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xyzcekaden · 2 months ago

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🕶 operation: m.e.e.t.c.u.t.e. 👓

by airauralintensity (aka me, xyzcekaden!)

memorable encounter explored through changed universes, totally excellent

fandom: codename: kids next door characters: lizzie devine, nigel uno ship: nizie genres: comedy, romance, angst, fluff, pre-canon, first meeting, transfer student!lizzie, hero complex!nigel, nigel pov themes: minor character pov, lizzie asks first, nizie aren't in this that much but i make up for it, hopefully, rewrite of ch 2 word count: 2.8k+ chapter: 4/4

read it below, on ffnet, or on ao3!

~~~

A/N (4.11.2025): Last chapter! Let me know which of these two versions you like best. This one was actually written first, but I'm publishing it last since the Nizie focus is a byproduct.

~~~

when you've heard those lies

He's just happy he could be there.

~~~

Sarah and Andy hold hands and talk while they wait for the lunch line to move, and Marybeth seethes at the sight from where she stands in line behind them.

When the rumours that Andy liked Sarah came out, she was devastated. She's had a crush on him since the third grade when he got a book in the library that she couldn't reach down for her. He's so tall and kind, and she despaired over the idea that she lost him before she even got a chance with him. Then the Galla-Gab reported President McGarfield couldn't confirm those rumours, and hope sprang anew in her chest. She had resolved to make her move the next time she saw him, but it turned out she wasn't the only one who read the news. Sarah, who shared a period with Andy right before Marybeth did and harboured her own crush on the boy, told him how she felt and asked for her own confirmation via passed notes. They walked out of the class girlfriend-and-boyfriend, trampling all over Marybeth's heart in the process.

That was a month ago, and she is firmly in the anger stage of grief. Why does Sarah get the cute, nice boy and Marybeth doesn't even get the time of day? Marybeth is adorable! She's smart and a go-getter and could have had Andy Belmont if only dumb, snooty Sarah Olin didn't get in her way.

As the lunch line moves, her thoughts continue like this until she can't take it anymore. When her lunch tray is in hand, she purposefully looks for a seat in the lunchroom that won't let her see the couple enjoying their lunch break together. It hurts too much. Said seat ends up being at the table right next to theirs, but at least her back is to them.

She's just starting in on her dessert—orange Jell-O, her favourite—to make her feel better when someone taps on her shoulder.

"A-Andy?"

"Hey, Marybeth," he greets with a friendly grin, and wow she loves how much she has to tilt her head to look at him. "Could you watch our stuff for a sec?" He points over his shoulder to where Sarah is seated with their bags and lunch trays at the table behind her.

Her first instinct is to decline—she doesn't want to do anything that makes Sarah Olin's life easier, even ""for a sec""—but then a wicked idea comes to mind.

"Absolutely," she says, her smile revealing a few too many teeth.

"You're the best! Thanks so much." He waves as he heads back to Sarah.

Marybeth watches them leave the cafeteria before springing into action. After making sure everyone around is busy with their own lunches, she opens Sarah's bookbag, dumps her dessert all over the contents inside, and zips it up neatly. She throws out the empty dessert cup and returns to her lunch feeling accomplished. Andy and Sarah return not too long afterwards; and when they wave at her, she returns the gesture with genuine joy.

She figures Sarah wouldn't notice anything wrong until her next class, but she's rewarded with disgusted shrieks after just a few moments.

"My homework!" Sarah despairs loudly. "It's ruined!"

"Ew, what is that? It looks like orange Jell-O," Andy asks.

Marybeth takes a self-satisfied bite of her lunch. Orange Jell-O does make her feel better, after all.

"Who cares what it is! How did this happen!?" Sarah wails.

She expects the tap on her shoulder a few seconds later. "Andy, Sarah!" Marybeth greets cheerily. "What's up?"

Sarah shows her ruined bookbag with teary eyes. "Look! Someone got this orange goop all over my books! Andy asked you to look over our stuff, right? Did you see who did it?!"

"What?" she enunciates dramatically. "That's terrible! I'm sorry, but I didn't see anything. I was eating lunch."

Andy runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "Right, yeah. But I did ask you to look after our stuff."

Marybeth hesitates. She doesn't feel guilty, exactly, but she can't stand the idea that she failed him. "… Now that you mention it, I did notice someone passing by here while you were gone." She hastily glances around for an easy target and finds the new girl a few tables down. "Her!"

Sarah follows her pointed finger to her new target and stalks off, but Andy stays back a moment. "Lizzie Devine? Are you sure?"

She doesn't like that he knows her name. "Yeah, why?"

"Well, she's… kind of a loner. She doesn't really have friends, but she doesn't have enemies either. I'm just surprised she would do something like this."

She frowns, peeved that he wouldn't just take her word for it. "Well, she did. I practically saw her do it."

His face hardens instantly. "Well, that's that. Come on, Marybeth."

"Wait, what?"

He takes her hand and leads her to where Lizzie and Sarah have since begun arguing with each other, and she stumbles out of her seat to follow after him. It didn't even cross her mind to refuse; he's holding her hand.

When he lets go, her disappointment is quickly distracted by an outburst from Sarah. "Stop playing dumb! I know it was you!" she yells in Lizzie's face.

"Hel-lo," Lizzie says like Sarah's the dumb one. "I barely even know you! Why would I do that?"

"Marybeth said she saw you do it," Andy interjects.

Lizzie snaps her head to take in the newcomers, and the first thing she does is give Marybeth a once-over with narrowed eyes in a way that puts her on the defensive. "You 'saw' me?" Lizzie asks, a threat thinly veiled in her tone.

Marybeth juts her chin out. She can't grow a conscience now. "Yeah, I did."

"You're a liar," Lizzie accuses easily.

"Ex-cuse me?"

Lizzie directs her next statement to Sarah and Andy. "In fact, I bet she's the one who did it."

Marybeth scoffs. "And just where does the weirdo with no friends get off blaming me for this?"

"Well, if my friends were anything like you…" Lizzie starts in a falsey saccharine tone, but she screams the end. "… I'd rather have enemies!"

Sarah looks between them with paralysed frustration before stomping her foot. "I so don't have time for your stupid catfight! If I don't get answers soon, I'll tell on both of you to the teacher!"

"Now, now. Let's not involve adults in a kids' matter," a new voice cuts in.

Marybeth smirks inwardly. If Nigel Uno is getting himself involved, she has this in the bag. Hero types like him are such a sucker for a damsel in distress. "Oh, Nigel," she swoons dramatically. "Thank goodness you came. Lizzie messed up Sarah's bookbag with orange Jell-O, and she's trying to blame it all on me!"

"Yeah because I'm pretty sure Scary-Breath over here is the one who actually did it!"

She plays her cries up even further. "And now she's name-calling me! Stop her!"

Sarah shoves her open, squishy bookbag into Nigel's chest for his inspection as she angrily explains, "Andy and I left our bags here for a little bit; and when we came back, we found out Lizzie did this to my stuff!"

The accused girl whirls on her. "Why are you so sure it's me? Just 'cause Marybeth said so?"

"Yeah. Why would she lie?" Andy defends easily.

Marybeth had another dramatic outburst on the tip of her tongue, but his comment stops her. She looks over at him as much as she dares. He believes in her!

Sarah's demand brings her attention back to the pressing issue. "Well, whoever did it owes me! What about my homework? What about my glitter gel pens?" She speaks as though addressing the group at large, but her eyes keep training on Lizzie.

Lizzie notices. "I'm not doing your stinkin' homework because I didn't do it," she growls, teeth bared and eyes blazing. "This is not my problem; and if you guys don't leave me alone, I'll give you a real reason to tattletell on me," she threatens lowly.

Marybeth takes a step back. "Nigel, do something!"

The other boy looks over the group then down at the evidence with a discerning frown. She fights to keep the satisfaction off her face. There's no way it can be tied back to her, and he has no reason to take Lizzie's side on this, not when she still looks like she's half a step away from taking her anger out on him.

When he finishes his appraisal, his eyes raise to meet hers.

Marybeth is so sure that he's about to proclaim her innocence that she thinks she misheard him, but the way everyone's eyes turn to her expectantly is how she knows she did not.

"Were you the one who did this to Sarah's bookbag?"

Lizzie figuring her out kind of made sense, but how could he tell? "No, of course n-not."

She doesn't mean to stumble over her words, but she makes the mistake of catching Andy's eyes. He's not looking at her the way she imagines in her daydreams.

"Then tell me, how did this happen?" Nigel presses. "If Lizzie did it, what did she do?"

"Well…" She makes it a point to stop looking at Andy, and she feels in control again. "She just came over, opened the bag, dumped the Jell-O in, and walked away."

"But I swear I didn't!" Lizzie interjects. "I don't even like Jell-O. I got the fruit cup for dessert!" She points at her lunch tray, where the unopened fruit cup stands up to quintuple-strength scrutiny.

Nigel continues his interrogation. "What did she do with the Jell-O cup afterwards?"

"She threw it away, obviously."

"And where is your dessert?"

She's taken aback, but only for a moment. "I didn't get one."

"Nonsense. No kid skips dessert on the lunch line."

"Well, I did!"

"But don't you really like Jell-O?" Andy speaks up for the first time in a while. "I remember your birthday party last year. Instead of cake, we each got to customise our own cups of Jell-O."

No way. "You remember that?" Marybeth couldn't help the heart in her voice even if she wanted to. Nothing else mattered but this.

He looks distinctly uncomfortable with her attention, however, and she realises her misstep immediately.

"Did you or did you not pour jelly into Sarah's bookbag?" Nigel asks again, and the attention is suddenly too much for her to bear. Three pairs of eyes look at her with various levels of antagonism, but the one pair that matters looks at her with something worse than anger.

She collapses under the weight of his disapproval. "FINE! I admit it! I was the one who ruined Sarah's bookbag!" she wails. "And why shouldn't I! She already has everything—shiny hair, pretty clothes, the cutest boyfriend—she doesn't need good grades, too!"

"HA!" Lizzie exclaims. "I knew it! I knew you were lying, you no-good, jelly-loving weirdo—hey!"

"That's enough. This is between them, now," Nigel says as he drags her away.

"But I'm not done with her yet!"

The rest of Lizzie's affronted spiel is drowned out in the buzz of the cafeteria, leaving only Marybeth and the mess she made.

Sarah regards her with cold eyes. "You can either come with me when I tell on you to Mrs. Thompson, or you can wait until later to find out you have detention." She punctuates her statement with a spin on her heel and beelines for the cafeteria door, ruined bookbag swinging from her hand beside her.

Marybeth can't do anything but look after her, knowing she was defeated but deliriously, desperately hopeful it doesn't have to end like this for her.

Then Andy says something. "That wasn't cool, but you knew that already." He waits until she meets his eyes to give her a meaningful, disappointed stare, then he jogs after his girlfriend.

Tears bead at the corner of her eyes, but there is no audience around to feel sympathy for her. She feels sorry for herself for just a moment longer before she trudges after them, sniffling to herself as she goes.

