Chapter Text
1.
Kim landed on her feet after a graceful backflip and looked down to assess the damage. As she suspected, her shirt was torn in three places from Shego’s well-filed claws, and one rip was large enough to leave a four inch gap along the bottom of the fabric. Her midriff was exposed, and while that wasn’t an issue, the irreparable damage was.
“This was my favorite shirt,” she shouted, “and they don’t even make it anymore!”
“Too bad, so sad,” mocked Shego, readying for another round with the cheerleader.
Drakken scurried around behind her, dodging Ron’s attempts at capture, managing to half-fall into the hovercraft, start the engine, and lift it off the ground before Ron could get a grip on the vehicle. The boy fell a few feet, unhurt, waving his arms pathetically as he refused to admit defeat.
“Shego! Let’s go.”
With a wink at her still disheartened opponent, Shego performed a few backflips of her own and landed in the backseat of the hovercraft. Shoving Drakken to the passenger side, she climbed over the seat and took control, lifting them away from the scene.
Kim huffed a sigh and walked up to her partner.
“You okay, KP?”
“Just a scratch. But... my shirt.” She frowned. “I can’t patch it up this time.”
Ron shrugged. “At least it’s just a shirt though, right? I mean, not like we have to patch you up.”
Kim had to agree with that. “True.” She sighed again. “But, still.”
For once, the altercation had been somewhere close enough for Kim to drive her car and not depend on Wade and all his contacts for transportation. She drove Ron home, waved good night to Rufus, and wearily entered her house.
It wasn’t quite full dark, but her dad had already gone to bed. Or wasn’t home yet, working late at the lab, even on a Saturday evening. Either was a possibility.
Her mom was waiting up, as she always did when Kim had a mission. She really needed to get her mom into using the cell phone. Then Kim could call or text her to reassure her safety, on missions where she wasn’t home until the wee hours of the morning, or some missions where it might last a day or two. Worrying about her mother’s insomnia would not make the mission any easier.
“Are you all right, Kimmie?”
“I’m fine, mom. My shirt has seen its last though, I think.”
Ann Possible drew her daughter into the kitchen for better light. “Hm, I’m afraid you’re right, honey. I can probably patch the shoulder, but this tear here won’t stitch well. We can just get you another one this weekend, though.”
“No, they stopped making this shirt a few months ago.” Kim flicked the torn piece of purple cloth. “This was my last one.”
“I’m sorry,” Ann said, sincerely, since she knew how attached her daughter became to her wardrobe once she found a combination she liked. “You’re going to go upstairs and take care of this scratch, right? I don’t have to follow after you?”
Kim smiled. “Yes, mom. I’m going to go upstairs right now and make sure it’s clean, dry, and then I’ll add some antiseptic ointment. How’s that?”
“Good girl. I love you, Kimmie,” Ann said, kissing her forehead. “Get some sleep.”
“You too, mom. You don’t have to wait up, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
Kim followed her mother upstairs and turned right into her room as her mother continued down the hall towards the master bedroom. As she’d promised, Kim removed the tattered shirt and then set to cleaning and caring for the scratch across her abdomen. It was not deep by any stretch of the imagination, but at about four inches long, infection was still a concern if it was left alone.
That done, the redhead fell into bed, still upset that not only had she lost her favorite shirt but Shego and Drakken had escaped, but exhaustion claimed her before anger could take root.
*****
Kim spent Sunday trying not to mope, but by the time Monday rolled around, a pop quiz in History kept her occupied and at lunch, she realized it was silly to be so hung up about a piece of clothing. So, yes, it was her favorite. That didn’t mean she couldn’t get a new favorite.
The one she was wearing just then, red with white clouds on the bottom half, was probably not a candidate. It didn’t quite replace the fit and design of the other. In addition to the solid purple color, it had been her favorite due to the comfort of the cut, a turtleneck-short-sleeve pattern the company no longer used.
But it was still possible. She’d develop another favorite that looked good with her mission pants and was almost as comfortable. She would.
And so, when she got home and trudged up to her room, tossing her backpack on the floor, she was startled to find a gift on the middle of her bed.
Her shirt.
Her favorite shirt.
Her favorite, comfortable, purple, turtleneck-short-sleeve, not-made-anymore, shirt.
But, how? She picked it up and examined it thoroughly. This was not her old one, there were no signs of wear, no patches or stitching from spots that had been torn and repaired. Just to be sure, she glanced in the small trash can by her desk. Nope, old and tattered shirt was still there.
