"I still can't believe you did it," Shego said. She leaned forward in the couch, gloved hands clasped together. "You. Selling out Kim Possible. The Kim Possible. I got to say I'm impressed. I'm sorry I acted so crazy with you earlier. But you have my awe."
Wade twisted uncomfortably. He did not seem happy on the expensive chair in Shego's living room. "I'm really ashamed of it."
"Of course you are. Loyalty. I get that. Blah blah blah. Really should have been using that in the first place, kid. Would have saved you a whole lot of trouble."
Wade's eyes narrowed. "Shut up."
"So easy for you to get defensive now, isn't it?" She said with a laugh. "You must be so proud of what happened at your little apartment earlier, aren't you? Having me taken down right then and there."
"You must feel so powerful about having me here at your place."
"I know. And my place is nicer. Not the party pad of your little college fraternity." Shego leaned back on the couch, hand instinctively finding its way to the side where Jackson sat. She didn't touch him, but the comfort came from his nearness. It was so nice to have an accomplice in these things. One that actually cared about the prize at the end.
Wade sighed and looked at Jackson. "You lied to me."
Jackson smiled, and for that moment looked like so much more than the typical little university professor. Evil. Shego liked that. Well, not evil, but certainly more interesting than the usual civilian. No wonder she had been so drawn to him in the first place. "I'm not going to bother saying a word about your own web of lies. Are we agreed?"
Wade hesitated before speaking. "Agreed."
"Wonderful."
"Though I would have preferred you mentioning Shego to me earlier."
"I think I would have preferred that as well. Funny how these little things in life come together."
"Exactly," Shego said to him. "Funny how you wouldn't let me take responsibility of the kid I've been raising on my own the past few years."
Jackson elbowed her sharply. She rather enjoyed it. "Let's not bring that up now."
She bit her tongue. She couldn't help bringing it up now. There was something about having this man back in her life that made every little complaint she ever had just queue up in her vocal cords. "So then, boys, what's in that bunker besides a death trap rigged just for me?"
Jackson and Wade exchanged glances and shrugged.
"Nothing," Wade said.
"Well, not nothing," Jackson put in. "A project of mine."
"A big project."
Shego frowned. "I thought you said it was nothing."
"And because she is the mother she needs to know all of a sudden?" Wade demanded.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't make me kill you."
It was pleasant to see that quiver of fear go through the boy.
"Look," she continued. "We're all here to work together, are we not? Which means we should play nice. I'll be happy to play nice if you two will. We all want something out of this. I want my son back, apparently because of all this fuss Jackson wants the same, bless his heart, and you, dear Wade, know way too much. This is why I never understood why you child prodigies have to be oh so grown up and needing to become "colleagues" with every Tom, Dick, and Harry professor out there."
"Wade is brilliant," Jackson said thoughtfully.
"Brilliant enough to lie to me."
"Kim probably already knows about me," Wade said. "Ron got to her quick, I imagine."
"Oh, boy." This time she slipped her fingers closer to Jackson's. "Guilt. You poor guilty little soul. Taking a moment away from being one of your former arch villains to offer you some advice, have you ever just thought about facing her? Ooh, she'd probably kill you. She's a little nuts right now if you haven't had the opportunity to see. Now, tell me." She squeezed Jackson's hands. "Wade's here now, Jackson. Tell me what's in the bunker."
Wade sighed, pulled at his fingers, and looked everywhere but at Jackson. "Weapons."
"Weapons?" Shego repeated, pulling her hand away from Jackson and turning to stare at him. "Weapons? Anything impressive? And what does it have to do with your father?"
"A bomb, actually," said Jackson.
"Of course. It's always a bomb. I will never understand men and weapons."
"My father wants it."
"Of course he does." This was getting old. "He took our son because he wants a bomb. Is this is a big bomb? A bomb using cool but little-known elements that I will never even pretend to understand? And just what is he planning to do with it?"
"Revenge against Garrison."
"What on earth why?"
"Precisely why he wanted Kim," Wade said.
She had no idea what they were talking about and suddenly she didn't care. She had been so close to delivering Kim. That close. And only have her delivered back to Garrison Wiles? What a waste of time. She bounced to her feet. "You built your father a bomb?"
"No, no." Jackson stared at her, desperate. She didn't care. It was just a project of mine. Wade was helping and…" His voice trailed off as he looked at Wade. "One of my master students."
