Disclaimer: No, unfortunately, I don't own Kim Possible or anything else related to the show, including titular (or otherwise) characters, merchandise, or movie rights. Too bad.
Author's Notes: Special thanks goes to The Real Sidekick and cpneb for sending me feedback for the third chapter. I really appreciate it, guys. Y'all are awesome. Also thanks to cpneb for reviewing the second chapter as well. You rock in stereo!
I hope I didn't make things too confusing in the last chapter, but it should all make sense now. I put it under "tragedy" for a reason… Depressed myself for an entire week to get this thing out…
Anyway, I hope you enjoy the final piece to the puzzle. It's going to be a bit shorter than the other chapters, but it will wrap everything up in one convenient, easy-to-read installment.
Epilogue
A sleek, black limousine drove along the gravel roadway, its tires grinding against the small pebbles embedded in the dirt. Larger rocks popped underneath the weight of the car. It rode slowly over the primitive pathway, muddy water splashing onto the body as the tires dipped down into unseen puddles. Rain pounded the windshield, making a loud ping ping pat as the water droplets made contact with the aluminum roof and softly rolled off.
The limo drove for a while, then stopped in front of a small clearing. It was surrounded by a field – its tall grasses wighted down by heavy raindrops.
Inside the car, the driver rolled down the divider, but neither chauffeur nor passenger spoke a word. The only thing audible was the whistle of the wind as it whipped past the limo.
Finally, the passenger spoke. "I'll only be a minute. Wait here."
The driver nodded curtly, eyes still glued on the road in front of him.
A tall, burly figure stepped out of the limousine dressed in a sharp three-piece suit. He had no umbrella or raincoat; real men didn't use such amenities.
Or such was the thought of Steve Barkin.
He slammed the car door shut, tiny droplets flinging from the onyx frame onto the ground and wetting his shoes. He stood straight, looking over the clearing for a few moments. Steve was only outside for mere seconds, but already, he was soaked. His dark brown suit clung to his body, and raindrops dripped down his forehead and into his eyes. Barkin wiped them away without even thinking, his mind on the matter at hand.
He felt for the package beneath his jacket. He knew the rain was coming, and he didn't want it to get too wet. He started towards the clearing, his perfectly-shined dress shoes splatting mud all over themselves and the hems of his pants. Steve walked down the short dirt pathway to the middle of the clearing, listening to the sounds of rain beating against the earth.
The path lead to a dead-end – a lone tree sitting in the center of the area. It was black and devoid of any life or leaves, its skeletal fingers stretching far into the darkened sky. It was a macabre icon for what stood here, buried, in this clearing.
Mr. Barkin traced the tree with his eyes, finally resting on the piece of polished stone resting beneath it. There were many others – white, gray, black – scattered across the area, creating line after line of little stone soldiers all marching to the same drummer.
He wasn't interested in those.
He gazed at the letters etched in stone, reading but not really seeing.
Ronald Eugene Stoppable
1989 – 2007
There was no long, drawn out eulogy. There was no testament to all the good he had done. Just a few words etched into stone, only to be erased by Time. Eventually.
A small, concrete angel stood atop the stone, her face turned upward. Mr. Barkin ran his fingers over her face, softly touching her nose and mouth and finally her eyes.
Steve Barkin sighed softly and hung his head, remembering a time not too long ago.
He had seen the broken bones, scars, and burn marks along Ron's body. All that complaining that Stoppable had done wasn't anywhere near the amount he expected from someone who had taken that kind of a brutal beating for years on end. The missions, football practice, the ever-present bullies, even his own clumsiness… Barkin knew that was what caused it all. Ron would flinch in practice or when he tripped in class, but he always assured the teachers and the nurse he was fine.
How wrong he was.
If only Mr. Barkin had known that Ron did those things for the good of others… maybe then he wouldn't have been so hard on him. Maybe he could've understood. Maybe…
There were way too many "maybes." There was only one fact.
By the time he found out, he was too late. Ron Stoppable was already dead.
No one knew what caused his death. The torn muscles would've fused back together, the massive cuts eventually healed. CSI medical examiners couldn't explain it. The police and FBI just scratched their heads and shrugged, marking down another teenager as a victim of suicide.
Barkin knew it wasn't true. They had already climbed that mountain, passed over that bridge. Ron would've lived his life to the max, just for her – if he had the choice.
Steve knew why he was gone: he didn't belong here. He belonged with her, up there, where they could be eternally happy.
He raised his eyes towards Heaven and gazed at the darkened sky. Rain poured over his body, beating on his face and forearms. Mr. Barkin let himself go of the hardened military man exterior for a brief moment to close his eyes and just… feel.
He felt the rain through his soaked brown suit.
He sensed muddy brown water seeping into his polished shoes.
He felt the sorrow and anguish buried here in the cemetery, heard the wind, and remembered.
It was a strange sort of remembering. Stoppable was a good kid, and so was Possible. Between the two of them, they had caused enough havoc for Steve to retire early due to massive mental and cardiac trauma. He smiled softly, eyes still closed. But as soon as it had come, it vanished.
Possible.
No one really knew what happened to her, either. She had died saving the world, but the only witness was now lying beneath a concrete angel, whose face turned towards the sky. They wanted to bury Team Possible together, but since there were no remains of Kim Possible left to bury, they left her with a remembrance ceremony and buried Ron Stoppable by himself beneath a tree.
Barkin shook his head slowly, opening his eyes. Such a sad fate for two teens so young and full of promise. Even in Death they could not be together.
But, Barkin knew, through Death they could finally have the "happily ever after" ending they had always wanted – the same thing they had given to the rest of the world. They had spent so much of their young lives, so much of their time and energy dedicated to the good of the planet that it was only right it should be this way. Yeah, they weren't buried together, but did that really matter in the long run? The only people to appreciate a burial were friends, family, and maybe neighbors. These groups would visit just to remember the dead and gone, but their visits would eventually get fewer and farther between until they just… stopped.
Nobody lived forever, including those visiting the dead.
Steve Barkin stared at the tree, remembering the day he had found out one of his most promising pupils was gone.
They had found Ron with his face down in the pillow, clinging to her picture for dear life. No movement. Just… gone. They had notified everyone close to Ron, including Mr. Barkin. He had retreated to the privacy of his bathroom to mourn the loss in his own, Barkin-like way.
Because he never really hated Ron.
Once again, he felt the package beneath his coat. He pulled it out and unwrapped it, allowing the rain to pelt it with no reservations. It was a picture – the same one the Stoppables had sitting on their coffee table. Barkin didn't know the vitality of this particular piece of home décor, but it had a certain… something about it. He just knew that this was important.
He set it down on the grave, propping it against the small polished stone. The water droplets ran down the smooth glass, making grooves along the cover and frame. The picture underneath was undamaged, however. And for that, Barkin knew Stoppable would be grateful.
Mr. Barkin stood there for a few more moments, listening to the rain and remembering something prophetic Stoppable had once said (he called it "waxing philosophical").
"Some people say that when it rains, it's like the angels are crying."
Mr. Barkin allowed for a grim smile to cross his face as he recalled Ron Stoppable's dark brown eyes and signature goofy grin. As the rain pounded his body, his hard outer covering slowly slipped away, revealing the softer (yet still Barkin-y) inside. A small tear slipped past his defenses, gliding down his face among the raindrops, before mixing and finally being washed away by the cascade of water from above.
"I guess raindrops and teardrops really aren't all that different."