~~~

"But I'm not done with her yet!" Lizzie Devine rages against Nigel's hold as he drags her away. "She called me a liar and almost ruined my already-bad reputation, and you want me to leave her alone? No way!"

"I have a feeling that whatever Andy says to her will do more damage than your words ever will."

"Huh?"

He brings her to a lunch table with only a couple of other students and points at a free spot. "You sit here. I'll get your lunch tray for you. I don't think it's a good idea for you to go back there just yet."

He leaves before she could argue with him again. When he returns with her tray, her head is propped up with the palm of one hand; the fingers of her other hand impatiently drill against the lunch table.

"Thanks," she mutters as he sets her food down in front of her. It kind of makes him feel like a waiter, but he shakes that off quickly.

He opens his mouth to acknowledge her mood, but he finds he has nothing substantial to say. He should quit while he's ahead. "Well, enjoy your lunch," he prefaces before he departs, and the waiter feeling comes back with a vengeance.

He turns to scurry back to his original lunch seat, but—"Wait!"

When he looks back, Lizzie is biting her lip with a blush. If he hadn't just seen her capably cross tempers with two other irate classmates, he would have called the look on her face apprehensive. In general, she looks smaller to him now, more like a damsel out of distress than a warrior princess.

He raises his eyebrows at her, and she points to the chair next to her. "Sit with me."

He does. He can't even say it was against his better judgement, either; he has no idea how to judge this situation.

She plays with the food on her tray for a little bit, gathering her thoughts, then looks up to meet his eyes. "I just wanted to say… Thanks. You really helped me out there. I don't have a problem with sticking up for myself, but it was hard since I didn't have proof. If you hadn't questioned Marybeth, too, it would probably be me getting detention right now. Thank you, really."

He would typically give a proud, assuring speech at this point, something about how even the strongest kid needs a little help now and then; how it's his job to protect all kids, even from other kids; and how justice always prevails…

… but a thought he didn't have time to entertain before suddenly takes up every corner of his mind.

Her eyes are kind of pretty.

He chuckles awkwardly, not used to feeling like this. "Y-Yeah, well. I'm, um, I'm just happy I could be there."

She smiles at him, and that's pretty, too.

Lizzie starts on her lunch after that, and he thinks that's his cue. He doesn't mind an unspoken send off; he's grateful for a chance to excuse himself and recover from the weirdness in his chest.

"So, how did you know it was her?"

Nevermind.

"I mean, I knew it right away when I found out she was the one who was blaming me, but you?" she continues, her tone conversational, if inquisitive.

Nigel tilts his head side to side, wondering how to explain it. "I didn't know it was her, exactly…" he starts. "But I knew it couldn't have been you."

Her eyebrows perk up at that. "How?"

When I looked into your eyes, I could tell you're not a jerk, but he can't exactly say that. His mouth can't come up with anything else to take its place, though. His brain feels like the Jell-O that started this whole thing. "Well… You… It's that… I mean…"

She scoffs at his stammering, but there's no annoyance in it. "Alright, alright. Whatever it was, I'm glad you helped."

"Anytime," he says awkwardly, but his commitment to his duty helpfully chooses that moment to make him normal again. "I mean it. Any time you're in trouble, come find me. I'll help however I can."

Her eyes take on a certain gleam when she asks, "Is that so?"

"It is," he affirms despite the distraction she poses.

She hmms. "In that case… It would really trouble me to eat lunch all by my lonesome today. Is that something you could help with?"

"I-I…" He gulps. "Yes, of course. It would be my honour."

He winces internally at how clumsy that sounds, and he knows she noticed it too. The gleam in her eyes turns into a full on shimmer, and he can just tell.

"Your 'honour'? Oh, Nigel."

His brain turning to Jell-O will be a regular occurrence around this girl.

~~~

A/N (4.11.2025): That's all, folks! Thanks so much for indulging me as I read too deeply into The silly kinda doomed sandbox romance (as deemed by kalliopi) from our childhoods. Hopefully these didn't seem too repetitive.

#codename: kids next door #c:knd #numbuh 1 #nigel uno #lizzie devine #cknd fanfiction #nizie #opmc #xyzc*

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asaaki · 8 years ago

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xyzcekaden · 2 months ago

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🕶 operation: m.e.e.t.c.u.t.e. 👓

by airauralintensity (aka me, xyzcekaden!)

memorable encounter explored through changed universes, totally excellent

fandom: codename: kids next door characters: lizzie devine, nigel uno ship: nizie genres: comedy, romance, angst, fluff, pre-canon, first meeting, transfer student!lizzie, hero complex!nigel, nigel pov themes: sector v goes on a mission, lizzie has mood swings, nigel asks first, in that order, trolley problem, inspired by operation recess rating: K for cartoonish depictions of child discipline word count: 4.2k+ chapter: 3/4

read it below, on ffnet, or on ao3!

~~~

A/N (4.2.2025): The timeline went like this -

Dec 2: idea for chapter 1

Dec 4: idea for chapter 2 (and 4, coming soon!)

Dec 5: idea for this chapter; idea to put it all in a one-shot collection called operation: meetcute; idea of what meetcute was code for; commitment that these would be my first nizie fics

Dec 6: started writing lol

~~~

outside words mean so little

If anyone should be in Siberian Detention, it's him.

~~~

“Numbuh 2, report.”

“The intel was good, which means the news is bad,” the aviator quips. “The procurement order Principal Sauerbraten signed calls for 100 stationary bikes to be installed in the school’s gymnasium.”

“Neat! I’d much rather ride my bike than do gym!”

“Sorry to let the air out of your tires, Numbuh 3, but the situation is more dire than that.” Numbuh 1 frowns. “We now have proof of the school’s plot to replace our gym class with sessions on those stationary bikes in order to generate and store energy for sale to the highest bidder.”

“Nooo! The one good class in the whole school, and they’re trying to take it away from us!” Numbuh 4 wails.

“What do we got to do, Numbuh 1?” Numbuh 5, as always, brings them back to the point.

“We’re splitting up. Numbuhs 2, 3, and 4: you’ll go to the factory and sabotage their lines. If they can’t make the bikes, there’s nothing to install.” The named operatives’ faces harden, and they nod in acceptance of their mission.

“Numbuh 5, you’re going with them, but your directive is different. Catch.”

He tosses her what looks to be a laundry bag. She opens it to find—”Ew, ew, and double ew!” She launches the bag as far away from her as possible. On impact, old gym clothes spill out; and their smell quickly permeates mission control. Numbuh 1, having anticipated this, had already provided gas masks to the other three and now has one outstretched to her.

“If my mission is to do your rank laundry, you have another thing coming, Nigel Uno! I am not your momma,” she exclaims as soon as she secures it on her face.

“Negative, Numbuh 5.” Wearing hazmat gloves, he stuffs the clothes back into the laundry bag and seals it shut. “Your mission is to locate and laundry-bomb the office of the factory’s CEO.”

“My mission is a prank,” she summarises unimpressedly as she helps her teammates air out the room.

“Our mission is to ensure they wouldn’t pursue this deal again in the future. While you’re in the factory, I’ll be in Principal Sauerbraten’s office, faxing a letter that frames him for the nasal assault.” He holds up a piece of printer paper that reads ‘Roses are red, violets are blue. You look like a loser, and you smell like one, too. Smell ya later, Principal Sauerbraten’ in a ransom note aesthetic.

He snaps when he remembers, “You also need to get the factory CEO’s fax number for me.”

By now, mission control smells normal again. Numbuh 5 takes off her mask and levels Numbuh 1 with a smirk that preludes every compliment she ever means. “And plans like that are why you’re the leader.”

“When are we rolling out?” Numbuh 4 asks eagerly.

“Tomorrow during lunch. We don’t have time to lose.”

“Numbuh 4 and I will soup up the C.O.O.L.B.U.S. then!”

“I’m putting our ammo in something that can’t accidentally open,” Numbuh 5 says with a nasty glare at the bag.

Numbuh 3 thinks hard for a second, then brightens. “I’ll pack our lunches!”

