Before we get started here, the lawyers need to have their fun:

As usual, I don't own jack scratch. When it comes to money, I'm flat busted, so don't even bother trying to sue me. The characters belong to Disney, the software belongs to Bill Gates, my kidneys belong to my bookie, and all your base belong to us!

Chapter Eight

"I can do this!"

"I've swam the English Channel."

"I've climbed Mount Everest."

"I've dog-sledded across the artic circle."

"I've aced the regional cheer finals."

"This is no big."

"Then why are my palms wet and my mouth dry?"

For Kim Possible, this was an all-too-familiar dilemma. A non-sequitur sort of paradox for which there seemed no logical explanation. After all, she faced-down super-villains and disarmed doomsday devices on an almost weekly basis, usually without so much as batting an eye or breaking a sweat.

The judgment of her peers, however, struck terror into her very soul. Be it the school talent show, asking Josh Mankey to a dance, or going on American Starmaker to foil Drakken's brain-washing plot, there was just something about subjecting herself to criticism that set her heart to racing in a way that nothing else could.

She looked up from the clutch of papers she was holding only to lock gazes with over two-dozen other sets of eyes, each one boring into her, injecting toxic venom into her heart and wishing her doom.

She closed her eyes, desperately searching for some mental image that would calm her nerves and allow her to concentrate. She needed to think of something soothing; something relaxing.

The plane ride back from Europe had been pretty relaxing. After taking off from Warsaw, they had been unexpectedly bumped up to first class. Apparently the airline had discovered that they were on board, and had recognized them as the pair who had managed to save one of their Europe-bound planes the year before by jerry-rigging a navigational compass out of gift-shop trinkets. The extra legroom and complimentary beverages just seemed to scream "thank-you."

During the flight, Ron had spent a great deal of time answering the seemingly endless list of questions that Kim had regarding the Holocaust. Between bags of peanuts, he had explained how it all started with a strong under-current of anti-Semitism that existed throughout Europe in the nineteen twenties and thirties. The Nazis didn't create this, but rather, simply chose to capitalize on it. They were more opportunists than anything else, in this respect.

The slaughter itself had begun on a rather small scale with the creation of German military units called "Einzatsgruppen," or "Death Groups." These were little more than roaming execution squads, traveling from town to town in newly captured territories and using firing squads to do away with Jews and other "undesirable" elements of society.

These methods proved problematic, however, as the results they produced were painfully slow in coming, and took an enormous psychological toll on the troops involved. With this in mind, the Nazis set about increasing efficiency and making the killing more humane, not for the victims, but for the killers.

There were some experiments using busses as gas chambers, their exhaust being re-routed into the passenger compartments, but such efforts failed to yield the results desired by the German high command.

They finally struck on what would ultimately become known as the "Final Solution" at a small town in southern Germany, just a few miles northwest of Munich.

It was at the town of Dachau that the Nazis perfected their craft of mass-murder into a science, and infused it with a mechanized efficiency unseen since the days of Henry Ford. The whole operation was well-organized, streamlined, and would ultimately become the model on which all other camps would be based. It was here that, in an effort to make the barbarity more palatable to the public at large, the slogan "Arbeit Macht Frei" was first adopted. It meant "Work Will Set You Free," and it was part of an attempt to sell the entire system as a network of labor camps, rather than the death factories that they really were.

All-in-all, the road to the "Final Solution" had been a gradual one, slowly evolving over a period of several years. So slowly, perhaps, that it may have even gone unnoticed by many people. People too concerned with the comings and goings of their everyday lives to pay attention to such things.

Ron's stories answered, at least from a mechanical perspective, the question she had asked her mother on that dreadful night several days ago: The night she had first read the book her father had given her. But understanding the mechanics was a far cry from understanding the larger question of "how." How could ordinary people be capable of such monumental horror? And even more chilling, if these were truly ordinary people, then did everyone carry this capacity for cruelty somewhere inside of themselves?

This thought sent a shiver down her spine. The implications of its potential answer were almost beyond comprehension.

