Son Of The Monkey Man

Disclaimer: Do NOT own Kim Possible, and do not want to. Owning Ron is my dream, but that's not going to happen any time soon.

Okay, I LOVE this idea, but I have to say that there will be K/R romance, but it may not end that way. I don't know if there will be Ron/Yori. There may be, we'll have to wait and see. Heck, there my even be Ron/Shego. So…lots of possibilities. ;)

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"Ron Stoppable…"

A pair of deep black eyes snapped open and Montgomery Fiske, a tall, agile young man, shook himself slightly and rose from the lotus position he had been meditating in.

He ran one large hand through his shaggy, black hair, still unnerved a little from the vision he had witnessed. Never before had he seen anything so clearly; usually, if he saw anything at all during meditation, it was nothing more than a confusing blend of images and sounds. Now, however, the vision had been all too clear.

Hearing a cautious step from behind him, Fiske gathered himself and turned to face his valet.

"Bates," he addressed the short, stout man. "I'm glad you're here. I have had a very disturbing vision." His cultured, British accent became slightly more marked from the agitation overlaying his tone.

"What have you seen, my lord?" the valet enquired respectfully. He was always very respectful of a master who, though undeniably brilliant, might be just a little mad.

"I have received a warning," Fiske elaborated grimly, though not without a slight flourish. His eyes flashed in the firelight. "A warning, Bates, regarding a boy named Ron Stoppable."

"A…boy?" Bates hesitated, surly no child could threaten Montgomery Fliske, master of Tia Shing Pekwar.

"An infant boy," Fiske announced and, seeing his valet's incredulous look, he explained. "At least, he is an infant at the moment. But in fourteen years he will become my arch enemy and prevent my plans from coming to fruition," Fiske intoned darkly, and Bates shivered at his master's grim prediction.

"However, all is not lost," the tall man added, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. But his eyes were sad. "The vision's message is clear enough. I must find Ron Stoppable while he is still helpless. He must be eliminated before he becomes a threat. It is the only way.

"Bates," Fiske snapped suddenly. He clapped his hands together and briskly strode to the large oak door of his meditation chamber. Turning once he had reached it, he fixed the short man with a determined flash of eyes. "We travel to America!"

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It wasn't fair, Monty Fiske reflected glumly, it just wasn't. But then, he thought with a sigh, life was usually unfair.

He looked down again at the bundle of blankets in his arms which were wrapped securely about his future arch nemesis, than turned his gaze once more toward the dark waters of the Thames.

It had all gone so well at first. When he'd found out that the Stoppable family would be traveling to England Fiske had been ecstatic. He had thought he would have to go to America, all the way to that small, insignificant town – Middleton.

That would have been suspicious to say the least, and he would have had to come up with some kind of elaborate cover story, something that would have possibly found out.

But he had not even considered hiring someone to do the job for him as a possibility. Only Bates knew of his future plans, and it was imperative that it stayed that way.

The young lord had already started planning his trip when he'd heard, and he couldn't believe his luck. No, not luck, he remembered thinking, fate. This was his charge, his mystic quest. And he was not alone; the very universe wanted him to succeed.

And so, two days after the unwitting Stoppable family arrived found Fiske trekking through one of the richer parts of London in search of their hotel.

He was alone. Unsurprising considering that Bates was the only person he could trust, and the valet disliked working in the field, so to speak, and never did so unless absolutely necessary. It didn't matter; Fiske preferred to work alone in any case.

Although now, he reflected, another person's opinion would have been very beneficial.

The hotel they were staying at had been easy to find. He'd only had to explain to the various desk clerks he encountered that he was a business associate of the Stoppables who, unfortunately, had forgotten to give him their address.

It had been even easier to make his actual entry, scaling the side of the hotel with the aid of his climbing hooks, and the ornate and obliging balconies.

The Stoppable family were staying on the fourth floor, not so high that it was problematic for him, but it still took a good twenty minutes before he was crouched silently beside their sliding glass door, the old, cold stones of the balcony rough beneath his splayed hands.

It had rained earlier, and Monty Fiske could feel small bits of thoroughly soaked dirt and grit, coaxed out from their usual haunts in the corners by the downpour, digging into his fingertips like tiny teeth.