Numbuh 1 looks on with deep satisfaction as his teammates leave for their various preparations. He has a good feeling about this mission.

~~~

Spurred by the bell that heralds in the lunch period, Sector V springs into action. The other four head for the C.O.O.L.B.U.S., parked outside the school and already loaded with their weapons. Meanwhile, Numbuh 1 leisurely strolls towards the main administrative office. He stops just around the corner and leans on a locker to wait. Not even ten minutes later, the eyepatched man strides out with lunchbag in hand.

He smirks. He has it on good authority that the principal likes to take a long lunch, so there’s plenty of time for Numbuh 5 to get him the intel he needs to pull off his part of the plan. Confident as he is, he doesn’t even bother sneaking into the admin office like he normally would; he walks straight in.

“Hiya! If you’re here for Principal Sauerbraten, he just went out to lunch. You’re welcome to wait here until he comes back, but I’d recommend trying again later. He can sometimes take a while.”

The unexpected presence of a girl with glasses and braided pigtails sitting at the secretary’s desk shakes that confidence, however. “Who are you?”

“I’m Lizzie, the work-study secretary!” she introduces with pride.

“You work here?!” Adults making kids do their jobs, in broad daylight, during recess? They’re shameless, utterly shameless!

A quick comms check reveals that his team only just made it to the factory, so he refocuses himself. He wasn’t expecting to complete a rescue mission today, but that’s not to say he isn’t prepared for one.

“Lizzie, right? Listen carefully because we don’t have time to lose. I’m Numbuh 1 of the Kids Next Door, an international organisation dedicated to protecting the privileges and liberties of kids from adult tyranny. We have a program in place to save kids just like you from involuntary, exploitative labour conditions,” he introduces in rapidfire speech. “After I get you out of here, you need to head to this location”—he writes instructions on a sticky note as he talks—”and if someone asks, tell them, ‘The double decker begged and bickered for pickled peppers.’” He takes her hand and pulls her upright, pressing the paper meaningfully into her palm. He looks her in the eyes and swears, “We’ll take care of you, I promise. You’ll never have to push a pencil or spend recess indoors ever again.”

The poor girl only furrows her brows in confusion, and his heart goes out to her. She’s been so indoctrinated that she can’t even fathom her own freedom. Adults are so cruel.

His mind has already planned their escape route: The principal’s office has a window facing the school yard. They can rappel down with his G.R.A.P.P.L.U.H., blend into the crowd of children at recess. He’ll give her directions to the safe spot once they’re at the far edge of the property. Lizzie will have plenty of a head start to escape before anyone notices she’s missing. “Come on. I hope you’re not afraid of heights.”

He makes for the principal’s door, but he’s jerked backwards and into one of the waiting area seats in one swift movement. “Huh—?”

“I have no freakin’ clue what you were going on about just now, mister, but no one goes into the principal’s office without an appointment,” Lizzie maintains with a harshness that completely contradicts her open and welcoming demeanour from before. “Your options are either sit your big butt right there or scram.”

Numbuh 1 errantly touches a hand to his hip at her slight, but he shakes the comment out of his mind and stands up to protest. “What are you doing? I can save you!”

“Save me from what, extra credit?” she volleys back with an eye roll. “I need this job, King Arthur. When I transferred in, not all of the credits from my old school came with me. I plan on graduating fourth grade on time, thank you very much; and I’m not gonna let some bald, British boy with a hero complex mess this up for me.”

There are many parts of that he’d like to address, but he starts small. “I go by Numbuh 1,” he corrects curtly.

“That’s not a real name.”

“My real name is none of your—”

The battle of tempers he was about to enter into is interrupted by beeping from his D.E.C.O.D.E.R.A.N.T. Numbuh 5 had just sent him the fax number.

He doesn’t have time for this. “Okay, Lizzie. It’s imperative that I get into that office. The freedoms of Gallagher Elementary students are at stake here, yours included.”

She arches an eyebrow at his suddenly no-nonsense disposition. “What do you mean?”

He wouldn’t typically divulge the sensitive details of a mission to a civilian like this, but instinct tells him that gaining her cooperation would be more beneficial in the long run than trying to trick his way in. “I just need to send a fax, and I’ll be gone,” he finishes. “No one will know I was here, so you wouldn’t get in trouble for aiding and abetting.”

Lizzie bites her bottom lip. “I don’t know…”

He almost screams at her for her indecision. He even thinks about using force, as overkill as it would be. If appealing to her altruism wasn’t the way, then what was? She’s willing to give up her recesses to do work, so she probably can’t be bribed…

But she gives up her recesses to do work.

Concepts of a plan germinate in his head.

And she’s a transfer student.

He doesn’t know if it’ll work. He doesn’t know if he wants it to work.

His D.E.C.O.D.E.R.A.N.T. beeps again—Numbuh 5 is wondering whether he’s sent the fax yet—and that makes the decision for him. “Do you like ice cream?"

“As much as the next person,” she replies without questioning the change in topic.

If she just transferred in and doesn’t spend recreational time with others, she probably doesn’t have many friends to hang out with. He doesn’t want to bank on her loneliness, but he has no choice. “Wanna get some with me after school? It’ll be my treat.”

She goes back to doing work, raised eyebrows being the only indication she heard him. “You’re willing to do anything to get into that office, huh?”

It only takes a second for a tactful rebuttal to come to him. “Hanging out with an interesting girl in my spare time is hardly a chore.”

Her hands still, and her cheeks pink. He's curious about this reaction, but further investigation is interrupted when she turns away to a filing cabinet. "The door's unlocked," she mutters in staccato. "I'll meet you by the flagpole after the last bell."

Numbuh 1 lets the rush of a successful negotiation run through him for just a second before getting back to business. He throws a thank you over his shoulder as he beelines for the corporate device that emblematises the boringness of adulthood: the fax machine. He loads in the fake letter that has been in his back pocket this whole time, dials the number Numbuh 5 sent, and waits.

And waits.

Nothing happens, so he bangs on the machine, which makes even more nothing happen.

He even repeats the process to no avail. “Why isn’t this working?” he growls.

“Seems to me that sending a fax shouldn’t have been such a big part of your plan if you don’t even know how to do that,” an entertained voice says from behind.

He whirls around, but Lizzie is already walking towards him. Towards the machine, rather. She takes one glance at the control panel and smirks. She flits her eyes up to meet his; and if he weren’t so agitated, he might recognise her actions as flirtatious.

But he’s pretty agitated. “Do you know how to make this stupid thing work?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Then help me!"

Her smirk goes from amused to teasing. "It would help if you put the paper on the right tray."

If he could go back, he'd have switched missions with Numbuh 5. "Now what," he grits out after jerkily moving it to where she indicates.

She hums to herself a little as she flips the page to face the right direction. "Now we—"

“—lizabeth?” an ambiguously Eastern European voice sounds from outside.

The pair of fourth graders whip their heads to the closed door of the office then back to each other, panic plastered all over their features.

“He’s not supposed to be back for another twenty minutes!” Lizzie exclaims in a whisper.

Numbuh 1 turns back to the machine and tries a new sequence of buttons to make the fax go through. It starts beeping, at least, but it doesn’t sound like good beeping.

“What are you doing? You’re gonna break it!” she admonishes as softly as she can.

“Then help me,” he repeats in the same tone.

“Elizabeth, is that you in there?”

She shoves him aside and re-runs the fax machine, and the mechanical whirring is as welcome as it is condemning. There’s no hiding that someone’s in the office now.

His mission more or less complete, Numbuh 1 runs for the window, heaves it open, and nimbly raises himself onto the sill. He’s a second away from jumping, but a fist wrapped in the hem of his shirt stops him. “Are you just gonna leave me here??” Lizzie accuses indignantly.

He doesn’t want to, but the visible turning of the door knob is forcing his hand. They don’t have time for him to set up the escape he thought of earlier. If he tries to help her, he jeopardises the mission, the whole school. He just can’t take her with him.

Neither can he stay.

He can only give her a stricken look before he leaps, backwards and just in time. The last thing he hears before the jets in his boots activate is Principal Sauerbraten’s furious voice demanding to know what Elizabeth is doing in his office.

~~~

By all accounts, the mission was a complete success: Sector V could hear the principal’s despair all the way from their classroom when he found out the next day that the deal was off; the stationary bike factory was in so much disrepair they decided to close down permanently instead of rebuild; his team moved so covertly that the adults didn’t even pin it on the Kids Next Door; and best of all, Gallagher Elementary’s gym classes would be safe for a long time.

Nigel, however, doesn’t feel anything but shame.

Lizzie had been sentenced to Siberian Detention for thirty days, effective immediately. The entire school was talking about it, not just fourth graders; nobody knew that was even a thing, and everyone wanted to know what she did that was so bad. In the absence of a proper explanation, rumours ran amok. Even his teammates participated in the gossip, and it was weird to hear her name on their tongues.

He prides himself on never leaving a kid behind, on making the right judgement calls, on preparing for contingencies; but no matter how he looks at it, he isn’t proud of how he conducted himself during that mission. If anyone should be in Siberian Detention, it’s him.

He fully expected to receive his own disciplinary action in those first few days, too, but weeks go by without one. It seems Lizzie hadn't ratted him out, and confusion overrides relief. Why didn't she? Any other kid would have.

Sector V could tell something's up with him (not that he was trying to hide it), but he couldn't bring himself to confess why. After the second week , they stopped asking.

Finally, the thirty-first day arrives; and the hallways buzz with gossip about Lizzie's return. Doing time has apparently changed her for the worse, and guilt joins the confluence of Nigel's negativity.

He can't bring himself to seek her out during recess—he doesn't even know if she still has her job—but he can't let the day pass without trying to talk to her somehow. He needs to face her and apologise. It's the first step to once again being the operative he wants to be.

He waits by the flagpole after the last bell.

His team follows him there, inviting him to the candy shop (Abby and Kuki) or offering a trip to the comic book store (Hoagie and Wally). He waves off their kindness, and they leave him alone without a fight, already used to his mood. He looks after them with a wan smile and hopes he can clear the air between them soon.

He kicks at some pebbles absently as the crowd of students leaving school thins out around him. The person he's been waiting for wasn't among them. He looks up at the sky and tells himself that if he doesn't see her in the next ten minutes, he'll go home and try again tomorrow.

That's when the front doors of the school slam open. "YOU!"

His head snaps over. "Lizzie!"

"Don't you 'Lizzie' me, mister!" she rebukes as she stomps towards him. "Do you have any idea what I've been through in the last thirty days? No. You don't. Because I was sentenced to a detention center Principal Sauerbraten specifically created to punish me! And for what? Stationary bikes aren't even a bad form of exercise—!"

"—The mission was a success!" Nigel rushes to clarify. She deserves to know her sacrifice wasn't in vain. "We completely destroyed the factory—well, my team did. Heh, actually, one of my teammates even said, 'The factory is so beat up, it’s like I stole its lunch money,'" he quotes, impersonating Numbuh 4 for humour before her impatient frown reminds him that she has never met Numbuh 4.

He clears his throat. "W-Well, basically, other schools couldn't carry out a similar plan even if they wanted to. Every kid in this region is safe," he finishes quickly, punctuating his speech with a hopeful smile.

"Aw, that's so…" For a second, Lizzie's eyes soften, and he's reminded of the way she bit her lip when he was trying to convince her to help him.

"... not the point."

His smile drops. "What?"

"I was in Siberia, you butthead!" she shrieks at him, arms waving and fingers pointing in time with her rant. "Why would I give a hoot about your stupid classmates when I was freezing my tuckus off hand-carving my own desk and chair out of ice! Every day for lunch, I was served cold food!"

"I-I can buy you lunch for thirty days?"

"It's not about the lunch!"

He knows it's not, but how else is he supposed to say—"Lizzie, I'm s—"

"—I'm not finished yet!" she snipes. "I had thirty stinkin' days to think about what I wanted to say to you, so you're gonna stand there and listen. It's the least you could do since I didn't hang your sorry butt out to dry!"

"Why didn't you?" he blurts out.

Her eye twitches. He knows he interrupted her again, but his self-preservation lost against his need to know. He's a spy, after all. "You work for Principal Sauerbraten; he would have believed you. I'm on his wanted list anyways. You had so many ways to prove your innocence, but I couldn't think of a single reason why you—"

"—Shut up."

Nigel got caught up trying to puzzle out the same problem that's been plaguing him since he learned of her detention, so the tears beading in the corner of her eyes when he refocuses on her surprise him. "Lizzie?"

She sniffles, wipes at her face in quick, embarrassed movements. "I don't want to talk to you anymore.” Her voice is thin, barely audible when a car drives down the road. "Leave me alone from now on, got it?" She turns to retreat.

"But Lizzie—"

"—Stop saying my name!"

She whirls on him, and he stumbles backwards. Not out of shock from the outburst, but from the pain on her face. She isn't just mad at him, she's hurting.

"You don't get to say my name when I don't even know yours!"

His stomach bottoms out. "What?"

"I waited for you!" she cries. Now that her anger can no longer mask her anguish, it's all she can feel. "I thought you would come get me! So I didn’t rat you out or else we’d both be stuck there. Isn't that stupid? You talked a big game about your little club that helps kids, and I was a kid who needed help. But what did you do? Nothing! It didn't even cross your mind! Even though you were all ready to whisk me away when you thought I was forced into my work-study, and you came up with a plan so quickly, and that was before—"

A hiccup cuts her off, but she doesn't continue from there. She turns from him, holding onto herself as she struggles for composure.

Just as well, because Nigel cannot process any more revelations of guilt. He messed up so bad.

