You would not believe how many times I had to watch 'Love Potion 976-J' for this fic. Anyway, this is set after 'Stranded' and 'N-Men', but before 'King Of Mars' and 'Lady Sings The News'. It's an undelivered letter from Cindy to Jimmy. I guess she didn't get up the courage to deliver it, after all…

Yes, this is a little OTT on the shipping, but what can I say? Every fandom needs a few bits of fluff floating around.

Jimmy Neutron remains steadfastly not mine. I'm working on it…although creating a convincing forgery of John A. Davis's signature is harder than it looks, believe you me.

Enjoy. :)

Dear Jimmy:

I don't know what to write.

I've been sitting here for the last twenty minutes, racking my brain, trying desperately to find the right words to use to say what needs to be said, and all I can say is that I don't know what to say or how to say it. I cannot believe Libby talked me into trying to write this. I must have been crazy to agree.

I swear that little blinky cursor is trying to slowly kill me. All it does is sit there, flashing out of existence every so often, but I think it's taunting me. (Along with its accomplice, the threateningly blank white page.) "Oooh, you don't know what to write!"

Smug bastard of a virtual object. It makes me want to put my fist through the screen, but I know that wouldn't help because then I'd have to dip into my savings and go shell out a few hundred bucks to get a new monitor and because neither of my parents know the first thing about technology besides the fact that it can be used to send chain emails I'd need to get you to help me set it up because I'm not great with computers and (unfortunately for me) you are the single smartest person I will probably ever meet even if you do insist on plastering that stupid atom symbol over everything you lay eyes on and by the time you showed up to help (probably less than two minutes after I call, and gloating a little the whole time) I still wouldn't know what to say only now we'd be face to face and I'd start acting weird again and it'd go awkward and with my luck this time you'd notice and I wouldn't be able to escape your questions without inflicting grievous bodily harm and then…

Wow, Cindy. Word vomit, much?

I just…I just wish that I was brave enough to say this to you in public. I wish I was brave enough to look you in the eye and tell you. But I'm not. I can kick butt just fine, I can fly through space and stand up to villains till the cows come home, but trying to say these three stupid little words is… well, just about the hardest thing I've ever done. Ugh.

I… I…

Look at me, I'm pathetic. I can't even say it when I'm writing! I can't say it in real life, and I can't say it here, much as I want to. I've tried to – God knows, I've tried. That time you turned into the Incredibly Bad-Tempered Orange Thing? I tried then. (And not just because it was the only way to stop you from crushing everything you laid eyes on.) I got so close, too! But of course, my body and the back parts of my brain just had to co-operate and make me do the girliest thing imaginable – faint. Me, Cindy Vortex. I fainted. I can still barely believe it. Even though, later, you told me it was because Special Girl was sucking the life right out of me, I still think part of it was fate co-operating with my natural bad luck. And that wasn't the only time that I've tried to tell you, either, although admittedly that one was one of the most blatant.

All those times I interrogated you about how your brain turns to cottage cheese every time Miss I'm-So-Perfectly-Beautiful-And-Perfect was around? That was me trying to tell you. Those times I admitted that you "weren't so bad after all"? That was me trying to tell you. That time on the island? THAT WAS ME TELLING YOU. Not just trying – TELLING. How obvious do I need to be?

God, for a genius you can be so stupid sometimes. I know you got the gist of what I was trying to say, at least a few of the times. But you didn't do anything! You didn't give me any sign that you liked me back!

Well, apart from the love potion incident. Remember that fiasco? Actually, I think that's partly what stated this whole game of feelings-tag off. Frankly, it all freaked me out at first. I mean, "Me see you soon day?" Work on your pick up lines, King Cranium! (…on second thought, don't.) It somehow got stranger that afternoon, when you screamed out how much you loved me in the middle of the Candy Bar. I thought Sheen or Carl must have put you up to it, promised you exclusive guinea-pig privileges for a month or something. But when I found you afterwards, and you looked so… so downtrodden, I… I couldn't help myself. You were so… so… dedicated? Hopeful? Nice? Even now, I'm not sure what it was, but it… got to me. That's part of why I said yes. Plus, it felt good to know that someone out there liked me so much, even if it was 'only' Frankenhead. (No offence.)

Even though I was still worried it was a trick at first (and I half-thought both you and I had gone completely nuts) … when I got to the lab, and saw how you'd cleaned it and yourself up, I was kinda won over. (Although that anatomically-correct Valentine was a little weird.) But when you seemed so awkward, and shy, and eager… it was so different to how you usually acted towards me. It was… well, it was cute. It was the only time I've ever seen you act like that, and I guess that got to me, too.

But when you ejected me from the lab, just before you were about to kiss me… I felt, well, rejected. (Like anyone would. That was a bit tactless, y'know.) And I reacted to it like I react to pretty much everything – blinding rage. The thing is, even though I hated you for quite a while after that, I think it finally proved to me that you were something to me other than my rival-to-the-death, even if I wasn't sure what. Heck, I'm still not quite sure.

For ages and ages after that day, I denied my…'feelings'. I hid behind a mask, even to myself. (Even though I didn't realize that everyone but you and I could see straight through it.)

Y'know, just before you crashed your rocket outside the Candy Bar that day (incidentally, how many freaking times have your inventions blown up in your face? A million?) I was talking to Libby and Brittany about what my perfect Valentine would be like. Basically, I thought I wanted someone who would acquiesce to me, someone who would do anything and everything I asked of them, someone who would always admit I was the best – in short, a total doormat.

You did not, do not and will never fulfil any of these… so-called 'requirements'.

You were and are the strongest-willed person I've ever met - aside from myself, of course. You're the only person who can hold your own against me in an argument: in fact, you're really the only person who bothers to even try anymore. You're not scared of me, even though I've given you plenty of reasons to be. You're stubborn about everything, and even when I'm right about something you hardly ever admit it. You've gotten everyone into so much danger, but you always manage to pull everyone out again, safe and sound…if a little shell-shocked. You refuse to admit any of your inventions are stupid (I still say the world could have done without the Toilet In A Briefcase) and you can be the most arrogant person in history at times. You are the complete opposite of what I thought I wanted. You can get under my skin like no-one else on this planet can. You're not a doormat, not by a long shot, but you're sure as heck not perfect, either.

And maybe that's why I love you.

There, I said it.

I said it!

So…what happens now, Jimmy?

-Cindy

P.S. Yes, Neutron…this time the 'Jimmy' was on purpose.