Chapter Text
It's awkward now.
Jim regrets telling Ron the truth. She feels like she stole something from him, and yeah, he goes by Ron now. He's just been so happy lately, comin' up with names. It's not even that hard, Ron just shaved a few letters off his nickname but Jim still can't think of anything good for herself.
Occasionally, while sipping sodas at Bueno Nacho, Ron will reach over the table and flick Jim's straw with a smirk on his face. "What?" she'll sigh with more agitation than she thinks is fair. Ron'll flutter his eyes and say a name, like tonight he's obsessed with Jim becoming "Erin."
He really doesn't get it, does he? Jim nods along anyways, because she wants to be nice but honestly her dysphoria versus Ron's euphoria is making it hard to hang out with him. While Ron has already switched around their entire wardrobe and gotten a buzzcut — he's even started messing around with binders — Jim is just… Jim. She looks the same.
Like nothing ever happened.
"I'm trans too." So stupid! Why'd you have to tell him? Now he's expecting her to transition any day now when she won't.
Ron probably doesn't realize it, but whenever he looks at Jim all forlornly and dour, he makes Jim feel like shit. She's trying. She's changed her workout regime so that it's more geared towards getting a feminine body… than y'know, being best prepared to not get killed in the field. She's even tried on new clothes… but when she looks in the mirror and sees a stupid boy in a dress staring back at her, she can't do it and she always comes back home empty-handed.
It's not possible for her. Ron should just give up on her, she actually kind of wants to cut him off from going on with missions with her, but she really does need his company; he makes her laugh.
He also saves her life every now and then. Ugh.
See, Shego and Drakken are back — which is just unbelievable, Jim was really hoping she had scared them off at the last mission — and Shego is flying away on a blimp with — something. Some device, super powerful, can never go into the hands of evil! and stuff like that. Jim doesn't really know, she doesn't care, she's just here to kick ass, so she turns on her jetpack and fwoom! she's in the air.
A high speed airborne pursuit, she's never actually done one of these before, just dreamed of them and wow, this is exciting. The wind smashes against her face and she grits her teeth. Shego's snickering becomes louder and louder, and when Jim is level with the green lady, her hand lashes out like a snake and grabs the — thing.
"Tsch, whatever," Shego drawls. "Aidios, Princess!"
Jim's face gets hot — why is Shego calling her Princess? She doesn't know, does she?
In Jim's distraction, Shego grins and slashes at the air herself, green sparks pulsating from her fingers, and she manages to rip off Jim's jetpack. Body unsupported, wind throttles up below Jim and her limbs flap wildly as she descends fast. Thankfully, she manages to grab onto a skiff of the blimp, metal thunking against her taut arms. Jim breathes so fast, hiking the groove of her boot onto the skiff and pushing off as much as she can without letting go, gently releasing the skiff with one arm to get her grapple out.
Her hair, having picked up a few inches of length since she met Ron, blows viciously in the wind and she loves it. She loves this feeling, doesn't matter how depressed she is. She lets the grapple fly, and screams like some kind of fucking animal. That whoop is good for the chest and she's off, soaring back up the side of the blimp. The gray rolls past her vision like hills.
It's so… cool!
Shego nearly spittakes at seeing Jim throttle up the side of the blimp like a bat out of Hell. She fires down a ray of green plasma. Jim swerves to the side and lets the beam strike the blimp. It sears and cuts through the inflatable. High pressured torrents of air shoot from the seams, nearly strong enough to push Jim off the side. Jim grins mischievously and kicks off the side of the blimp, grapple pulling her up and over. Beneath her, the blimp loses air rapidly and falls into a rapid decline.
All before Jim falls back towards the ground. There is this moment of panic where she realizes she's alone and no one is here to grab her, but before she falls too far down, two noodly arms wrap under hers and hook her by the chest to her savior: Ron.
Ron soars on his jetpack, hugging Jim close to his chest. She looks up at him, mouth agape. He's smaller than her, weaker than her too, but there's something about the way he holds her that makes her want this moment to last forever. Whether it's because she likes Ron, or because his sweaty arms supporting her just really make her feel like a girl. So heteronormitive of her to think of it like that but whatever, she's struggling! She deserves that regressive insight.
"Ron," Jim works up some inner courage. "I just want to say sorry for—"
Something goes wrong — classic Ron — and one of Ron's steel wings scratches up against a building, snapping off the whole tin. Ron's balance goes off and he swerves into a corkscrew, hardly able to heep hold on Jim.