With a few more moments, she collects herself. Her face is blotchy but dry, and her arms around her chest shift into a crossed position with finality. “Anyway." Her tone is clipped. "By the time I realised you weren't coming, it was too late to tell the truth. I couldn't even when I wanted to. If I didn't have a name to hope for, I didn't have a name to curse." She turns to meet his gaze, then, and her eyes are as cold as the prison she just got out of. "But it doesn't matter who you are anymore because you're nothing to me now." She flips a braid over her shoulder and walks away. "That's what I wanted to say to you, so. Goodbye."

The sight of her back breaks him out of his shame-induced stupor. "Wait!" He stops himself from saying her name, but he doesn't know how to stop her from leaving. "Don't go!"

"Stop following me."

"It’s Nigel, Nigel Uno!"

"Too late."

"I'm sorry!"

"Don't care."

He stops trying to keep up with her, paralysed with indecision as he scrambles to find any way to make this right. She's getting away...

"But I owe you ice cream!"

He almost facepalms—of all the things he could have said, why would he point out the most meaningless one—if not for the fact that she stops.

Hope flares in his chest when she turns, though he's met with an unimpressed frown over her shoulder. "Huh?"

If this is his chance, he’ll take it. He catches up with her and ignores how she takes a step back from him when he gets too close. "I messed up, I know that. I'm sorry. I let you take the fall for a mission you don't believe in; I asked for your trust and betrayed it on the same day; and I was too wrapped up in how bad I felt about it to do the right thing once I learned what happened to you. I failed you in a bunch of ways… but if there's even one thing I can do right, one promise I can keep, I want to do it. I'll leave you alone afterwards, but please? Let me treat you to ice cream first."

She looks at him like he's stupid. "I just came back from Siberia."

Right. "Uh, pizza, then?"

Her face still curls with resentment, but she bothers considering him. Her stare is so discerning, the back of his neck sweats like it did the first time he went on a mission as a commissioned member of Sector V. His fight-or-flight kicks in, but he doesn't even know what fight looks like in a situation like this.

"This is important to you, huh?"

A normal response might have been that nobody likes feeling guilty for something that actually is their fault, but the way she says it reminds him of something else he said that fateful day.

"Well, hanging out with an interesting girl after school is hardly the worst way to apologise," he echoes on a gamble.

Her cheeks are too pink for her detached facade to be convincing. This time around, he actually can bask in it. She does narrows her eyes at him, though, so he can't say it paid off just yet.

"Call it a date."

"What?!"

"I'll let you take me out for pizza if you call it a date," she challenges him.

It's his turn to blush. "Is that really necessary?"

“Hmph. Goodbye, Nigel," she mocks as she walks away again.

He's here to apologise, he reminds himself. "Agh, fine! Would you go on a pizza date with me, Lizzie?" he yells.

She spins on her heel so fast, it's his turn to take a step back. The grin on her face and excitement in her eyes are too incongruent with the Lizzie he's been interacting with for the past ten minutes.

She lunges forward to grab his hand then tugs him down the sidewalk with her. "Alright, come on, let's go; I'm starving!" Her voice is too chipper, too. "I wasn't kidding when I said they fed me cold food every day; and if that wasn't bad enough, it all tasted terrible. Of course, I asked if I could cook my own food, but you can't exactly use fire in an ice kitchen in an ice detention in an ice country…"

She prattled on inanely without any prompting or encouragement on his part, but he grits his teeth and bears it. He wants this chance to make it up to her. A pizza date is what she’s asking for, so that is what he’ll do. Afterwards, he no longer has to be weighed down by shame and guilt and confusion. Absolution is the only reason he’s doing this.

(Her hand squeezes his sometimes while they walk, just a small consequence of two separately-moving objects being connected, and he realises he hasn’t let go. It didn’t even cross his mind.)

Well, maybe there will still be confusion, but he can live with that.

~~~

A/N (4.2.2025): This was originally gonna be titled after the “if your heart is getting colder” lyric, but I decided that was too on-the-nose lol

This turned out a lot angstier than I wanted it to, but Lizzie did spend thirty days in Siberian Detention. Whatever she had to say, I let her.

#codename: kids next door #c:knd #numbuh 1 #nigel uno #lizzie devine #cknd fanfiction #nizie #opmc #xyzc*

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xyzcekaden · 5 months ago

Text

🕶 operation: m.e.e.t.c.u.t.e. 👓

by airauralintensity (aka me, xyzcekaden!)

memorable encounter explored through changed universes, totally excellent

fandom: codename: kids next door characters: lizzie devine, nigel uno ship: nizie genres: romance, comedy, fluff, pre-canon, first meeting, transfer student!lizzie, hero complex!nigel, nigel pov, mostly themes: paranoid!nigel, nigel asks first, literal schoolyard bullying, canon typical laws of physics, loosely inspired by operation holiday and stop the g:knd word count: 2.6k+ chapter: 1/3 rating: K+ for depictions of bullying

read it below, on ffnet, or on ao3!

~~~

A/N (1.11.2025): I can’t believe a kids' cartoon is what breaks my 2 year fanfic writing slump. All of this is sparkymouse’s fault. If they didn’t leave such a great comment on just another textbook case, none of this would have happened!!!

I didn’t rewatch every episode of C:KND, just the Lizzie ones. If anything I write contradicts canon (not that the show is overly preoccupied with canon to begin with, lol), then just read this like an AU, nbd. I deal in feels, not facts.

One-shots are in the order of ideation, nothing more particular than that. Chapter titles are from Soldier by the Backstreet Boys.

~~~

somebody shot you down

His working theory is that Lizzie is a disguised alien from a planet of sentient plants sent to monitor Earth’s children, and he just needs the proof.

~~~

“Class, settle down! I have an important announcement to make before homeroom ends!” Mrs. Thompson’s voice rings out above the chatter of fourth graders.

Nigel listens with half a mind as he draws up blueprints for the new scanner he wants to install in mission control. Projectiles smaller than a baseball are currently ignored by the treehouse’s security system, but the Teen Ninjas have started paintballing graffiti onto the tree trunk; and he wants that behaviour curtailed expeditiously.

Normally he’d use this time to chat with his teammates, but they’re all out this morning. Hoagie has food poisoning, Kuki’s got a family emergency, Wally is suspended, and Abby is on some personal candy mission. It’s just him today.

“We have a new student who’ll be joining us for the rest of the year! Please give a warm welcome to our newest classmate, Elizabeth Devine. Elizabeth, why don’t you go and tell us a little bit about yourself?”

He lazily tilts his head up to catch sight of the new girl—long auburn hair in twin braids framing a cherubic face, wide circle glasses framing wide brown eyes, wide frame in general. She doesn’t look like much; but then again, he thought the same of Kuki until he got to know her better.

“Hiii, everyone! I’m Lizzie, and I just turned 10,” she introduces with a voice that sits high in her throat. “I like watching romcoms with my sister and baking pies with my grandma.”

At least she’s American. She won’t have it as bad as he did when he transferred to Gallagher. In fact, he notices a group of girls in the class surround her table once Mrs. Thompson prompts her to sit; and the sound of eager gossip among them starts not too long after. Seems like she’ll be in good hands.

He doesn’t pay her any more attention for the rest of homeroom, and he more or less forgets about her entirely, too… until recess, that is.

While on his customary playground patrol (a routine he is well-equipped to handle even without the rest of his team), he catches sight of a group of kids where the fence meets the wall of the school. Curiosity propels him closer; to his knowledge, that corner of the playground has nothing there to play with.

He doesn’t want to unnecessarily get their attention, though. The point of recess is that kids can spend their time doing whatever they want in order to recharge and face the rest of the school day; so be it if these guys are choosing to spend their time over there. A few paces away, he makes the decision to just leave them be… but then he hears laughter.

It’s not the fun and happy laughter of a good joke; it’s meaner than that. It’s the laughter of bullies.

He lurks on the periphery of the group to observe the situation. Through the gaggle, he sees someone on the ground, but he can’t tell yet whether that person was pushed down.

“But I don’t understand,” a familiar voice pleads. “What was I doing wrong?”

“For crying out loud, girlie! You were eating dirt; do I really have to spell it out for ya?” the ringleader jeers.

Natural shifting of the crowd reveals none other than the new girl, Lizzie, as the center of attention. She’s lounged on the ground, hands trenched in the earth and legs neatly tucked to her side. There are grass stains on her blue skirt and a brown smudge on her cheek, too, lending even more credence to the absurd accusation that Nigel just heard.

Was she really eating dirt? he thinks to himself with slight disgust. That is, admittedly, very, very weird.

But for all that she essentially doomed herself to a lifetime of name-calling and ostracisation, she does not appear distressed at all. Her posture is lax and movements unhurried as she draws herself up to stand.

“Gee, I had no idea…” Her voice wobbles with innocence, and her eyes get impossibly more fawnish.

Nigel’s face hardens. He has to step in before she starts to cry.

“Absolutely no idea that THIS SCHOOL IS FULL OF NOSY BULLIES!!!”

Caught mid-stride, her volume forces him to take a step back. The bullies circling her get the brunt of it, though: the power of her decibels knocks them onto their butts, skidding in the dirt.

“How bored are you that you have to go around causing trouble where there isn’t any, huh!? Does it make you happy to pick on kids all by their lonesome? Kids who aren’t bothering anybody?? Only losers care too much about what other people are doing with their free time! Go touch some grass, why don’t ya!”

Kids flee left and right, but very few escape the wads of turf she throws after her aggressors. Her aim is erratic, but her power and frequency more than make up for it.

Just on the edge of the target zone, Nigel merely watches her defend herself with an eyebrow raised in interest. He believes he just got to know Lizzie better.

“Haven’t had enough yet, baldy?” she growls at him as he walks up to her.

“Trust me, I’ve had plenty; but I’m afraid you’re mistaken. I’d never join a ring of playground bullies like those guys.”

He stands in front of her with feet shoulder-width apart, arms crossed behind his back, and chin held high. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Nigel Uno; but when acting in my capacity as a Kids Next Door operative, I go by Numbuh One,” he says with a slight smirk. He’s not ignorant of the effect he tends to have on people between his position, his confidence, and his accent.

“‘The Kids Next Door’? What’s that?”

The smirk freezes on his face in an awkward way. The KND aims to save kids worldwide from adult tyranny, and no team was more prolific at that mission than Sector V. Based in America as Lizzie was, surely she should have heard of them. Has his team never saved her or her classmates from overpowered bullies, insane teachers, or gross school lunches before?

No matter; he was never one to pass over the chance to advocate for his cause. He passionately describes the mission, vision, and creed of the Kids Next Door; details the various perpetrators who stand against kids’ rights and privileges worldwide; and expounds upon the bonds and camaraderie that forms among operatives.

The only thing that stops him is the bell that signifies the end of recess.