"Why are you looking at me?" Wade asked.
"This is such a mess."
"You're telling me." Shego paced the room, ready to thrown one of her art books right against the wall. "I've been trying to deliver Kim to the man who turns out to be your father and now you're telling me he wants a bomb as well? How is it messier?"
Jackson stared at the ground. "The student is Ron Stoppable."
The engagement ring was not fitting right. It was too tight, it was too loose, all fittings within a few moments of each other. Monique could not stop twisting it—not quite pulling it off, but it weighed on her finger as if Ron had bought her some crazy diamond of east coast society. The ring was still beautiful, so she couldn't take it off. But it was driving her nuts and it had done so all night. Not that she had slept much. After kicking Ron out she had cried for a good forty-five minutes, called her mother, and had cried some more. Throwing herself into bed had proved futile, and the streaming sun through her window had finally pushed her back out it. And here she was, pacing the living room, still in her pajamas.
She should call him. She was the one who had kicked him out, she should be the one to apologize. But she couldn't call him. Maybe she should call Kim. She hadn't even talked to Kim about this, not properly, not after the last little incident.
But shouldn't Ron call her? He was usually pretty good that way, calling up so cutely on the phone anytime anything went wrong. She had come to expect it from him. And so she was waiting for it, that little drop of comfort that maybe this was all right.
It was silly. She loved Ron. He loved her. They both knew that.
And with that thought the phone rang.
Monique stopped and stared at it, two fingers still twisting the ring. Not her cell phone, the house phone. She could almost imagine it ringing off its bed in a few moments. That would have been so poetic. One ring, two rings, three rings—
Three was a charm. She grabbed the phone. "Hello?"
She expected Ron, maybe even Kim. "Is this Monique?"
"Yes." The voice was female. Familiar.
"Do you recognize me?"
She should. She already felt stupid for not placing it, but a few more moments… no, it couldn't be. "Tara?"
There was a tinkling little laugh as if from a bell. "Glad you remember me."
This wasn't real. Monique put a hand to her head, dizzy. She really was out of it. "Really, who is this? What you are doing is not funny."
"It isn't supposed to be funny, Monique. It's me, Tara."
"Tara Archer is dead."
"No, she is not. She is speaking to you right now."
It certainly sounded like Tara. "You, Tara… you were decapitated. All over the news. Crime of the decade."
"Yeah… it's… it's a very long story."
Monique glanced at the clock. She had to get ready for school. But she was talking to someone who was supposed to be dead. It was surreal. "Look, this is going to sound incredibly cliché and it probably is but… shouldn't you maybe be talking to Kim Possible about this? Because I'm getting the vibe you did not call me up this early in the morning to catch up and arrange a lunch date."
"While a lunch date would be fun, Monique, no, that is not the reason I called. There is a reason everyone thinks I'm dead. As for Kim, I've already spoken to her. But I need a favor from you, her being the celebrity return of town. Um… I'm already being stupid talking about this on the phone. I'd rather meet you somewhere else."
"Where?"
"My house."
"It's daylight and I have work."
"Call in a sick day. Now. I need to talk to you. Come as soon as you can."
"You're coming out in broad daylight if you're supposed to be dead?"
But there was no response. Tara had hung up.
Monique stared at her phone and cursed.
Brick found himself at the station early the next day. He wasn't supposed to be on duty, but he had special permission, he was working with Kim Possible. He was practically a celebrity by association, if anyone cared.
Kim Possible. Wow. What had he been thinking? Men did not just go up and kiss someone like Kim Possible.
She was cute, of course. She had always been cute, pretty, beautiful. Gorgeous. Not that he had really cared in high school. Of course he had thought as such. Hadn't every guy? But it was not as if Kim had held the high school monopoly on beauty. So that whole rumor of their love affair had been rather flattering and he certainly hadn't minded the idea of being in a relationship with Kim Possible, it hadn't been a big deal then.
He fell at his desk. There was unfinished paperwork. Who cared? He had possibly the biggest case in the department and was unable to say a word.
Tara Archer. Alive.
Kim Possible. Just kissing her like that.
He hadn't been able to help it. He did not know what he had been thinking. It had been Kim in the darkness, so powerful and Kim Possible-like and yet so afraid. It appealed to him. But it wasn't "just like that". He had never really spoken to her all that much, not in high school, not anywhere. And there he was with the status of being the first one to run into her and somehow they had just fallen together into this partnership.
