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Kim's Cookbook	By : Six_string_Samurai Category: Kim Possible > AU/AR-Alternate Universe-Alternate Reality > FemmeSlash - Female/Female Views: 2659 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Kim Possible, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Kim's Cookbook
- 2-Chapter Two
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Kim was satisfied for the moment, and it spoke volumes. The execution of her plan had gone near flawlessly, and that alone split her lips in a grin. There wasn't a lot in recent memory that stood out amidst the rubble of her young life. The fact of the matter, everything was shit. But, that just made the good times all the sweeter.
Right now, if she had one complaint it was the crick in her neck. “Ron, you need to get rid of this piece of shit ride. It's a serious eyesore. It's too damn small, stinks, and I swear if that spring stabs me in the ass one more time,” she trailed off, not feeling like completely trashing the high she had from escaping the cops without so much as a backward glance or a shot fired. Blazed to hell and back, Ron could still drive. She gave credit where it was due, sometimes, if she felt generous enough. Not that she told him that out loud. The praise might spark a crying fit, and that was just plain embarrassing for everyone involved.
"I'd need a job for that, KP,” the blond youth said, the words coming out muffled from his awkward position. He knew she had a point, but the bug was his baby. It had been a hand me down from his parents before the divorce two years ago, and reminded him of happier, if not better, times. But, the car had seen a lot of action, he knew that for a fact. It was older than he was, and had been restored once already after his parents bought it twenty years ago. “The last one kinda went up in flames, remember.”
Kim rolled her eyes. Ron still didn't understand certain aspects of what she was trying to accomplish. “Ron, you were working,” a huff of what might have been annoyance curtailed her admonishment.
“The Man, yeah. The Molotov in the drive-thru window was a big clue,” Ron said, propping himself up on one elbow. Or tried to at any rate, as his arm ended up sinking into a rip in the back seat and he flopped back down against Kim's sweaty thighs. “Sorry, Kim,” he floundered, trying to extract his arm without getting caught on the exposed spring.
The redhead didn't feel like bothering at that point. Instead she worked at massaging the knot out of her neck. With a free hand, she reached out and doodled absently on the foggy window just above her head. It seemed that abject lesson hadn't gotten through to her partner. The fucking restaurant didn't even burn all the way down like she'd intended. Which of course had led her to tonight's experiment in proper demolition equipment. Fire wasn't enough. Her mood was decaying at a slow and steady pace from the memory alone. It definitely had to be bombs from here on out.
“Little help here,” Ron grit his teeth as the jagged coil of metal caught inside the crook of his arm. It hadn't broken flesh, but it felt like it was going to if he moved the wrong way. God, he needed another smoke, he decided as he gingerly extracted himself without so much as a second glance from his girlfriend. Rufus however, was staring at the both of them from over the top of the passenger seat, looking amused as all get out. Yeah, a decent hit sounded real good right about now.
Eventually Ron finished extracting himself without any real serious injury, other than to his pride, which could withstand the blow. Kim would mock him for something he did eventually, and Rufus had his back no matter how dumb of a mistake he made. So, it was all good. With Kim in one of her moods, he righted himself and pulled his wadded up shirt back on before clambering over into the driver's seat. Now that they'd blown off some of the adrenaline from the night's mission, he was getting hungry.
Kim rearranged her clothes to her satisfaction, which didn't take much when it consisted of a tank top and cargo pants, though the latter were a bitch to get on in the cramped space. They'd driven the bug away from the center of town to one of the larger parks and stopped there to wait out the cops.
It hadn't taken long before they'd seen three police cars and a fire truck speed by along the main road while the duo and the dog took the side streets toward the park.
The place was pretty run down these days, and hardly anyone ever visited even during daylight hours, which made for a decent place to lay low. Plus, most of the nearby lamps in the parking lot were busted out, and the car was partially hidden beside a strand of elms. She had the luxury of getting out of the bug if she really wanted, but decided it was too much hassle and just put up with it.