Maybe her mom had bought an extra during a previous shopping trip and just forgotten about it?
No, she would have said something Friday night. Unless she’d forgotten until she checked her closet Monday morning before work?
Maybe.
Regardless of the source, Kim was pleased. She hung the shirt up in her own closet, ready to be worn the next time a mission called for it.
She’d do better to keep away from Shego’s nails next time.
2.
Though Kim asked around, no one in her family admitted to getting her the shirt. Her mom said she had no extras, as Kim had been buying her own clothes for a while. The tweebs promised they hadn’t snuck into her closet and stolen one some time previously, and her dad had no idea what she was talking about, but complimented her on her choice of shirt anyway.
The following Monday, entering her bedroom after coming from school revealed yet another gift.
A single red rose.
But this time, there was a note with it.
I hope you like presents.
There are three more to come, once a week.
That was it. No explanation, no name, just two lines on a half-sheet of plain paper. Kim squinted but couldn’t identify the handwriting.
She had a secret admirer. That thought made her giggle to herself as she inhaled the light scent of the rose.
Then, she paused. Could it be Ron? The two had dated for a brief time, but it had ended amicably almost a year ago, and there were no romantic feelings between them.
Besides, Ron had been with her at school all day. When would he have had time to put the rose in her room? There wouldn’t have been a chance.
They hadn’t ridden to school together, though. Maybe he had come up after she had left?
Hm. It was a mystery.
3.
When Monday rolled around again, Kim made sure to tell Ron that she would drive him to school. She watched him carefully as she offered this, to see if he hesitated, or tried to find a way out of it, but he just grinned and thanked her.
She hurried upstairs this time when she got home, ignoring her brothers and whatever they were building in the kitchen, only to find another present on her bed. With another rose.
Orange, this time. And next to the rose, a box.
A box containing a bottle of perfume.
Her perfume.
Not that she wore perfume very often, or had an occasion to do so, but when she did, this was the brand she chose. An airy, sweet scent, yet not heavy or sickeningly rich. And she never put very much of it on, refusing to marinate in the stuff the way some girls did.
But, who knew that was what she wore?
Her mom. But her mom would have left a note as to the reason, and since she was expecting a second gift from this admirer, it would have to be crazy coincidence for her mom to decide to give her a present on the same day.
Who else? The males in her family were woefully oblivious to anything ‘girly’. As was Ron. When she complained about having run out of perfume one night, he had offered her his cologne instead, because wasn’t all smell-good-spray the same?
So. Not Ron. And she had made sure to be with him all day, anyway.
Heading back downstairs, she poked her head into the kitchen. “Tweebs, has anyone been in my room today?”
“Nope.”
She sighed. “A bomb could go off in the living room and neither of you would notice right now.”
Jim looked up sharply, lifting the welder’s mask. “Hey! We noticed you come running in the house sixteen minutes ago.”
“And you didn’t even wave at us,” Tim accused.
“You’re right. I just didn’t want to distract you. Don’t do any permanent damage, okay?”
Jim shifted the mask back over his face and went back to work, his twin supervising, and shooed her away with one hand before relighting the torch.
Kim walked back to her room, thoughtful.
It had to be someone at school, surely. But who knew her so well?
Another clue would be delivered next Monday, it seemed.
She couldn’t wait.
4.
The next gift was a beautiful pair of diamond earrings with a matching necklace, and a yellow rose. What was more, the diamonds were real. Years of recovering stolen jewels had taught Kim the finer points of not only telling a fake from the real deal, but also how to approximate the quality of rare gems, and the ones she held in her hand were very real indeed, not an extravagent caret but noticeable and very well cut. The earrings were studs with an extra teardrop diamond hanging from them, and the necklace was a teardrop pendant, larger than the earrings, on a silver rope-style chain.
She did not try them on. Instead, she replaced the items in the large flat box they’d come in, setting them on her dresser, next to the bottle of perfume, the red rose which she’d dried to preserve and the orange and yellow rose in a clear vase, and the note. She looked at the items several times a day, hoping seeing them all together might provide some insight as to the identity of the sender.
So far, she’d come up with nothing.
No one from school had been paying her any undue attention lately. At least, not that she had noticed. No one had been giving her sly smiles, or winks, or trying to catch her eye.
Next week.
The final gift was supposed to be sent on Monday.
Surely she would find out who was behind it all then.
5.