Where he stood now, on the bank of the Thames, Fiske could barely pick out the dark bulk of the hotel through the sharp, concrete angles of other skyscrapers and the enshrouding fog, only minimally pierced by the floating globes of city lights.

He had waited outside the apartment for one long minute before he entered, unlatching the simple lock with one wiggle of the length of copper wire he'd brought for the purpose. Once inside he found that one of the two large bedrooms which opened off of the main room had been converted into a make-shift nursery for Ron. Who takes their three month old baby to England with them? Who goes to England on business when they have a baby? he recalled wondering incredulously. Ah, well, it made things that much easier for him, or so he'd thought at the time.

Ron was sleeping peacefully when Monty Fiske entered his room. He lay in a large crib over against one wall. The small boy stirred slightly as Fiske leant over him, shifting restlessly in his self-made cocoon of blankets, though he remained asleep.

He really was tiny. Fiske had been quite startled by his size. The boy lay in the crib, dwarfed by the piled blankets which enfolded him; he looked perhaps half of his three months. A thick crop of messy blond curls spilled over the large ears and caressed the closed eyelids. He did not wake up, but only shifted again, whimpering a little.

Breathlessly, silently, Fiske had bent over the sleeping boy. He reached into the folds of his coal black gi and withdrew a specially prepared cloth, holding this article to Ron's face until his movements subsided, the drug having deepened his sleep. Once this was accomplished, Fiske had proceeded to lift the infant, blankets and all, and depart the way he had come.

And now here he was, seated by the misty bank of the Thames. All he had to do was to drop Ron into the dark, swirling water. The drug administered to the boy would insure that he would not awaken, and Fiske's enemy would be taken care of.

And he couldn't do it.

Once again, Fiske looked down at the child nestled in his arms. Ron had cuddled up to him in his sleep and one tiny hand rested on the lip of the blanket, almost touching the tall man's chest. It was soft and small and perfect in its newness. It was hardly larger than his thumb, that hand, and too pale. Just as Ron himself was pale, far too much so than he ought to be, it seemed to Fiske.

The young lord felt week, helpless before the softly closed eyes of the boy he held. He wanted to tell himself that Ron was his enemy, and not only that, but a threat to everything Fiske was working toward. But it was not true. Someday Ron would be these things, but now he was only a carefree, sleeping child, completely unaware of the danger he faced, or the destiny man and boy both shared.

I don't want to kill him.

But what else could he do? Monty Fiske did not believe fate was finite, unchangeable. It could be changed, but only if you changed it. If he left Ron alone than the boy would grow up to defeat him, and it wouldn't only be he who suffered from this; it would be the whole world. What was one small boy's life when compared with that?

Oh, it had been easy to think this, easy to decide, back home in his mansion, but how could he do it, now? How could he take this bright mind and make it cold and dark forever, this mind which had only just begun to live?

And so he was left with a question to which he could see no possible answer.

He could not leave Ron with Mr. and Mrs. Stoppable. He could not kill him. What was left?

In frustration he glowered angrily at the river before him, so impassive, so untroubled. He willed an answer to emerge from the dark water like a silver scaled fish. But it did not.

What was he to do? He could not leave Ron at an orphanage. To do so would all but insure that the boy would still be raised with the same basic values and beliefs his parents would have instilled in him, and in that case he was likely to still threaten Fiske when he was grown.

If only there was some way to make absolutely certain Ron would not grow up believing those things. If he only knew the truth, as Fiske did he would not want to fight him, he would want to help…

But there is a way.

Monty Fiske stared at the child in his arms, pure and untouched by the biases of a troubled world. And suddenly, the solution to his problem was right before his eyes.

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Wooo! First chapter! Fireworks! Hope you all like the story so far. I can tell you right now that I have the whole story planned out, (just not written, and some details are foggy,) and there will be at least two books, this one and a sequel. I'm also going to tell you right now that there will be a LOT of both Ron and Kim.

Anyhoo, this is my first AU fic, and I've changed a few things, most notably Fiske's goals. You will learn all of them eventually but, well, just bear with me until you do.

So send me a review and tell me what you think. I'll update as fast as I can, but I'm entering the exam period at school, so don't expect any miracles.

Oh, and reviews do help me update faster… ;)