“How long are we gonna wait,” Ron asked from the front of the car without turning around as Kim got dressed. He was otherwise occupied, digging through the glove compartment for another pack of cigarettes, preferably one in which he'd stashed the good stuff. So far, he was coming up empty. Rufus put up with being squished against the passenger seat while Ron searched. The half-shaved dog clearly wasn't happy at the treatment he was receiving, but wasn't fed up just yet.
“You're not complaining are you, Ron, about getting to spend more quality time with me,” Kim asked as she snapped the button on her pants successfully. The redhead sat up, careful to avoid the now much larger rip in the seat.
"No, just getting hungry. I mean, you did just blow up a Bueno Nacho. Got me thinking about food, is all,” he called back with his head almost fully inside the glove box.
“Yeah, no one's putting that place back together,” she grinned, thinking about how big the explosion had been in the rear view mirror. If she'd had the option, she'd have stayed to watch the whole thing smolder, but not getting arrested again took priority. “We'll just have to get something at your place. You did say your mom just went grocery shopping. I could stand for something eat.”
Elsewhere…
"I am the Man…if I do say so myself, which I do," a shrill voice cut through the cold air in the largely empty space. The owner of said braggadocio was a thin man who appeared to be in his early forties, but it was hard to tell given the poor lighting. He was standing triumphantly with both arms raised to the heavens, just beneath a large tarpaulin covered mass. All around were signs of tireless work, consisting of scraps of metal and spare electronics.
The man lowered his arms, though he didn't manage to subdue the vicious laughter that mostly caught in his throat. "Just look at it, I'm going to be so rich after this baby hits the market. Look at it," he marveled mostly to himself, though from the way he kept glancing over his shoulder it was obvious he wasn't quite alone in the repurposed aircraft hangar.
"Isn't it mind-blowing, Shego?" The man asked more directly, clearly expecting some kind of response. When none was forthcoming, he ran a hand through the thick shock of black hair on his head, and frazzled it right down to the length that flowed over the back of his collar. He'd never been one for keeping up with the fashion times, but the mullet he was sporting had surely died two decades ago. "Shego," he called out, a little uncertainty ringing in his voice as he peered into the darker recesses of the hangar that were out of reach of the working lamps he was standing under.
"What the hell do you want, Doc? I told you, if it's not work related, I don't freaking care about it," the reply came from a shadowed area next to a pile of wooden crates and a metal table that was covered in orderly stacks of firearms. "Besides, you've got the damn thing covered up. Last I checked, I don't have x-ray vision."
"R-right. Well, this is work related, I'll have you know," the man near the still covered object in question spat out. "My latest masterpiece, behold," he announced as he yanked on the released to the ties that were keeping the tarp in place. The heavy beige material slid backward and dropped off, unveiling a surprisingly complex bit of machinery. "I call it, Balgrave the Redeemer," he said, clearly caught up in the moment, again.
"Redeemer? What's it supposed to be redeeming? It's goddamn ugly to boot," the mostly hidden figure scoffed at the revealed metal monstrosity. It was true that the grossly proportioned hunk of machinery wouldn't be winning any recognition in the outer appeal category. It was vaguely humanoid in shape, in that it was clearly bipedal. The beastly machine would certainly tower well above the average man, as it stood just over ten meters in height. That alone was impressive, assuming it was actually fully functional.
"Liberator was already taken," the lab coated man sighed. "And, it's not ugly, merely functional. Mass destruction doesn't need to look pretty, you know," he replied with a bit of hurt. "But, I suppose it could do with an actual paint job. Primer gray isn't the most tactically sound of color schemes," he admitted. "There have been some new developments in camouflage pattering that I could potentially use…"
Sensing the 'Doctor' was warming up for an impromptu rant, the figure took the opportunity to discreetly disappear further into the shadowed interior, present in body if not in mind. A mind numbing lecture on optical camouflage wasn't on the menu for tonight.
The self-absorbed man continued his speech, oblivious to the now empty chair he continued to address with great passion and conviction on applying battlefield grade active stealth technology to the product he was intent on selling to the highest bidder. Ideally, he would be arming all sides of the ongoing Middle Eastern conflicts, and the Asian Bloc. It would change the face of warfare as the world knew it. A revolution was at hand!
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Kim's Cookbook