Her mother was right, she had finally admitted to herself. There were some questions that simply had no answers. But, she resolved, that fact would never stop her from asking them just the same. The alternative, she realized, was allowing society to forget, and that would be an injustice greater than any which had preceded it.

"Head in the game!" a small voice from within her suddenly shouted, snapping her out of "flashback" mode.

Kim's eyes once again returned to the piercing, judgmental glares of her classmates. Mr. Barkin sat at the back of the room with his arms folded across his chest, his own expression showing a growing level of impatience.

"Let's move this along, Possible." Barkin growled. "I want to have this disappointment parade over and done with by oh-nine-fifty, copy?"

"Roger that, sir!" Kim snapped back, her nerves now more rattled than ever. She had to get herself centered. She just had to calm down. She glanced nervously to the back of the room, her emerald eyes scanning from side to side, before coming to rest on a familiar mop of blonde hair.

Ron simply smiled and flashed her a casual "thumbs-up" sign, and all at once the weight of tension that had been afflicting her was lifted from her shoulders. Here was the one person in the world who wouldn't judge her: The one person who didn't care if she misspoke, or stumbled on her sentences, or mispronounced a word here and there.

Kim heaved a silent sigh as she felt the fear and trepidation flowing away from her. Her mind briefly raced back to the day she and Ron had first met in preschool. She had been surrounded by a group of bullies during recess, and Ron had stood up to them, incurring their wrath in the process. At this point, she had begun to walk away, but then inexplicably turned back into the fray, ultimately dishing out a whole heaping helping of justice to the aggressors.

Most people would be quick to point out that it was, in fact, Kim who had saved Ron that day, but that was ignoring the fact that she would have never found the courage to take action if Ron hadn't stepped up to the plate first.

Without even knowing her from anyone else, he had protected her back, and in doing so had inspired her to accomplish things that she would have never have even otherwise attempted. It was just what he had always done, and now by his presence, he was doing so again.

Her fear now subsided and her spirit refreshed, Kim cleared her throat and began to speak.

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Kim's performance that afternoon could only be described as "typically flawless." She rolled quickly through her report, chronologically listing Ron's relatives, pausing every so often to explain the significance of a particular individual's contributions or give some historical background about the location or era in question. As was expected, the segment on the mid-twentieth century drew a reaction of shock and whispering from the class. Several students even went so far as to glance in Ron's direction. Ron's only response to this attention, however, was a shrug and a dismissive tilt of his head. This wasn't what he wanted to be known for around campus, and by letting it roll-off his back in this way, he hoped to render it a non-issue from the start.

As Kim wrapped-up her report with a brief description of Ron's family today, the familiar sounds of shifting desks and whispered conversations returned to the room. Mr. Barkin began to scribble notes in his grade book, but Kim had other ideas.

"Uh, Mr. Barkin…" she inquired. "There's one more thing I'd like to say."

Barkin stopped writing and looked up from the notebook in front of him, regarding the red-headed cheerleader before him.

"Ohhhhh-kaaaaaay… permission granted, but make it quick." He said, grudgingly.

Clearing her throat once more, Kim spoke, this time in a much more somber and philosophical tone than before.

"During the course of this report, I learned many things," she said. "But one thing stands out among all the others."

"I learned that there is a great darkness which lies within all people. We may not be aware of its presence, having learned many years ago to skillfully conceal it, burying it deep within ourselves, away from the light of day and away from our own consciousness. But it is there none-the-less, stewing, simmering, waiting for the right circumstances to bring it to the surface; waiting to be unleashed into the world once more."

"It is a darkness which corrupts all that it touches, compelling even the most ordinary of people to commit the most unspeakable of atrocities. It is the source of man's inhumanity toward man. It is an omnipresent shadow that envelopes us all within its unfathomable depths."

She paused briefly for dramatic effect, then continued.

"But where there is shadow, there is always light, and there are those individuals who choose to embrace the light, fighting back against the darkness which surrounds them. They carry the light aloft like a torch, illuminating the world for all others to see, and rendering that world a better place for their efforts.

