Kim Possible: The Darkness Without: redux Chapter 5, a kim possible fanfic

Kim Possible: The Darkness Without

Redux

Pt 5

By Eoraptor

Now, on with the Story...

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Sara woke up, sat up in the massive bed, and stretched her arm high above her head. After a deep yawn, and the usual frown that accompanied the return of consciousness and its aches, she scrubbed a hand over her face. Turning, she placed her feet delicately on the hardwood floor, and winced as she found the polished wood cold in the November morning's chill.

After a long moment acclimating her feet, she padded slowly and almost stiffly to the edge of the generous room. She clicked on the switch on the brewmaster, and inhaled deeply as the heady scent of some of the darkest coffee this side of the Andes began to fill the carafe. She was genuinely grateful for few things, taking it as given that someone with her skills deserved and should receive the finest things in life. After all, she spoke multiple languages, and had come by this life when she sacrificed a previous one for people who probably were just as happy to see her go. So many things were owed to her and she deserved them.

Coffee, however, was the gift from a benevolent God that kept her going.

She'd been free of that damned hospital now for nearly a month, and the weak swill they passed off as caffeine was gladly forgotten. When she'd found herself a patron on one of the more clandestine message internet message boards, it was her one major stipulation that she be well supplied with quality java.

Setting demands; that had been the easy part… Convincing her patron that she, a near-invalid whom Social Security said didn't even exist, was worth the trouble of extricating was more difficult… Miss Sara Smith had traded on the one resource she still had immediately at her disposal; the knowledge of a certain laser grid, and how to shut it off to access a rare set of stuffed toys worth millions. That had gained her her freedom, as well as a few weeks of recuperation time in a well-appointed summerhouse on a small island off of California. Other tidbits had been traded in those following days to shore up her status as a valuable informant. Information on a robotic manufacturing plant in Tokyo, in particular, had garnered a good amount of operating capital for her.

In some ways this small villa reminded her of another privately held island, except that there were no spinning death-tops, nor were there lasers or other traps. Those were problems left to someone else… for the time being at least… that island did hold a lot of valuable things she might want to sell, later perhaps.

She made her way to the master bath, and assessed her post-somnolent appearance. Her short cropped carrot-red hair was bent to one side of her face, and she growled as it only served to draw her eye over the mirror to the angry flat of thickened skin that had once been her left eye. She rubbed her face irritably and debated how much she could afford to spare at this early venture for reconstructive work.

A few minutes in a hot shower rejuvenated her enough to face the day ahead. Once she'd tugged on a pair of skin tight black slacks, 'now there's an oxymoron' she thought… and donned a flowing crimson blouse that hid a tracery of fine scars on her torso. She then pulled on the black satin eye patch that hid most of the ugly wound on her face, and finished off the ensemble with a belt and slick paten leather mules.

She paused to assess herself in the full length dressing mirror and frowned. She was still very slender, despite three weeks of near constant physical training and eating heavy foods. She remembered being a bit fuller before Chicago. Well, "Kim" was fuller any way. That question of personal identity still hung over her head, even if the rest of the world knew her only as Sara Smith.

And then there was the matter of the pinned-up left sleeve of her blouses and her gym clothes. Fortunately, she wouldn't have to deal with pinning up the sleeves of her clothing for much longer.

In any event, there wouldn't be time for training today. Too many things would be happening that required her attention. She closed the wardrobe door that held expensive clothing on one side, and three sets of black spandex bodysuits on the other.

The first task was awaiting her when she descended the stairs. The houseboy was waiting alongside a deliveryman. She signed her "name" to the electronic pad he held out, and then moved to assess the large boxes.

The first two were Henchco products. She could tell from the shapes of the packages that one was the master systems terminal she'd ordered, and that the other was therefore the highly specialized sensor package. The one was something no self-respecting recluse and thief could be without. That's who Sara Smith was, she'd decided.

The other was to test a few theories she had about herself. It should have been no matter at all for that damned hospital to test her blood and determine who had been lying in their coma ward for eight months, yet they hadn't. There was another theory she wanted to test, but that was going to require assistance.