He drops her —
— and her boots slam into a wooden stage, pain shooting into her knees. She rolls forward, limbs banging against the ground and she's back up to her feet, pushing onto her tiptoes to watch Ron soar dangerously far away. If she survived, he'll probably be fine but she can't help but blame herself for his screw-up. Maybe if she weren't so awkward around him and spent the time he needed for training, this wouldn't be an issue.
Camera flashes. Jim looks to her left and sees a crowd of cameramen surrounding her. She guesses she's standing on some kind of stage, and maybe she looks kinda hot right now or something. She'd like to think it's because of that, she may be feeling dysphoric but that's not going to stop her from feeling hot af.
"Hey," Jim tries to swat the cameras away. "I need to find my friend, please move."
But they don't listen, and they just keep taking pictures. Jim, body still tight from being in battle mode, tries to resist all of her angry temptations but eventually, she just can't do it any longer. The paparazzi won't stop — Jim grabs two of them by the elbows and pushes them to the side. More come in, but Jim's given herself enough elbow room to slip out.
She rolls off the stage and hits the ground running. She needs to find her friend.
Hours later, Jim and Ron are on a blimp together. Ironic that it's a blimp after Jim just destroyed one. But she's trying not to focus on that, and instead has Ron laid out over a cot she found in a janitor's closet. She presses a warm compress to his forehead; he crashed into some alleyway and he's just kinda bruised. Really, he can walk it off, Jim knows because that's what she does with far worse wounds.
But she wants to take care of Ron. He's like… representing the self Jim wish she took more care of.
"Thanks for the save, I thought Shego had me there," Jim whispers.
"NP, JP," Ron sighs, looking over to one of the little televisions. "Hey, look! Jim, you're on TV!"
Jim raises an eyebrow; it's not her first time being on TV. But Ron's pretty green so maybe that's why he's still amazed by it. She looks to the screen and sees a myriad of photos the paparazzi took. Apparently… her mission gear is becoming a fashion craze?
Black sweater, olive green cargo pants, and a utility belt. Heavy gray gauntlets and boots too. In the coming days, Jim fashion is "in" and everyone at school, even Bonnie, starts to dress like her. Though Bonnie and the other girls add in a bared midriff to the ensemble that makes Jim jealous. She wishes she could bare her midriff, but she can't because she's a 'guy.'
Taking her lunch tray to her table for two with Ron, Jim is still somehow an outsider in this world. She sits across Ron who's got his arm in a sling. His injuries were more serious than she thought, she feels kind of bad for that too.
"Hey, JP," Ron says, face stuffed with cafeteria mush. He drops his fork down on the tray forcefully. "This fashion craze is nuts, huh?"
"Yeah," Jim says sheepishly. "I… actually wanted to talk to you about that."
"Yeah?" Ron props a cheek up on his hand. "'Sup?"
"You noticed how fast it got picked up, right?" Jim asks, shoving her tray to the side. She needs Ron to understand this. "It's like the world was waiting to pounce on me for a Jim Possible fashion craze."
Ron doesn't say anything, all respectful-like.
Jim continues, "People all over the world look up to me, kids too, and um, I don't want to sound egomaniacal but it is true and…"
Jim sighs and drops her voice to something so soft and precious. "I can't transition when I have so many eyes on me." She coughs, and her voice goes back to normal. "Do you understand?"
Ron frowns. He seems to get it, he just wishes that weren't the case. He shrugs and reaches out to touch Kim's knuckle, brushing it delicately, like, we'll figure it out. "I thought of a name for you."
"Ron…" Jim hisses. "Not in public…" What did she just tell him?
"Nahnahnah," Ron waves it off. "Peeps don't be givin' a rat's patoeey about us, listen. A villain goes Grargh! That's impossible! and you finger-gun 'em like so and say, Actually it is Possible. Kim Possible, but that's a common mistake."
Jim almost rolls her eyes because wow, how corny, but she feels something in her chest that's definitely resonating. Butterflies or something. She touches her chest in fact and looks at Ron carefully, and even though she doesn't know how she can possibly transition in this world that idolizes her so… she almost falls out of her chair lunging at Ron to hug him tight. Because it feels like an answer to something. She wants to start using it immediately.
"Thanks," Kim, soon to be Kimberly Ann, says. "It's perfect, Ron."