She paused once again, this time looking directly at Ron, locking eyes with him to make sure he understood whom she was speaking of.

"These are the true heroes." Kim continued. "They may not get their pictures in the papers, or have high-end fashion designers copying their styles. They may become lost in the background, ignored and overlooked by the masses, denied any of the adulation that is so constantly heaped upon those fortunate few who find it their place to dance within the spotlight of recognition."

"Their daily struggle against the darkness, however, is a far greater accomplishment than any dramatic rescue or world-saving feat. Each breath they inhale, every step they take, each morning that they get out of bed is an act of outright defiance against the darkness. Their very existence serves not only as a constant reminder of that darkness, but as a beacon of hope, proving beyond any doubt that the darkness can be conquered, and that the light of the human spirit, the better angels of our nature, will ultimately prevail."

The class sat in stunned silence as Kim neatly closed the report cover she was holding and strode back to her seat, dropping the report on Mr. Barkin's desk as she passed. As usual, she had clinched an "A," but this time she was more satisfied about having articulated the thoughts which had been lying jumbled about inside her head for the past several days. It was a moment of catharsis for her, and she was going to savor it.

The remainder of class went off as smooth as silk. Ron's report on the Rockwaller clan, was clear and concise, with more than a few thinly-veiled jabs thrown in for good measure. He had gotten an especially good rise from the class when he revealed that several members of the family had served time in English debtors' prisons. In his own, typically colorful way, Ron had described them as being so poor that "on Christmas Day, they sat around the tree and exchanged glances." If Bonnie could have willed herself to spontaneously combust at that moment, Kim was sure she would have.

Eventually, the bell sounded its merciful tone, and the young couple found themselves once again in the hallway, walking toward their lockers. As was standard procedure, at least as far as Ron was concerned, the topic of conversation quickly turned to their upcoming lunch period.

"Man, I am so ferociously psyched!" he exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air. "Cheese pizza day totally rocks!"

"I'm aware of your love for pizza," Kim replied with a tone of indignation. "But it's cardboard caff pizza."

"Ah, ah, ahhhhh…" Ron shot back. "Cheese on cardboard…"

"…Is still cheese, I know." Kim completed. "But it's also still cardboard. Doesn't it at all bother you that the stuff is, like, beyond gorchy."

"Gorchy?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "Isn't that the word you made up back when we were six?"

"I did not make it up!" Kim insisted, crossing her arms defiantly in front of her.

"Kiiiiiiimmm…"

"Alright, fine! So I made it up! Sue me, already!" she finally relented.

"Booyah! Score one for the Ronster!" Ron sang, licking his finger and drawing an imaginary tally in the air.

The pair walked in silence for several seconds before Ron spoke again.

"By the way, that was pretty badical what you said back there." he finally said.

"Said what back where?" Kim inquired.

"That speech you gave at the end of your report."

"Oh, that… It was no big. Really." she replied dismissively.

"Did you really mean all of that?"

"More than you'll ever know." she replied, half-muttering the sentence under her breath.

It was at that moment that Kim suddenly realized the truth in what she had just said. He really didn't know just how she felt about him. The whole speech about "hidden heroism" and "embracing the light" was all good, and what not, but it had painted a picture in broad, generalized strokes. It did nothing to convey her own personal thoughts and emotions. It said nothing about just how strongly she depended upon him, how she couldn't imagine her life without him.

She had nearly been denied the opportunity to tell him these things that night at Dementor's seaside lair, and she now resolved that it was a mistake she would not make again. With the speed of a jackrabbit, she grabbed Ron by the arm and swung him into a nearby janitor's closet, herself quickly following and closing the door behind.

"Uhhh, I like your thinking here, KP, but I kinda think I've had my fill of Barkin's detention for this month." Ron stammered, a worried look upon his face.

"Amp down, Ron." Kim said, reassuringly. "Making out isn't what I had planned."

