Disclaimer: I don’t own Kim Possible

Author’s Note: And now I venture forth into another fandom I’ve long admired. I have no plans for continuing this story beyond Cossette growing up, a decision I arrived at largely because the potential for character substitution is severely diminished beyond that. If anyone has a viable suggestion for going further that they can present to me, however, I am all ears. Well, only 0.1 percent ears, but that’s just being excessively literal.

Initially, I had a lot of difficulty in deciding who would play the parts of Jean Valjean and Fantine, as both Kim and Ron could workably fit into either role. In the end, I chose to put Kim in the role of Valjean—despite Ron’s relationship with Barkin and the potential to name him ‘Ron Valjean’—because… well, I guess you’ll see. Whether you agree with my choice is a whole other matter…

For those interested, the section headers will (more or less) correspond with songs from the musical. Look them up on youtube if you want to hear the source material (I’m pulling from the Tenth Anniversary Concert). Also, keep in mind that I update when I damn well please… and that tends to be fairly infrequently more often than not.

To love another person is to see the face of God.

-Jean Valjean

Work Song

Prisoner #24601 Kimberly Anne Possible grimaced as the gray slop slowly dribbled from the cafeteria lady’s ice cream scoop before flopping and onto her tray with a disgusting squelch. She had long ago resigned herself to suffering the alleged ‘food’ that the Upperton Women’s Correctional Facility forced upon its residents, but she couldn’t help but believe that her and her fellow inmates’ 8th Amendment rights were being violated.

The woman behind the counter snapped Kim out of her legal musings with a sharp reprimand concerning the line and her role in holding it up. Her frown deepening, the redhead steadied her tray against her abdomen and turned towards the table she customarily sat at.

As usual, she found her path unimpeded by any of her fellow inmates. Despite her usually sunny disposition, word had quickly gotten out among the felonious females that the auburn-haired woman was not to be trifled with. The rumors ran the gamut from “she knows sixteen kinds of kung-fu” to “she killed Adrena Lynn with her bare hands in the showers” (a claim highly disputed by Ms. Lynn herself). Whatever the reason for the deference may have been, Kim was thankful for it; she didn’t like hurting people, but she was good at it.

Reaching her table, Kim set her tray down beside the one prisoner at the institution that wasn’t terrified of her: her cellmate Monique. It hadn’t taken twenty seconds for the imminently sensible inmate to see that her fair-skinned roomie was relatively harmless (“So what’re you in for, Red?” “I killed a man.” “Burglary?” “Loaf of bread. You?” “I killed my husband.” “Burglary too? Wow, what’re the odds?” “No, I really did kill my husband. I got back early from a fashion show and caught the bastard in bed with another woman.” “… Oh.”). The pair quickly bonded, and found that they could talk for hours on end without ever running out of conversation topics. Soon after she set her tray down at the table, Kim found herself laughing at Monique’s observations regarding their fellow inmates.

“And she’s going on about how strong the sun is and how hot she is, and I’m sitting there thinking ‘Girl, we’re in Colorado. It’s maybe, what, sixty degrees outside? I’ve done time in freaking Parchman. This is nothing!’”

Kim snickered at her friend. “It’s actually eighty five, but go on.”

Monique dismissed the correction with a wave of her hand. “Whatever. The point is, this WLG won’t—whiny little girl—she won’t shut up, so then this other girl starts in on how she’s innocent and how she’s been praying to Jesus for deliverance from prison, and I’m this close to telling her that unless ‘Jesus’ is the name of the lawyer filing her appeal, she’s wasting her time with going down that road.”

Kim shook her head in agreement with her friend. If God actually cared about any of them enough to not make their lives so incredibly shitty, probably seventy percent of the inmates here would have never seen the inside of a prison. She herself had a grievance or two against the Almighty for the circumstances that had lead to her incarceration.

The double doors leading into the mess hall crashed open, and Kim let out an involuntary groan at the sight of the man in the doorway. Her tablemate raised an eyebrow in a silent demand for an explanation. Hunching down and hoping that the massive man blocking the entrance couldn’t see her, she whispered a single word: “Barkin.”

Monique’s eyes widened in recognition. Over the course of their friendship, she had heard plenty about Kim’s arresting officer, Inspector Barkin. Apparently, the guy had a real issue with the girl, one that she blamed on “a funny look I gave him while he was cuffing me.”

Inspector Barkin scanned the crowded mess hall for the face belonging to the name on the file he held in his hand. Failing to pick his quarry out of the crowd, he settled on a different approach.

"Now bring me Prisoner 24601," Inspector Barkin demanded. With a groan, Kim stood up and made her way to the grim-faced man as he continued. "Your time is up and your parole's begun.” He didn’t slow down in the slightest at the sound of Kim’s involuntary gasp at the news. “You know what that means?" It took a few seconds before Kim could trust herself to speak, but eventually she whispered loud enough for him to hear:

"Yes, it means I'm free."

Inspector Barkin allowed himself a slight smirk at the soon to be released prisoner. This was why he was disregarding the usual protocol for informing the parolee of the committee’s decision.

“No, it means you get your yellow ticket of leave.” Kim frowned at this bit of news; Colorado had recently implemented a public-safety initiative that required all parolees to visibly display a yellow tag on their clothing so that they could be identified as probable troublemakers. As she contemplated the impact this bit of news would have on her life, Inspector Barkin continued with his speech.

“You are a thief!” he spat contemptuously.

“I stole a loaf of bread,” Kim snorted in retort. She seriously couldn’t understand why this guy had such a problem with her. There were much more serious criminals out there on the streets, after all.

“You robbed a house!” the red-faced officer shouted angrily.

“What would you have had me do, Barkin?” She finally lost her temper, closing the distance between them in a few steps and getting her face as close to his as she could given their difference in height. “My parents were gone, my two brothers were close to death, and we were all starving!”

Having succeeded in getting a reaction out of the girl, Inspector Barkin relaxed. “And unless you learn the meaning of the Law, you’ll find yourself starving again-”

Kim’s temper continued to rise, and she found herself snarling at the smug-looking officer. “I certainly know the meaning of the last five years of my life living as a slave to your Law.”

“You know very well why you spent so much time here, 24601-”

“My name,” she ground out between her teeth, “is Kim. Possible.”

Barkin snorted in amusement as he turned away dismissively, leaving a fuming redhead behind him clenching her fists in anger. “And I’m Steve Barkin. Remember that, 24601.” The door swung shut, and Prisoner #24601 Kimberly Anne Possible stormed back to her seat next to Monique, sitting down without saying a word for the remainder of the lunch period.

Monique made a mental note to herself to make sure that Adrena Lynn was really still alive once Kim was processed out. If looks could kill…

Author’s Note: Yes, Kim and Monique are a bit out of character. That’s prison for you.