Lizzie noticeably perks up at the sound, to Nigel’s mild embarrassment. “Well… All that being said, you should join us. The Kids Next Door is always on the lookout for promising youths to join our battle against adult tyranny. Extending recess by an extra 15 minutes is one of our long term goals,” he entices.

“That’s real sweet of you to offer, Nigel, but I’ll have to pass. See you in class!” She punctuates her dismissal with a smile and a wave before skipping off towards the school entrance.

He stares, flabbergasted enough to let her get a head start, but he quickly gets himself into gear. “W-W-Wait, are you sure?” he stutters as he catches up to her.

Nigel prides himself on his 100% success rate of recruiting hopefuls into the KND ever since he himself was scouted by Numbuh 5. He knows potential when he sees it, and he’s usually so good at galvanising that potential into action. What part of his impassioned spiel didn’t immediately appeal to her? Lizzie has moxie and gumption and spunk and—

“Yeah. I’m not interested, no offense; I’ve got other hobbies that need my time. I really appreciate the invite, though! Your club sounds like it would be the perfect fit for someone else, someone with way too much time on their hands or who has trouble making their own friends. You know the type. Anyway, good luck with recruitment!”

—absolutely no interest whatsoever. (Not to mention tact.)

He watches the school doors swing shut behind her, bewildered and a little bit offended. What kid would give up the opportunity to join the Kids Next Door?

Then the hamster wheel in his brain kicks into gear, and his eyes narrow.

Unless she isn’t a kid in the first place.

~~~

His working theory is that Lizzie is a disguised alien from a planet of sentient plants sent to monitor Earth’s children, and he just needs the proof.

There’s the alleged dirt thing, of course; but Nigel didn’t see that for himself. He tries tailing her during recess in case of a repeat performance, but she’s since started hanging out with some girls from class. They often gossip in the shade of a tree with branches whose strength he misjudged, and they did not appreciate it when he accidentally crashed onto the flower crowns they were in the process of making one afternoon.

(There is an errant thought about how the crown becomes her when she puts it on, but it is fleeting and ignored in favour of figuring out his next course of action.)

He almost caught her eating celery once during lunch—which is honestly no better than eating dirt and would have been surefire proof she was not a human child—but it turned out to be ants on a log. Just because he doesn’t think that’s a real snack doesn’t mean she’s forcing children to eat vegetables against their wills necessarily. Since then, Nigel’s been monitoring her lunch every day, cleverly taking samples when she wasn’t looking and searching for unknown contaminants hidden in her food that might indicate her true biological identity, but he had to stop after he made the mistake of actually trying one of her homemade meals. He was out of commission for three days after that.

(He can’t help but be impressed that she finishes every bite of her lunches, though. He’s always been jealous of kids who can eat whatever they want without getting sick; it’s almost like a superpower.)

She behaves strangely in class, too. Whenever someone uses an idiom, she has to ask the teacher what it means. On top of that, she actually takes notes and pays attention. That should be enough to make anyone suspicious, but she also doodles! By virtue of their last names, Nigel sits far enough behind her that he can surreptitiously examine her notebook with 2x4 technology (Glaring Ocular Gap Gadget Lets Entities See). The flower sequences she draws all over her notes are patterned in such a way that reminds him of code. He hasn’t quite cracked it yet, but he’s working on it.

(The most common flower has a blue center and yellow petals, which instantly brings to mind the shirts she always wears. It’s to the point where he can pick her out in any crowd by that fact alone.) (For surveillance, of course.)

As far as he’s concerned, he needs no further proof; but he knows his team. If he goes to Sector V with anything less than photographic evidence of Lizzie Devine’s alien heritage, they’ll make fun of him and his paranoia for weeks. He just has to keep observing her until he captures something on camera.

When he reviews the photos later at his locker, however, her eyes seem to take up more and more of the images’ focus.

“These are useless,” he mutters to himself.

“What’s useless?”

“Wah!”

He jerks away from the surprise voice, and the photos from the Long-range Orbit Observations Kaptured Only Using This fly into the air. He hastily grabs at them as they fall down before whirling around to find none other than the object of his investigation holding one that he missed.

“Hey, I look good in this!”

“Lizzie!” he screeches in embarrassment as he snatches the picture out of her hands. How is he going to explain this? “What are you doing here!?”

She crosses her arms and levels him with an unimpressed glare. “As of two weeks ago, I go to school here, Double-Oh-Seven.”

Nigel’s embarrassment is momentarily overshadowed by excitement. “Actually, my Numbuh is One,” he corrects eagerly, thinking this is her way of expressing interest in taking him up on his offer from all that time ago. He knew his sense for potential operatives wasn’t deteriorating! If she joined the KND, it would summarily lay all of his misgivings about her to rest!

“More like Number Dumb,” she scoffs, crashing his hopes again. “When you told me all about your little spy club, you made it sound like you were actually good at spying.”

“I’m one of the best there is!” he retorts with offense.

“That’s sad, then. I could tell you’ve been following me and my friends around for the last two weeks, and I’m actually here to tell you to knock it off. The other girls won’t keep hanging out with me if some loser with a crush is always there to weird them out.”

He blushes something fierce. “I’m not f-following you,” he stammers out. “I-I’m just… gathering valuable intelligence about areas where you happen to be.”

“I see. So this is for one of your missions?”

“Yes!” he exclaims, happy that the easy answer is the truth.

“Can you tell me about it?”

“I—Um. Am! I mean, I am… I am afraid that’s classified.”

“Oh, so I’m a suspect.”

“N-not necessarily.” His voice breaks as he deflects.

“Am I a target, then?”

“I’d be taking much better precautions if you were,” he swears.

She leans forward as she baits, “I’m not any kind of person of interest?”

He blinks. “I, uh, wouldn’t say that…”

She looks him up and down before raising her eyebrow. “For a James-Bond-wannabe, you sure are a bad liar.”

He’s actually a fantastic liar. Normally. He doesn’t know why it’s so hard now, though.

The longer it takes for him to think of something to say, the more amused she looks. She even smirks at him as she leans back.

This is nothing like he’s used to. He knows how to handle himself in front of threats to his safety or threats to other kids’ freedoms, but this? Whatever threat Lizzie poses is not one he has any defences against.

But let it never be said he ever backed down from a threat.

Just when he decides to stop letting her get to him, however, she rolls her eyes and sighs. “Let me make this easy on you, then. Do you know what a pinky promise is?”

“Of course I know what a pinky promise is,” he snaps.

She shrugs. “I just learned about them on Tuesday. Anyway. Ask me whatever question you want, and I pinky promise to answer it honestly.”

He gapes stupidly at her outstretched finger, offered way too lazily considering how vulnerable she’s making herself to him. Whatever internal conflict he was facing doesn’t matter now. He could learn anything about her: where she came from, what she’s doing here, whether she really eats dirt.

It’s a heady feeling.

He sees himself reaching out his own hand in slow motion, not fully cognisant or controlling of his own actions. Not until his skin touches hers.

“Are you free on Saturday?”

Instead of his pinky hooking around hers, his hand settles over her fist in entreaty. He hastily arranges his fingers into the correct orientation before meeting her eyes, and what he sees there makes him gulp.

The guarded look she always wore—the one he can only recognise now that it’s melting away—is replaced with a surprised delight, glittery and warm.

“I sure am.”

She giggles behind her other hand, and the sound wraps around his heart and squeezes a little too tight. If Lizzie really is a threat to the children of Earth, she’ll have to get through him first.

There is no one else he could allow to face her like this.

#codename: kids next door #c:knd #numbuh 1 #nigel uno #lizzie devine #cknd fanfiction #nizie #opmc #xyzc*

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xyzcekaden · 2 months ago

Text

🕶 operation: m.e.e.t.c.u.t.e. 👓

by airauralintensity (aka me, xyzcekaden!)

memorable encounter explored through changed universes, totally excellent

fandom: codename: kids next door characters: lizzie devine, nigel uno ship: nizie genres: romance, comedy, fluff, pre-canon, first meeting, transfer student!lizzie, hero complex!nigel, nigel pov themes: trashy middle school soap opera, whoever said petty ain't pretty clearly never met lizzie, nigel asks first, ish, inspired by operation pool rating: K for depictions of bullying word count: 2.1k+ chapter: 2/4 rating: K+ for depictions of bullying

read it below, on ffnet, or on ao3!

~~~

A/N (3.28.2025): Your eyes do not deceive you; the chapter count has indeed gone up by one! There will be two versions of this concept, and the second version will be published as its own chapter after the third and final concept.

'Why are there two versions?' you may ask. What had happened was that I drafted this chapter three times before figuring out what I was doing wrong that made me dislike it. (If not for that, this would have been uploaded back in January!) During the editing process, I realised I was trying to go in two directions at once. Instead of making myself choose, though, I just wrote both. (If you're a fandom-agnostic fan of my fics, you'd know that this is a habit of mine, haha.)

Also, I worked on the third concept whenever I was too annoyed with working on this one, which means that's almost done too. Look forward to that upload soon. :)

Special shoutout to sparkymouse. Any work that has their praise is bestowed with the loveliest gift imaginable.

~~~

right in the middle of a war

“When I look into Lizzie’s eyes, I can tell she’s not a jerk.“ - Numbuh 1, Operation P.O.O.L.

~~~

During what should have been an ordinary lunch period, raised voices from across the room manage to catch Nigel’s attention despite the typical buzz of a bustling cafeteria.

“Stop playing dumb! I know it was you!”

“Hel-lo, I barely even know you! Why would I do that?”

A few tables away, fellow fourth-graders Sarah Olin and the new girl Lizzie Devine face-off in combative postures while Andy Belmont and Marybeth March look on tensely.

He narrows his eyes at the scene. It doesn’t seem violent now, but he knows better than anyone how quickly things can get ugly. He eats his lunch faster while he continues to observe. There are a few more verbal jabs that he can't hear, then the two girls turn to involve Marybeth in their argument. He hops out of his seat.

As always, his timing is impeccable. “If I don’t get answers soon, I’ll tell on both of you to the teacher!” Sarah shouts just when he makes it over.

“Now, now,” he speaks up before drastic measures could be taken. “Let’s not involve adults in a kids’ matter.”

Everyone turns to him with varying degrees of welcoming, and he assesses the situation in an instant:

Sarah: The victim. She holds her bookbag like a waste bag and is on the verge of tears.

Lizzie: The main suspect. According to her defensive posture of crossed arms and tapping foot, though, she disagrees.

Andy: The supportive boyfriend who just wants answers. He stands to Sarah’s side and frowns with concern.

Marybeth: … Inconclusive, but her eyes light up when she recognises him, and oh, here she comes.

“Lizzie messed up Sarah’s bookbag with Jell-O, and she’s trying to blame it all on me!”

“Yeah because I’m pretty sure Scary-Breath over here is the one who actually did it!” Lizzie defends immediately, and he regards her with raised eyebrows. He’s never even heard Lizzie Devine shout, much more name call.

Marybeth cries louder, “And now she’s insulting me! Stop her!!”