"Eeep…" Ron squeaked, his eyes suddenly doubling in size as he swallowed hard.

"Mind out of the gutter, ya' big pervo!" Kim chided, sensing his sudden discomfort. "That's not what I had in mind, either."

"Ummmm… I wasn't thinking that." Ron insisted

"Tscha… You were sooooo thinking that." Kim shot back.

"Meh… Fair 'nuff."

"The reason I dragged you in here," Kim explained, "is because we need to talk."

The nervous look suddenly returned to Ron's face, and Kim quickly realized what she had just said. When taken literally, the phrase "we need to talk" really meant nothing more than that. In this context, however, the words carried with them a load of emotional baggage that could strike fear into even the sturdiest of souls.

"Wait… wait… that didn't come out right." Kim stammered, waving her hands defensively in front of her. "What I meant was…"

"That there's some serious things which we need to discuss in private." Ron completed, sensing Kim's discomfort.

"Yeah, that's it… exactly." Kim sighed.

Ron stepped toward the corner of the closet, returning quickly with a pair of empty mop buckets. He turned the items upside-down on the floor, giving each of them a place to sit.

"Soooooo… What's on your mind?" he inquired after taking his seat.

Kim was about to speak when her voice froze within her throat. She suddenly realized that she, in fact, had no idea what she was about to say. Try as hard as she might, she just couldn't find the words that would allow her to express her feelings.

She couldn't find the words, she finally realized, because the words simply did not exist. In all of the English language, there were no words strong enough, no words powerful enough, to adequately express what she felt for this wonderful young man sitting before her. The psychological and emotional connection she felt toward him went beyond mere words, entering into a realm where language itself ceased to have any function. Her own vocabulary was doomed to fail her in this sitch. It was an impossible task.

Or, at least it was for most people.

All at once, Kim's fists clenched and her resolve instantly hardened. She would find a way to tell him, and that was that. She would finally convey her deepest feelings and emotions to him. She would tell him just how much she loved him, how he completed her, how he made her who she was. She would tell him how she needed him to be there for her, with her, forever and always. Even if she had to make-up an entire language, she would find a way to make him understand. After all, she was Kim Possible…

…She could do anything!

FINI

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Author's Notes:

Sorry about taking so long with the final installment, here. I had a professional project that took precedence for a while, then a hard drive crash put my machine into the shop for three days. I'm just now digging my way out of the informational stone-age I was in for a while.

Once again, I'd like to thank everyone for all the wonderful reviews I received regarding this story. Your enthusiastic comments and suggestions kept my own interest in the story from flagging, and in this way actually contributed to its very completion.

When I first started writing Shadows of Angels, it was little more than an idea that I had been casually kicking around inside my head for close to a year. To be honest, at the time I thought there was maybe a 50 chance that I'd even maintain my own interest in the project long enough to finish it. Now, when I go back and read my own work, I'm totally amazed by what the story has turned into, and the reader reaction amazes me all the more.

Sadly, It doesn't look like I will be writing much in the foreseeable future. My personal plate is about to become a lot more full, plus I'm now faced with the possibility of changing jobs soon. All-in-all, there's not going to be much room left on the ol' schedule for writing. There's a couple of ideas for one-shot stories still rattling about inside my head right now, and with any luck I'll find the time to quickly bang them out. Beyond that, however, we probably won't be hearing much from each other.

On a final note, since nobody ventured a guess, the answer to the trivia question in chapter one is… (Drum roll, please)

Ben Hogan

Although fellow golfer Lee Trevino is often credited with the saying, "I'd rather be really lucky than really good," Trevino was, in fact, quoting Hogan. Hogan simply had the misfortune of playing in an era before network television broadcasts were there to immortalize player's speeches.

Anyhoooo… I can't express enough how much I've enjoyed writing this story. I can only hope that you enjoyed reading it just as much. Take care of yourselves, and remember…

When you're walking down the street, always keep a big smile on your face. You'll be surprised at how many people will come up to you and say: "What's so funny?!"

Tah-tah for now,

Nutzkie…