The third box she opened immediately, though, rather than wait for the helpers to come and move them all to the proper locations. "Club Banana Euro" was printed boldly on the side. She pulled out the long, blood red alligator-skin trench coat and held it to herself appraisingly. She looked to the houseboy for his opinion, though it really didn't matter what he thought.

"Well, red is the new black."

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beep beep beep beep beep

Ron grumbled a bit and attempted to cover himself with the blanket. "Five more minutes!"

When that didn't silence the alarm, he reached over to smack the snooze button. His hand hit air. He slapped at it again, rolling a bit in the bed to get a better angle. Still nothing.

He opened one bleary eye, and hissed as it tried to crawl back into his skull in pain from the sunlight glinting through the window.

"Too much beer… too much smoke machine… smokey… stuff. Never partying with Monique again…" he grumbled. He allowed his blue eyes to clear for a moment. The alarm clock wasn't there.

In fact, the nightstand wasn't there to hold the non-existent alarm clock, either. Funny, it had been there the previous two mornings. His carpet had also been an ugly blue the last two mornings, not green.

His pickled brain was starting to put these two discrepancies together when a third made itself apparent. The third discrepancy made the first two seem trivial by comparison. It was a curly mop of chestnut hair poking up from under the blanket on the pillow beside his. Or was it his pillow at all?

'oh no… this isn't… no… we couldn't have…' he thought nervously to himself.

"Rufus, buddy?" he whispered. His response was a moment of heavy silence, followed by a tiny groan. His dress slacks wiggled on the floor, and a pink paw stuck out of one pocket and tried to wave him off.

"Rufus, Buddy, what happened?" again, the hand waved dismissively at him. Carefully, he slid out of the bed, and the sheets were pulled along with him enough to reveal not only his own half-buttoned shirt and askew boxers, but also a caramel-skinned face that frowned slightly in slumber at the disturbance.

He carefully snuck around the bed, shut off the alarm clock, and then carefully snuck back, picking up the pants, mole-rat and all. The renewed silence in the room was broken by the most indelicate snore he had heard in a while. He would have laughed were he certain the exhaustion it described were entirely from alcohol.

Ron had been drunk before; both from beer, and from brain switch rays, moodulators, good/evil enhancers, and so many other things. Usually he was able to remember the things that had happened before and during those times. For some reason he couldn't remember anything of the previous night after the second beer and the second turn on the dance floor with Monique.

He was so busy not remembering, in fact, that he nearly broke his big toe stubbing it on the bathroom door. He bit back the howl of pain and closed the door behind him.

"Okay, take it easy Ron…" he thought to himself in a panicky state. "…it's not like you haven't woken up weird places without your pants before."

'yeah, but how often do you wake up next to your best friend's best female friend and not remember how you got there and how you got pants-less?' came the inner reply.

He didn't feel like he'd done anything, he thought. But that didn't stop his inner voice from running over all kinds of scenarios, some more fanciful than others.

He was about to start an inventory as he sat on the toilet set lid when he heard Monique's cell phone ringing in the other room. He listened, heart in his throat, to see if maybe she did remember what, if anything, had gone on.

"Yeah, sup?" came the grumbled answer to the ringing.

"…"

"You're kidding me? Girl did it again?"

"…"

"Right here in town? She must have been P.O.B.T. One Year Anny and all."

"…"

"What's P.O.B.T?" Ron whispered to himself as he listened.

"pissed off big time mmhmm mhmmm" came a groggy mole-speak response from his slacks.

"That's the first one she's…" there was a pause. Monique's voice got quieter. Ron strained to listen, but Monique seemed to have moved away now.

"-- -- -- --. Was the badge missing again? She didn't -- -- -- -- the first three. We still don't know if she was involved in New Orleans."

"…"

"Yeah… give me five. I'll -- -- -- -- and catch a cab."