“I wasn’t sitting near there,” Lizzie yells over Marybeth, wildly seeking to meet the eyes of anyone who will believe her, “and I don’t have anything against Sarah. I couldn’t have done it, and I wouldn’t have anyway!”

Sarah elbows them both out of her way and shoves her bookbag into his face. Her textbooks and folders are covered in gooey orange. “Andy and I left our stuff behind in the cafeteria for a bit. When we came back, there was this gunk all over my books, and Lizzie won’t even say sorry!”

The accused girl whirls on her before he could voice the same question. “Why are you so sure it’s me? Just ‘cause Marybeth said so?” She says the other girl’s name like it’s not even a real word.

Andy ignores her in favour of explaining to Nigel, “I asked Marybeth to watch our stuff for us while we were gone, and she said she saw Lizzie do it.”

Nigel frowns at this new information. Knowledge they were caught is usually all it takes for petty bullies to confess their crimes, but Lizzie doesn’t stand down. If she really is at fault, she has deeper reasons for her actions. Then again, there are also her own allegations about Marybeth’s culpability to consider. He is surely missing something.

He catches a quick glance of Marybeth’s smile in Andy’s direction before Sarah snaps. “I don’t care who did it, but I want payback! What about my homework? What about my glitter gel pens?!” She speaks as though addressing the group at large, but her eyes keep going back to Lizzie.

It doesn’t escape the girl’s notice. “Stop blaming me for something I didn’t do,” she snarls. “This is not my problem; and if you guys don’t leave me alone, I’ll give you a real reason to tattletell on me.” Her hands curl into fists at her side, clarifying any ambiguity about her insinuation.

If Nigel has never heard Lizzie shout before, he’s definitely never heard her deliver a threat. He considers her bared teeth and bellicose stance. People who rely on force tend to be people capable of bullying.

“Nigel, do something!” Marybeth pleads cloyingly.

Everyone returns their attention to him, but he ignores the victims in favour of the suspects. When he looks between them, really looks, he figures out the culprit easily.

Nigel is really good at reading people; he has to be. Being able to discern when someone is lying, who could be an ally, or which interrogation tactics would work best on a target—all with just a glance—is how he became the operative he is today.

Marybeth March is an unassuming but ambitious girl. She’s the kind of person who will cut the line at the ice cream parlour but let kids copy off her homework if they ask. She doesn’t bother people who don’t bother her, so he can’t immediately tell what her motivation would be to sabotage Sarah, as Lizzie claims.

On the other hand, he doesn’t know Lizzie Devine that well, if at all. She only transferred in near the beginning of the school year and has already garnered a reputation for being weird; but as far as he can tell, she simply keeps to herself. This the most he’s ever interacted with her, actually. With how argumentative and threatening she’s being, he can certainly see why Sarah would be more inclined to cast the blame on her than on Marybeth.

Both of them look at him now with expectant eyes, confident in their own innocence yet sure that he will take the side of the majority—but Lizzie is the only one looking back at him. Her gaze has an additional defiance, waiting for him to issue his verdict just so that she can give him a piece of her mind.

There is no way to explain why he knows this to be true, but one more look into her eyes and he can just tell: this girl may be a lot of things, but a jerk isn’t one of them.

He turns to Marybeth and asks plainly, “Were you the one who did this to Sarah’s bookbag?”

Her victim attitude is nowhere to be seen in the face of his direct accusation. “No, of course n-not,” she answers blinkingly.

“Then tell me, how did this happen? If Lizzie did it, what did she do?”

“Well…” She regains control over herself like it’s a physical thing, and his suspicions rise further. “She just came over, opened the bag, dumped the Jell-O in, and walked away.”

“But I didn’t, I swear!” Lizzie interjects. “I don’t even like Jell-O. I got the fruit cup for dessert!” She points at her lunch tray, where an unopened fruit cup stands benignly.

Nigel turns and raises an eyebrow at Marybeth. “What did she do with the Jell-O cup afterwards?”

“She threw it away, obviously,” she answers easily.

“And where is your dessert?”

“I didn’t get one.”

He’s almost offended at how she thought she could get away with such a blatant lie. “Nonsense. No kid skips dessert on the lunch line.”

“Well, I did.”

Andy speaks up for the first time in a while. “But don’t you really like Jell-O? I remember your birthday party last year. Instead of cake, we each got to customise our own cups of Jell-O.”

“You remember that?” Marybeth’s eyes sparkle like a girl talking to her crush, and there it is. Her motivation.

“Did you or did you not pour the sugary gelatin into Sarah’s bookbag?” he presses while she’s vulnerable.

She flinches out of her lovestruck trance and comes face-to-face with quadruple-strength scrutiny. When she starts shifting her weight between her feet, he knows it won’t take long for her to confess.

“FINE! Yes, I admit it! I was the one who ruined Sarah’s bookbag!” she wails. “And why shouldn’t I! She already has everything—shiny hair, pretty clothes, the cutest boyfriend—she doesn’t need good grades, too!!”

If only dealing with tyrannical adults was as easy as dispensing with petty school bullies.

Satisfied, he’s about to begin damage control operations when a different petty problem emerges. “HA!” Lizzie exclaims. “I knew it! I knew you were lying, you no-good, jelly-loving weirdo—umpf!”

He quickly wraps an arm around Lizzie so that he could clasp his hand over her mouth. It is more difficult than he anticipated to keep her quiet and corralled, and her taunting tone is not dampened at all by the inability to form words.

Sarah ignores them. “You can either come with me when I tell on you to Mrs. Thompson, or you can wait until later to find out you have detention,” she tells Marybeth coldly. With that, she spins on her heel and beelines for the cafeteria door, ruined bookbag swinging from her hand beside her.

Marybeth looks after her in defeat but doesn’t move until Andy says something. “That wasn’t cool, but you knew that already.” He sends her a meaningful, disappointed stare before jogging after his girlfriend.

Marybeth stands there for a moment longer, tearing up and wobbly, before she trudges after them, sniffling to herself as she goes.

That’s when he releases Lizzie, and not a moment too soon.

“What’s the big idea!?” she screeches at him. “That girl tried to make me take the fall for her dumb prank and called me a liar, and she gets to just walk away?!”

“She’s literally walking towards whatever punishment Mrs. Thompson deems fit for her.”

She stomps her foot. “What about me! Where’s my justice?”

The warning bell rings through the lunchroom. "You get a chance to enjoy your fruit cup before lunch is over," he quips.

She snarls then turns her back on him to face her tray. He takes that as his cue to go, but the strong line of her shoulders suddenly deflating stops him from going too far.

"I'm such a loser!" she laments apropos of nothing as she plops down. "You know, when Sarah walked up to me earlier, I thought she was going to invite me to eat lunch with her? But no! Instead, I get yelled at, and accused of something I didn't do, and have to sit through some trashy middle school soap opera… and I still have to eat lunch alone at the end." She stabs her plastic fork into a blueberry and frowns when one of the tines snap off.

Without the shroud of her righteous anger, she looks smaller to him now, like a damsel out of distress instead of a warrior princess.

Nigel doesn't double-guess what he does next. "I can eat lunch with you," he offers as he lowers himself into the seat next to hers.

She glares at him balefully. “I don’t need your pity.”

“Then take my company.”

“You ate already, though,” she rebuts, fast and provoking. “Besides, I know you always eat lunch with your friends. You guys go around like a weird, five-person, human rainbow.”

He has to put effort into holding back a bark of laughter at her observation. No one’s ever said that before, but he sees it. “Not always. Where are they now?” he asks rhetorically. They’re on a mission, and he’s tasked with managing their dummies in the classroom so that they can still get attendance credit while they’re out—but Lizzie doesn’t need to know all that. “I didn’t eat with them today, and I don’t have to eat with them tomorrow either.”

She rolls her eyes. “Sure. I’ll believe you tomorrow, then.”

She looks down at her lunch and picks through it, a dismissal as much as it was an actual attempt to eat her meal. For reasons he won’t understand until later, he doesn’t leave. He just sits with her.

Until he does more than sit.

It’s entirely thoughtless, really, the way he reaches out and plucks a fruit out of her cup.

Her head snaps towards him, and he smirks before popping it in his mouth. “Cherries are my favourite,” he comments blithely.

She stares at him with confused apprehension as he reaches over for her cup of water and takes one sip. He lifts it up a little in a cheersing fashion before putting it back on her tray with resolution.

"I believe we just ate lunch together today, Lizzie."

The bell to end the lunch period rings, and the typical cafeteria buzz remixes with the sound of scratching chairs and hundreds of rubber footsteps tapping on linoleum.

He doesn’t hear any of that, though. Not when the hesitant look in Lizzie’s eyes shifts into something different. Almost shy. Decidedly happy. A thought he didn’t have time to entertain before suddenly comes rushing to the forefront of his mind, and he wants to fast-forward to lunch tomorrow.

Her eyes are kind of pretty.

#codename: kids next door #c:knd #numbuh 1 #nigel uno #lizzie devine #cknd fanfiction #nizie #opmc #xyzc*

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xyzcekaden · 2 years ago

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hi hi! my name is dg and i'm picking up the liar and his lover/kanojo wa uso wo aishisugiteru :)

i don't think there are any readers anymore, but /i/ need to know what happens after @sennennoyuki's work ended, lol. starting from volume 16 chapter/song 63, i hope to post monthly. i'm doing this by myself and have a day job and also am editing it on ms paint; but where there's a will, there's a way, right?

(that being said, if there is someone out there who is willing to help edit the photos for the scanlation, please message me! i'm a just a translator that's trying too hard.)

whether you're stopping by or settled in, i'm happy to have you reading! よろしくお願いします~

#kanojo wa uso wo aishisugiteru #カノジョは嘘を愛しすぎてる #the liar and his lover #kanouso #カノ噓 #manga #scanlation #xyzc kanouso #xyzc*

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xyzcekaden · 3 years ago

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l’amour à l’école

by airauralintensity (aka me, xyzcekaden!)

Riftan does manage to hear that the new bio teacher is supposed to start today, and that’s enough for him. He’ll meet this Max guy eventually, and if not… well, who cares.

fandom: under the oak tree (light novel, webcomic) characters: riftan calypse, maximilian croix, everyone else in supporting roles ship: maxitan (aka lipmac) genre: friendship, humour themes: teacher!au, middle school setting, pre-relationship, fluff, purposeful open ending word count: 2.7k rating: T for canon-typical cursing

read it on ao3 or ffnet or below!