Not even a brief conflict with Duff Killigan that week could shake Kim’s focus. The only thing she could think about was Monday, and it couldn’t come soon enough.
She ran upstairs, dropped her backpack at her bedroom door, and took a deep breath. This was it.
Maybe the person would be waiting for her? While somewhat creepy, it could also be romantic.
Or maybe there would be a dozen roses, and another note?
Whatever it was, after a rose, perfume, and earrings, it was going to be good.
Taking another breath, the redhead swung open the door, revealing the interior of her bedroom.
It was empty.
Nothing on her bed. Nothing on her bedside table. Nothing on her desk.
Kim’s heart sank. What was going on? Had it all been a joke? A prank? By her brothers, perhaps?
She walked in slowly, closing the door behind her and collapsing facedown on the empty bed. After mumbling to herself about getting her hopes up, and muffled curses at whoever was responsible for stringing her along so cruelly, Kim sighed and rolled over to glare at her ceiling.
That was when she saw it, out of the corner of her eye.
Something on her closet door.
Sitting up quick enough to make the room spin for a brief second, Kim smiled broadly.
There, hanging from her closet door, was a gorgeous deep purple dress. It was floor length, but as she got up to examine it, Kim realized there was a slit up the side to where she guessed the middle of her thigh would be. While not strapless, thin pieces of fabric were meant to hold the weight of the dress while most of the straps were designed to hang off the shoulder, for aesthetic purposes more than anything. The back zippered, with a metal clasp at the top.
Attached to the hanger was a green rose, and another note.
Kim read it eagerly.
8:00. Le Chez.
The waiter will direct you to the table.
She swallowed a nervous laugh as she slipped the fourth rose into the vase. Eight o’clock. In only a few hours, she would meet her secret admirer.
Although she already had the dress, jewelry, and perfume she would wear for the evening, Kim felt as though she didn’t have nearly enough time to get ready.
*****
Her dad hadn’t been exactly pleased when he’d asked her who she was going to meet in such a fancy dress and she told him she didn’t know. Her mom simply made sure she had her cell phone in the small black clutch and told her to be safe but have a good time. She’d ignored her brothers as they’d punched each other and whispered comments, taking bets as to who their sister’s date was going to turn out to be.
The valet at Le Chez took her car as she pulled up, offering her his hand to help her out of the vehicle. She thanked him and tried to offer him a tip, but he waved her off, saying that it was already taken care of and that she should head inside to speak with the maitre d’.
Surprised, Kim walked slowly into the restaurant, getting used to the heels she didn’t wear often. She could walk comfortably enough, but it was still an unusual movement.
The maitre d’ noticed her as soon as she walked in.
“Miss Possible, I’m so glad you could join us this evening,” he said, offering his arm with a flourish. She blushed, charmed, and rested her hand at his elbow. “My waitstaff and I will take good care of you. Please, do not hesitate to let any of us know if there is something we can do to make this evening more enjoyable.”
As he talked, he weaved his way down a few aisles and around two tables until delivering her to a specific table as he’d been requested. Patting her hand once, he pulled out her chair, but when she made no move to sit, he simply placed her hand on the back of the chair and bowed, taking his leave of the pair.
Across the table sat Shego.
Kim’s mind fumbled over this, mainly because, well, not only was it Shego, but the woman was not wearing her signature catsuit.
Instead, she was wearing a forest green button-up dress shirt, the top two buttons undone. She had on black slacks and a matching jacket was over the back of her chair, the woman having gotten too warm to leave it on as she’d originally planned. A similarly colored fedora was resting on one shoulder of the jacket across the back of the chair. Her long black hair was in a single braid, which she had brought to rest over the front of her right shoulder.
“Hi,” said Kim, hoping her voice didn’t sound as strangled to Shego as it did to her own ears.
“Hi, princess. Still want to accept the invitation, now that you know who your admirer is? It’s all right if you want to leave.”
Kim tilted her head, thinking for only a moment. It had startled her at first, yes, to see the woman she’d come to think of as her nemesis sitting across the dinner table, the dinner table to which she’d been so romantically invited. But that was just it. She was intrigued by the invitation, by all of the gifts, by all the trouble that Shego had gone through. How could she leave now?
“No, I’m not going anywhere. I’ve been going crazy this past month trying to figure it out.” Folding her dress beneath her, Kim moved her chair closer to the table and sat down. “Now I want to see what happens.”
Shego smiled. “Me, too.”