scarlet waves breaking along the sand. This certainly wasn't turning into their typical mission, at least not yet. If Drakken and Shego showed up at that moment, she couldn't decide whether she'd be so angry that she'd turn them into gull feed, or she'd so not care that she'd give them a hand drawn map of the Quest house, just so they'd go away and leave her and Ron alone.

The air started to turn cool. They lay back on a couple of beach blankets they found in Quest's house, facing the evening surf. "Kim?"

"Mmm."

"You know our conversation, earlier today?"

"Mmm." Earlier today seemed like eons ago.

"Yes, that's what I want to ask you about, the Mmm Word."

Kim replayed some of the surprises that she hadn't expected, her mother's warning against taking Ron for granted, the baby talk to Rufus. She admitted to herself that she had sometimes acted like a brain-dead wimp when she met some hottie in the pre-Out There In Here days. But deep inside, she was still the daughter of two rational, sensible scientists. The more she thought about it, that pragmatic approach to life governed her emotions and actions on a basic, even subconscious level.

"Have I ever told you The Kim Kiss Rule, Ron?"

"Uh, no, KP. Do tell." He started worrying whether he'd broken Kim's Kiss Rule. She certainly hadn't indicated any lip or tongue violations so far.

"When I started getting interested in boys, I made up a rule from the very beginning about the stuff that goes with being interested in boys. I know there are guys at Middleton High—and a few girls like Bonnie—who think I'm a prude. But I'm not, really. I just decided that I'd never kiss some guy who was not going to maintain or improve the Possible genetic line."

"You kissed Josh Mankey." You really know how to kill the moment, Rondo. Ten minutes ago, I'm ready to elope, and now I'm having esophagus spasms over Monkey boy, darn him.

"News flash, Ron. He kissed me, not the other way around. I didn't mind it—the novelty was kinda nice, I admit, but…look at me, Ron… I did not initiate any Mankey snogging. I never have, with him or with any boy—or synthodrone. Except YOU."

"What about the moodulator, and then we broke up…"

"I kissed you, then you broke up with me, remember? Maybe things were a little premature, but my Kiss Rule natural instincts were correct, even if we didn't know it at the time. And since then, I'll have to check my diary for the precise number of Kim-on-Ron smackings, but there's been a sufficient number for you to know…"

"I'm gene worthy? Wow."

"Oh, you are definitely gene worthy, Ron Stoppable. That doesn't mean I necessarily would want to marry you."

Ron felt his gut roller-coastering. "So now you're saying you don't want to do the M word with me?" I'm so confused.

Kim looked at Ron, sensed his need for a little gene-worthiness reassurance. She leaned over and gave him a gentle kiss. She lay her head on his shoulder, her arm across his chest. "No, that's not what I'm saying, Ron. It's just that, some women have urges to maintain the species. I recognized that urge around Rufus recently…"

"Ewww, you want little naked mole rat babies? Ouch!" Man, a third bruised rib in the last 24 hours.

"…and when I see you around little Hannah. Like you said, Ron, there are other things we need to talk about, but it's an important starting point for me, to know I can see you as a father someday. And I'm pretty sure you feel the same about me, the mom thing, right? That's a rhetorical right, Ron. Just nod your head." Good boy. "I've been thinking about something else you said, that what's best for you or for me may not be the same as what's best for us. I want to do it all, Ron: go to college, have a career, be a wife, a mom, save the world. I want everything that's best for me. But I started thinking about all the selfless things you've done for me. You have literally saved my life, and sometimes I never even thanked you. Thank you, Ron." She gave him a little more gene reassurance, lip-wise.

"Maybe what might be best for me—is me sacrificing for what's best for you. I don't know what that means yet, Ron. But whatever it is, trust me, it won't be settling for something less. OK? Maybe what can be best for us will be far better than what's best for just you or me. Understand?"

"I think so, KP."

"Just for the record, if you proposed to me right at this moment, I'd break the rest of your ribs. But later, when we get a chance to talk about other important things, I want you to know now, I can't imagine not being with you for the rest of my life."

Ron sighed, held her close for a few minutes without saying anything. "I think I saw some ice cream in the fridge. You wear out my poor brain, KP. Ready for a snackage break?"

"It's about time you finally asked… And later I'll have that ice cream, too, please and thank you."

Booyah!


Around midnight, Jonny Quest unlocked his front door. He noted a couple of clean but wet bowls and spoons in the kitchen sink and a half empty quart of butter pecan ice cream in the refrigerator. He quietly walked upstairs, saw the two teens sacked out in both bedrooms. Good kids. He walked downstairs, unlocked and opened what appeared to be the door to a storage closet. He pressed his palm against an electronic palm lock; the back wall slid away, revealing an elevator down to a basement study, one that would look quite familiar to someone like Wade Load.

"Good evening, Mr. Quest. I trust your day was a productive one."

"Very much so. And how were our two charges, today?"

"Well behaved. They seem to have enjoyed your jazz music, as you said they would. They appear to be very close to each other."

"Good. I've been reading up on Ms. Possible and Mr. Stoppable, quite a remarkable pair. I was a bit harsh with them today. In any case, Dr. Drakken and Shego have been frazzled by ten hours of Los Angeles traffic jams, and now they're getting a taste of the interesting nightlife at a Long Beach motel. This Mr. Load would give you a run for your money. I think they will probably be here around 8:30 tomorrow morning. Kim is correct; Ms. Shego can be a handful, and I'd hate to see her blast my jazz collection into plastic confetti. We'll have a pleasant reception waiting for them?"

"Everything has been taken care of, as you requested."

"That's fine. I'm off to bed. Good night, Robby."

"Good night, Mr. Quest."