A/N (12.24.2021): It's midnight in France already which means... Time for a short surprise holiday present for @purplecatsketchs! I’m so glad we met and became friends. 💜😽

~~~

“Heyyy, Riftan,” a sensual voice greets him as someone falls into stride alongside him. “Did you have a good weekend?”

Riftan only takes a sip from his coffee—black, no sugar, just like he likes it—instead of responding.

“I was rather lonely myself,” the voice continues. “If only I had a big, strong man whom I could spend my evenings with…”

“I’m not going out with you, Ms. Reuben,” he finally cuts in, pressing his fingers to the bridge of his nose. It’s too early on a Monday for this conversation.

The pair reach the teacher’s lounge, and he enters first, not bothering to hold the door open for the person following behind him.

Agnes hmphs as she follows Riftan to his seat. “At least call me by my first name when you turn me down. It feels like I’m getting rejected by a student when you call me ‘Ms. Reuben,’ and I don’t want to think about why I would be asking out a student anyway.”

“We teach middle schoolers,” a new voice sardonically cuts in. Riftan groans as Ruth easily slides into the open seat on Riftan’s opposite side, one arm already poised to support his lolling head and the other arm bringing the straw of some saccharinely-sweet iced latte to his lips. “Why would you want to ask out middle schoolers?” Ruth continues with a bored tone that doesn’t match the topic of conversation at all.

To Agnes’ credit, she does not let his twist of her words faze her. “‘Cause I’m not qualified to teach at the college level,” she quips.

“You’re not qualified, alright.”

“Listen here, you little—”

Riftan has had enough. “Ruth, shut up. Ms. Reuben, go sit somewhere else.”

It’s clear Agnes wants to refuse, but Principal Triden walks into the lounge just then to begin their Monday morning all-hands. She pouts but slinks away nevertheless.

“Good morning, everyone! Today’s meeting is an exciting one for Whedon Academy…”

Riftan takes out his phone and scrolls through his social media feeds instead of listening to the principal. He respects the guy and everything, but come on. Riftan’s a gym teacher. You know what they say: Those who can’t do teach, and those who can’t teach teach gym. He’s not expected to carry any responsibility around here unless said responsibility is a passed out student to the nurse’s office.

To his credit, Riftan does manage to hear that the new bio teacher is supposed to start today, and that’s enough for him. He’ll meet this Max guy eventually, and if not… well, who cares.

Finally, a clap brings him out of his distraction. “… And that’s it for me!” Principal Triden concludes. He stretches out his right arm and takes a look at his watch. “Hey, I ended with fifteen minutes ‘til the start of the school day. Not bad.”

Taking that for the dismissal it is, Riftan joins the rest of his teachers as they gather up their things and file out of the lounge to head to their first stations of the day. He meets Gabel’s eyes on their way out, and they exchange friendly ‘sup nods in acknowledgement, knowing they’ll have time during lunch to catch up.

He turns his head forward again, and that’s when catches sight of an amazingly red bushel of hair. The head turns to reveal a face he doesn’t recognise: pink, pale skin with a smattering of freckles across her dainty nose and… are her eyes silver?!

Without taking his eyes off the devastatingly adorable goddess in front of him, Riftan reaches out his arm directly and grabs hold of the cloth of Ruth’s elbow before the other can head to his 8am math class. “Who is that?!” he demands to know.

“Um, weren’t you paying attention? That’s Max Croix, the new bio teacher.”

Riftan whips his head to face Ruth so fast there was an audible crack in his neck. “Bio teacher?!” he repeats, voice gruff and threatening. …At least, it would seem that way if Ruth didn’t know better.

He takes stock of how Riftan’s intense eyes cannot help but once again flit towards the petite retreating figure, the clench of his jaw, and the noticeable bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallows—and Ruth smirks.

“You’ll have plenty of time to get to know her later. After all, you’re both on hall duty today during lunch,” he offers faux-flippantly, looking out of the corner of his eye to judge Riftan’s reaction.

For the second time in as many moments, Riftan faces Ruth again in surprise. “Hall duty?!?!”

~~~

Riftan loves being a gym teacher, seriously. Fitness is so important because, contrary to some other subjects taught in school, it’s something every student will have to use for the rest of their lives. Middle school is the time to start learning healthy life habits, and he’d rather the kids learn those from him rather than from some other person in the presumably unsavoury cast of characters that appear in their lives.

… But if there’s one thing he loves more than gym class, it’s hall duty.

Maybe ‘love’ is too strong of a term, but Riftan certainly takes it seriously. In fact, he’s been known to take it too seriously, which is the problem here. If he wants to make a good first impression on the cute new bio teacher, their first interaction should not be hall duty, of all things!

He spends the morning desperately trying to get one of the other teachers to switch with him, but it’s all in vain. Somehow everyone he asks is otherwise preoccupied.

(Ruth Serbel started a group chat with Agnes Reuben, Hebaron Nirta, Uslin Rikaido, and 10 others.

Ruth Serbel: under NO circumstances is anyone allowed to switch hall duty with riftan today, got it?

Ruth Serbel: spread the word

Hebaron Nirta: what if i want someone to switch hall duty with me?

Ruth Serbel: that’s not what this group chat is about

Agnes Reuben: quick question

Agnes Reuben: is this gonna fuck with calypse’s head?

Ruth Serbel: yes

Uslin Rikaido: ooo then count us all in~

Gabel Laxion: Uslin does NOT speak for me.

Gabel Laxion: That being said, I’m in.

Uslin Rikaido: wtf come over here and say that to my face

Ruth Serbel: … right well it seems like everyone understands the assignment so

Ruth Serbel deleted the group chat.)

His frustration mounts as the lunch hour draws near, which is exactly the kind of mood you want to be in when you meet someone you want to impress for the first time.

“Hi,” Max greets him as he meets her outside the teacher’s lounge to begin their rounds. Her voice is soft, but not as soft as the hand she stretches out to shake his. “I’m Max Croix, the new biology teacher. It’s nice to meet you…” she trails off, waiting for him to introduce himself.

Riftan wishes he had a water bottle on him; his mouth feels so dry all of a sudden. “Riftan. Riftan Calypse,” he grunts out. “I teach gym—physical education. I teach physical education.”

He has never been one to care about the distinction before, but it seems especially important now for some reason.

Max’s mouth forms a small ‘o’ as she gives him a quick once-over, and the effect it has on his blood flow is decidedly south-bound. “That makes sense,” she comments politely.

He didn’t realise it from afar, but she’s so much shorter than he expected. She’s only a head taller than the tallest student in the school, and she barely comes up to his sternum. From this close, however, he can also confirm what he noticed earlier. Her eyes are an inviting silver. He can’t look away, and he doesn’t want to.

The annoyance Riftan felt before is immediately replaced with intense and just-as-annoying embarrassment. He turns his back on her to hide his blush and to re-focus on his mission. “Right, well. Let’s get going. We’re already three minutes late.”

He strides forward purposefully but takes care to stick to one side of the hallway so that Max could walk alongside him once she catches up.

“So is there anything special about hall duty that I should pay attention to?” she asks quietly. Not out of meekness, he can tell. She’s simply soft spoken, and Riftan wonders how she can command a classroom of unruly eleven-year-olds with a voice like that.

“Kids are either supposed to be in the classroom or the lunch room. If they’re in the hallways, they should have a hall pass signed by a teacher; and the location on the pass should align with where we find them. We also patrol the bathrooms and the immediate perimeter outside the school, just in case.”

Max stares up at him with astonished eyes, and Riftan tries not to lose focus with such dazzling beacons trying to draw his attention. “To that extent? Principal Triden didn’t mention those this morning when he explained hall duty to me.”

He hesitates to admit that these are indeed not part of the expectations of hall duty. Luckily he’s saved by the first set of bathrooms on his route, which he had optimized after many iterations of hall duty. He gestures to the women’s room with a nod of his head. “Call me if you need backup.”

He barely even pushes open the door to the men’s room before a touch on his elbow holds him back. Riftan looks over his shoulder at Max, who suddenly has fear written all over her face. “Wh-why would I need backup?” she stammers out.

Riftan absentmindedly shrugs his shoulders in response to her question. Max lets go of his arm at the movement, and he internally berates himself for it. The frustration with himself colours his tone more than he would like. “You never know what you’re going to find behind a closed door, and I don’t know what you can handle,” he defends. “If you see a bunch of girls trying to give themselves piercings, what are you gonna do?”

Max gives herself a moment to think. She looks chastised, which he supposes was his intention even though it really shouldn’t have been. God, why couldn’t he have met her under better circumstances, like dismissal duty? He’s a totally normal man when it comes to dismissal duty.

Riftan is ready to do something drastic to save this botched interaction, even if it means skipping bathroom patrol entirely today, when Max speaks up. “I would confiscate the needle and escort them back to the lunch room… After noting their names down, of course. And I’d arrange a meeting with their parents.”

Her eyes, which were looking into middle distance as she thought and spoke, raise to meet his at the conclusion of her sentence. She may speak softly, but she looks and sounds sure of herself—as she should be. He would have done the same thing.

Riftan regards the determined look on Max’s face with something he would recognise as affection if only he felt it more often. “Maybe I should be the one calling you for backup,” he says with levity, hoping it’s not too late to salvage the situation.

“Maybe you should,” she retorts. She walks around him and enters the bathroom without another word.