"…"

"No… He doesn't know. He doesn't need to, and your parents definitely don't!" came a stronger reply this time. "And no, you're not calling -- -- -- --."

"…"

"Look J, T… I can't talk over both of you."

"…"

"Little boy blue couldn't tell us anything. Glow Stick's our only bet."

"…"

"Awkwierd…? How do you even know?! You don't know the half of it twerps. And no body else better either, got it? Just -- -- -- --." came one much more irritable reply; hissed through what Ron thought must be clenched teeth. He heard the phone beep as the call was ended

After a long moment of silence during which Ron's heart skipped as many beats as it made, there was a knock at the bathroom door.

"Ron… hey, I know it's a lil heavy, but I need to go… corporate just called, they need me in our office downtown. Major blow up with a supplier, you know. Can you let yourself out?"

"…um… sure Monique.. catch you... later..?"

"…yeah, sure… coffee on me. Vintodo."

He heard her rustle around for about two minutes, and then leave the hotel room. He stumbled back out into the main room, slacks still clutched in his hand. By now Rufus had gotten out and crawled up onto his shoulder.

"Buddy, what did happen last night?" he asked quietly.

"don't know. too many cashews" came the high-pitched reply of a hung over mole-rat.

"And more importantly… what was all that about?" Ron scratched his mussed blond mop and tried to piece together three-quarters of one-half of a conversation. "Didn't sound like any fashion deal I ever heard?"

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"I thought people were supposed to be happy the morning after?" Jim blinked as the call got cut off.

"That's what I thought. Maybe she's just upset that Shego's in Chicago?" Tim replied.

"Or maybe Ron just wasn't that good." Jim grinned keenly.

"Yeah, Kim never let him…" Tim trailed off into a whisper, even though no one else was in their lab.

The twins got busy about arranging for Monique's transportation back to the Observation Deck after hours for later that evening, still grinning. Then they dropped what looked like a brown and gold set of tights into a tube, counting on it to find its way through UPS to Chicago over-night.

"I still say we should call Wade… he's much better at hacking Air Traffic Control."

"Monique said no. Remember what happened last time we called someone in without her knowing?" They both rubbed their ears in painful memory. The eleven-month partnership had had its more fiery moments.

Monique had come to them when it became clear that that stuck up British boy Will Du wasn't going to lift a finger to catch whoever blew up the building. The twins had met him before, but they had no clue how Monique knew him. She'd told them that Du blew her off at KP's funeral, quoting some obscure regulation about ongoing investigations.

With Ron in the hospital most days, and Wade pretty much shut off from the world, she'd come to them for technical help. It had started with a little hacking, and a new communicator. Monique said she wanted to find out what really happened to Kim. Over the past few months things had progressed rapidly. Now it was security system hacking, bank tracing, and new gadgets galore, like the one they had just send wending its way to Chi-town.

"Fine, no Wade… Not like half our stuff isn't based on his anyway?"

"Hoosha."

"So, what about Ron? Think she'll bring him in?"

"No way. Too many memories."

"Okay, call up that Matrix movie footage. She said she wanted to watch it again."

"Why? Does she think we can download stuff to her brain?"

"That would be way beyond… But how?"

"We still got that moodulator?"

"Hicka Bicka."

The twins grinned. As always, when one thought of something, the other as less than a step behind.

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There was a beeping in her deep coat pocket. It went unnoticed for a moment. The hand that would normally retrieve it was currently roiling in green plasma, and clenched into a fist.

"Tell me! Now!" Her teeth were gritted, and she held her burning fist high over her head, intending to cave in the skull of the blue armor-clad enforcer if she didn't like the response.

"Who killed Kim!?"

"I- I don't know! I've only been with GJE for six months! Please!"

Shego growled as she saw a darkening spot spread through the crotch of his armor. Her fist flared even more brightly for a moment, illuminating her face and a dangerous scowl. Then the plasma fire evaporated and she punched him in the face, her metallic threaded gloves cracking with at least a little satisfaction against his nose. She dropped him on a pile with two of his comrades and swung her fists to the sky, reigniting them and throwing bolts into the night.