He hadn't had a girlfriend in a while.
But she wasn't his girlfriend. She wasn't anything. She was just Kim Possible. Certainly a friend right now. But she was in love with Ron Stoppable. Everyone knew that. And everyone was pretty sure the last thing she needed at this time was a relationship.
Well, he couldn't think about this now. Think about Tara. He had to think about Tara.
Tara's house was a mess. Still blocked off with police tape. At least no reporters were hanging around. All that excitement had to have died down earlier. Even so Monique was not comfortable there, clenching her purse between two hands while she walked up and down the sidewalk in a desperate attempt to look like she wasn't trying to be there. At the house of the murdered girl.
Why was she here? This was crazy. Some nasty little prank and she was an idiot to be taking off yet another day to deal with it. She glanced continually at the window, the trees by the side, anywhere.
She hardly noticed as the car pulled up. She didn't recognize the model, nothing flashy, but on closer inspection high quality, expensive. She glanced over at, not daring to expect anyone, as the window rolled down.
The face in the driver's seat was covered. Big sunglasses, wide-brimmed sunhat. "Monique."
Oh, wow. It was Tara's voice. Monique took a deep breath and dashed around to the other side of the car. What was she thinking? Getting in the car with a dead person? She opened the door, sat in the seat, and slammed the door behind her. Then she released that breath.
"You look great, Monique," Tara said.
Was there a proper response to that when one's companion was supposed to be dead?
Tara didn't wait for a response. "I'm going to drive around the block. The past few weeks have made me feel like I'm in a spy movie, but fortunately this section of town is fairly quiet except for that whole murder bit involving me. Then I'm going to drop you off and you are going to go into the house for me to get something."
"What am I getting for you? What is going on? Why are you not dead? And why isn't Kim doing this?"
"I kind of had to fake my death."
"Your head was cut off."
"That was a clone. I have connections. Honestly, I can't believe Kim hasn't told you any of this. I thought you two were best friends or something. Though I've heard about her story. Crazy this is all happening now. She is… already helping me. But I can't risk her going in there. Has she not told you anything?"
Monique shook her head. She could barely register any of this.
"That's good, that's fine. Probably for the best."
"Tara, I think I am about ready to freak out. Literally. First Kim, then you… "
The car rolled to a stop sign, and Tara put a hand over Monique's. It was comforting. "I'm so sorry. This place is not a safe place to talk. But I'd like to talk to you later. I trust you. But I just need something out of my house and I don't dare go in. And Kim is already helping me. I just need…" she sighed. "A microchip. I can't remember where it is."
Monique paused. "A microchip?"
"Part of the long story I can't tell you yet. Will you look for it?"
Great time to be grabbed for projects, when she was at her most vulnerable. She found herself nodding.
"You are the best."
"I still can't believe you're not dead."
"I know and I'm sorry. I'd love to explain everything. But Monique, I can't just this minute. Please understand."
Oh, but she was tired. She shouldn't be doing this. "Where would I find this?"
Tara shook her head sadly. "I don't know."
And why didn't she know?
The car had circled the block, and Tara pulled up to the curb about four houses down from Tara's. Tara slid her fingers over the wheel and stared ahead. "I'll talk to you later. Go in, find the chip, and leave. Go back to your house, wherever, anywhere. I'll find you."
It was only when Tara was driving away that occurred to Monique just how incredibly stupid this was. Breaking and entering. She was so going to be arrested.
The house was locked. Of course. She circled the building, one eye always out for anyone potentially watching her. There was one window that seemed happy to move, and she slipped into what had to be Tara's spare bedroom. Microchip. Where would it be? She didn't know a thing about computer stuff beyond what the average person wanted to know. Okay, what did she know? Apparently something was up, something of incredible mystery, enough for Tara to fake her own death with… a clone. She wanted to scream and hit something. She wasn't supposed to be dealing with this. No one should have to deal with this. But she would help. Kim and Ron had gone through so many missions of similar intrigue, she could handle this. Well, if it were hidden, why not search this room?
So she did, crawling through drawers of emptiness before acknowledging the room had nothing.
This was insane. Why was Tara here? Talking to her out of the blue? Something wasn't right.
Still, she pushed open the door into the hall.
She barely had time to see someone move before something struck her hard over the head.