Finally, somewhat spent of energy and rage, she dropped her arms and gave the pile of Global Justice Enforcement agents a sharp kick. Turing and walking, she yanked her phone from her deep pocket, glaring at it as if to demand its silence.

"You need a cover-story… so do I. Meet me tomorrow night in San Francisco. More info to come."

Shego blinked irritably at the text message. Her eyes had finally faded from a faintly glowing green to their powerless chocolate-brown. The phone beeped again in her palm, and she clicked to the next message as it arrived.

"I can make it worth your while. "

She sighed tiredly, and scrubbed her green talon-tipped glove over her face. After a few moments she grunted at herself and relented.

The mercenary Shego had not been taking paying work; hadn't for months in fact. She'd instead been on a crusade. After piecing together the events of that night just over a year ago, she'd realized that someone had set them up. Drakken's device shouldn't have exploded; it had been shut off by that doofus and his rat.

"Fine… I'll be there… you better be legit." She tapped out the response into her phone after shedding a glove. Crusades cost money. Hers was nearly gone. Drakken's bank account was nearly exhausted as well. She paused at this thought. Where did Drakken get his money anyway?

Exiting the alleyway, she stepped up to a sleek black motorcycle. Sweeping her long green alligator-skin coat aside, she swung one long leg up and over the all-black cycle, mounting it. Her body subtly relaxed as she embraced the curves of the sleek machine. Without her once-frequent tropical vacations, the freedom of the bike was all that relaxed her anymore.

Clinging to the back of her ride, her hair and coat whipping theatrically behind her, she sped off into the night. The thrill of the ride out into the countryside surrounding Chicago's suburbs was only enhanced by the fact that she rode lights out, relying on her eyesight and the full moon, covering the curves and traffic of the interstate. She got a few honks as she whipped lightless through heavy near-city traffic in the night. But this was what it was about, the danger, the excitement...

No rules to follow, no one to tell her what was and wasn't right, just her against the world. This was why she was a mercenary, this was why she stole, and this was why she fought with… Kim.

The revelation was so stunning that she almost spattered her bike across the back of an eighteen-wheeler that was doing seventy-five to her one-hundred and two.

Shego pulled the bike into the emergency lane and ran her hands roughly through her hair, trying to get a grip. Kim… Kimmie, Princess, Cupcake… Little Miss Perfect. The redheaded girl who'd been haunting her thoughts. But why?

That revelation, it seemed, wasn't enough. Fighting with Kim because they were opposites was one thing… She felt somehow that that didn't explain this crusade… this quest for vengeance. The last piece of the puzzle eluded her grasp. Shego slammed her fists down on the handlebars of the bike, and felt it sink down on its shocks and bounce back. She hit it again, demanding it do more than bounce beneath her.

She raised her fists to strike the grips again, but took a deep breath, and instead rested her hands down on them. She instead expressed her frustration at the elusive impulse by revving the bike passed it's redline, until the engine whined and threatened to burn out its bearings between her thighs. She let it spin down again, unsatisfied by its submission to her wrath and aggravation.

"Oh well, Its 3,000 miles to San Francisco, I've got a half a tank of gas, a pocket tootsie rolls, its dark, and I'm driving with my lights out." She grinned, paraphrasing her favorite chase movie to herself as she kicked the bike into gear, threw it back on its rear wheel, and set off into the night.

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Author's notes: I don't know where it got into my head that Kim is a coffee fiend… but it's a thought about her that's stuck in my head for some time though. I dunno.

Rufus… well, I didn't feel good about having him drunk and hung over too, so I figure he binged on the most expensive part platter nuts and snacks around.

And why wouldn't Shego absolutely love "Blues Brothers?" Not only does it take place in Chicago, a city she's just leaving, but come on, its about two ne'er-do-wells outrunning the cops, fighting the system, but ultimately it's to do something good… and good music too, Shego loves her music. Though she strikes me as more of female power-singer type than a blues aficionado…