He looks after the closed door with regret settled into his bones. Fuck, he should have just bailed hall duty and taken the flack for it later.

~~~

Riftan doesn’t get the chance to see Max again until the end of the week, which is disappointing but not surprising.

It isn’t even surprising to see her eating lunch in the break room, though he was taken aback for a moment. If they were both on hall duty this past Monday, then they must have the same lunch schedule Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. This is an implication he did not internalise until now, and he would have loved to make use of it in the future if only he didn’t supremely fuck up his first impression with Max.

What is surprising is that she’s sitting and laughing with Ruth, of all people.

Ruth spots him as soon as the door swings shut behind him, and he nods down to the empty seat next to him in invitation. Riftan hesitates at the way Max’s happy smile dims a little at the sight of him, but he pushes himself forward anyway. He needs another chance, and here is Ruth giving him one on a silver platter (... on a linoleum table?).

He directs a nod to his friend, but his eyes don’t leave Max’s as he sits down.

“Hi, Max,” he greets as pleasantly as possible.

“Hello, Mr. Calypse,” she responds cooly.

Don’t ask him why, but Ruth gets the distinct impression it was not love at first sight for Max the way it was for Riftan. He sighs internally. He loves the guy—well, on second thought, does he?—but honestly Riftan cannot be left unsupervised around others.

Luckily for him, Ruth is around to supervise this time.

“So, Riftan, how’s Talon?” he asks, knowing fully well that Max loves animals.

Max tilts her head in interest. “Talon?”

“His horse,” Ruth explains.

Max’s eyes widen comically. “His horse?!”

Hook, line, and sinker. He is the best wingman ever. “Yep, you heard me right.” He reaches up to slap a familiar hand on the shoulder of Riftan, who can tell Ruth is up to something but is smart enough not to interfere. “He may not look it, but this man rides.”

The biology teacher looks at Riftan with new eyes. “Wow,” she intones with awe.

“I know, right?” Riftan sends him a glare for taking Max’s first positive attention off of him, but Ruth ignores it easily. “Now, you may be wondering to yourself, ‘How can he afford such an expensive hobby on a teacher’s salary?’, at which point I will inform you about Riftan’s amazing personal finance maintenance, and—”

“—Ruth, that’s enough,” Riftan interrupts brusquely.

He’s embarrassed, Ruth notices. Cute. “Max is new to the area, Riftan,” he faux-admonishes. “How is she going to get to know new people if she can’t start with her coworkers?”

“Actually,” Max speaks up. “I was hoping I could ask you about that, Ruth. Where do people go for fun around here?”

“Funny that you mention it,” Ruth acts like he didn’t come up with this idea just this moment, “but I was thinking of hitting up The Apothecary this weekend. It’s a small little bar Riftan and I found in the next neighbourhood over. Helps minimise the chance of running into a student’s parent; you get it.”

“That sounds like a great place to start,” Max says happily. “Can I join you?”

“I’d be offended if you didn’t. Riftan, you in, too?”

Riftan looks appalled to be included in these impromptu plans so suddenly, and Ruth wants to facepalm. Instead, he uses his eyes and eyebrows to mime for Riftan to hurry up and agree already.

Riftan, for his part, looks at Max. If she doesn’t want him to attend, he’ll make plans to leave for the weekend entirely so that she has no chance of running into him.

Max sends him a small smile, all lovely and silver. His second chance.

“Yeah, I’ll go,” Riftan confirms in that no-nonsense baritone of his.

Ruth rolls his eyes. Would it have killed the guy to smile? He shakes it off and paints a smile on his face, ready to take charge of the conversation again, but Max speaks up first. “So, Riftan, do you have any pictures of Talon?”

Both Riftan and Ruth look at Max like she just recited the phattest bars in hip hop history, delighted but deeply surprised.

“Uh, yeah,” Riftan says eventually, fishing for his phone in his pocket. He pulls up his gallery and offers Max his phone, but she scoots her seat closer to his so that she can see better instead. She excitedly asks after Talon’s personality, what it’s like to ride, and other equestrian things; and Riftan gives detailed responses, sentences growing longer and longer as they continue.

Ruth leans back in his seat and observes their exchange with a pleased gleam in his eye. It couldn’t have worked out better even if he had slipped them some sort of love potion.

#under the oak tree #under the oak tree fanfiction #maximillian calypse #riftan calypse #lipmac #maxitan #laale #xyzc*

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xyzcekaden · 4 years ago

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🍔 chains on the swings of the set 🍔

by airauralintensity (aka me, xyzcekaden!)

His name is Norman Midable. “But you can call me Nor.” A subversion of the guy-at-college-vies-for-Kim’s-attentions plot.

fandom: kim possible (cartoon) characters: kim possible, ron stoppable, OC (technically), wade monique and rufus in supporting roles ship: kim/ron, kim/oc genre: romance, angst, friendship themes: college au, major original character, cheating, one-sided romance, canon endgame, working through relationship problems, kim has a type word count: 6.8k chapter: 1/2 rating: T

read it below, on ffnet, or on ao3!

A/N (11.3.2021): A common KP college!au centers on Kim potentially leaving Ron for a smart jock type (a smock, if you will), but I’ve always taken such issue with that because it undermines Kim’s growth in the show. So, what if she met someone just like Ron instead? Enter Norman Midable: a very mediocre conspiracy theorist with a dry sense of humour. I kinda meshed his personality based on one of my IRL friends, Felix, and Ron from yvj's 'a lot like love.’ (If you haven’t read that yet, please do. It’s unfinished but will still be one of the best character-centric pieces I’ve ever read.)

Title from Tightrope by Walk the Moon. Inspired by early Ron Stoppable concept art. If you recognise it, it doesn’t belong to me. I actually plotted this out back in 2019, then proceeded to forget about it for years haha. I’ve never created an “original” character before (‘original’ in quotes because he’s basically Ron lol), so let me know what you think!

~~~

The Kimmunicator rings just as Kim finishes making her bed in her new college dorm, and she lets herself have a split second of wonder. Even the day before orientation, the world needs saving.

"What's the sitch, Wade?"

"My badical best-friend/girlfriend moved into college today, and I miss her," an unexpected voice replies.

"Ron!" She flops backwards onto her bed in delight, and it's almost like she's still back in Middleton.

"KP," he says on an exhale. She can hear everything he's feeling in that one breath, or maybe she's just feeling those same things herself.

She flicks her eyes between her screen where she can see the way Ron is looking fondly at her and the approximate area where she knows the front-facing camera to be so that Ron has something to look at. "How long have you been back?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Dr. P dropped me off a bit ago. I just finished dinner with the 'rents before I called you."

"Ah, a Ron on a full stomach, my favourite," she teases. "It means there's one less thing that I need to compete with for your attention span."

"Not tonight, KP. You've been the only thing I could think about since yesterday."

She looks down at the screen then, ascertaining his seriousness. "Wanna try that again? I know for a fact that you were up late last night playing Zombie Mayhem."

Ron scratches the back of his neck and chuckles. "Nah, I just said that 'cause if I said the real reason I was late this morning, the tweebs would have heckled us all day. I really just couldn't sleep last night. I was… well, I was worried about you, honestly."

Kim smiles appreciatively. "That's sweet, Ron, but you of all people know I can take care of myself. There's nothing I can't handle."

"Can you handle yourself around the Hirotakas and Josh Mankeys of college, though?"

Kim's heart and smile drop like anchors. "... What?"

She watches as Ron scrunches his face up in the universal sign of knowing you just said the wrong thing, and she can't even laugh at the sight. "I… didn't mean to say that. I didn't mean to say it that way. Please forget it," Ron begs.

She can't, of course. "You think I'm still like that?"

There's the sound of rustling as Ron rubs a hand down the front of his face. "No, I don't," he answers eventually, and she believes him. She wants that to be enough, except… "But I haven't seen you not like that, either, you know?"

She is ready to defend herself—the instinct to act-first-think-later is deeply ingrained in her at this point, and it's saved her life more times than she could count—but she stops herself just in time, and she reviews.

No potential romantic interests ever surfaced since the two of them began dating; no one in Middleton would dare try. There would never have been a chance for her to demonstrate her loyalty to Ron. As hurt as she is by the knowledge that Ron still harbours an insecurity over that, she is in no position to blame him.

She swallows down her offense and looks back at the screen. Ron has his head in his hands, roughly rubbing at his temples in self-flagellation.

No, she doesn't blame him at all.

"Hey, stop that," she calls out. Her best-friend/boyfriend's attention jumps back to the screen, and she gives him a small smile. It's no big, afterall.

"Let's make a promise to each other right now. Okay?" Ron nods. "Do you promise to trust me?"

"With my life and with my heart, too."

They're still young. She knows that… but sometimes Ron is just so genuine, so transparent about his feelings for her that she's ready to be older, to actualise the dream she can hear in his words.

"Then I promise you: I have no interest in 'golden hotties'. My guy has a heart of gold and a pocket full of hot sauce; what could be better than that?"

Rufus pops up from wherever he was hiding. "Cheese!"

~~~

Her first class of the first day is the one Kim's been looking forward to the most. Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies sounds like the exact sort of thing people go to college to learn, and even the classroom is a quintessential lecture hall like she's seen in movies. It's as good of a start as any to help her figure out what she should major in. She has some ideas, of course, but it helps to keep her options open.

She slides into a seat in the second row an easy seven minutes before class starts, and she takes the time to set up the new digital notebook Wade made her as a graduation present. She likes it—at least, she likes the idea of it; supposedly it'll automatically upload her notes onto her laptop back in her dorm room—but writing on a screen instead of paper will take some getting used to.

The professor enters, welcomes everyone to college, introduces her class; and just like that, they're off. It's rather anticlimactic. That's another thing she'll have to get used to, too.

After fifteen minutes of going through the syllabus, some voices gradually getting louder distract everyone's attention to the back of the class. There's some guy trying to force his way to an empty seat in the middle of the last row, and the students already seated are having none of it.

"Young man, if you're going to be late on the first day, you'd do well to avoid causing a commotion at the same time," the professor admonishes. "There is plenty of space here at the front."

The guy swivels his head between his desired seat and the professor before slumping over in begrudging defeat. He walks down the steps knowing everyone in the class is watching him, and he takes the first empty seat on the edge.

Second row, right next to Kim.

"Man, this casks," he says under his breath as he settles in.

"Well, if you got to class on time, you'd have your first pick of seats," Kim retorts without thinking. Her eyes widen cartoonishly. "Oh my god; I'm so sorry. That was so ferociously rude! I don't know what came over me!"

Her seatmate has his eyebrows raised in mild interest at the blunt girl before him, then he shrugs. "Nah, you got a point, though."

Determined to salvage her first impression, Kim sticks her hand out confidently. "I'm Kim, Kim Possible. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Over the years, she's become used to the effect her name has on people: shock, awe, fear, (derision if you're Bonnie Rockwaller). To her surprise, the guy doesn't react at all like she expects. Besides the fact that he doesn't seem to even recognise her name, he just holds his hands up in the universal signal for don't-come-any-closer. "Woah, woah, woah. 'Acquaintances'? Take a guy out to dinner first before you go putting labels on anything."

She doesn't sputter, but it's a close thing.

Thankfully, the other person lowers his arms and smirks. "I'm just teasin' ya. You can call me—"

The sound of a throat clearing stops him from introducing himself, and the two look to the front to see the professor looking straight at them. They sheepishly face forward.

The professor keeps their unimpressed gaze on them for a moment longer before continuing. "As I was saying, the final project is a semester-long research paper that you will submit to me in both papercopy and digitally no later than the first day of finals week. People may partner up if they so choose, but no more than three to a team. The topic is up to you, but your arguments must utilise…"

Suitably chastised, Kim takes diligent notes to make up for her poor lack of concentration. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see her classmate constantly looking over at her.

The professor dismisses them for a mid-lecture break, and Kim says something before he can. "Why do I have the feeling you want to ask if we can partner up for the project because you're afraid you can't make the grade on your own, and you think that I'll pick up your slack?"

The other student blinks at her. "That's not the only reason," he feebly argues.

Kim takes a deep breath and puts on a placating smile. "Sorry, but that's not gonna happen. Besides, I'm honestly not the best project partner. I have a really... erratic and time-intensive extracurricular that I do. It's better for both of us if I work alone."

She's not ashamed of the fact that she saves the world on a weekly basis. She really isn't. It's just that she doesn't know how much this guy knows, if he's even heard of her, and it's kind of much to explain with only a few minutes left in the break.

Luckily, the student doesn't push her. He just turns to his laptop, and Kim takes that as a sign that the message has been received. The professor comes back into the lecture hall, and the second half of the class goes without incident.

That is, until her Kimmunicator goes off.

"Ah yes, I was wondering when I'd have to make this announcement. No cellphones in class; no exceptions!"

Kim hops out of her seat and over her seatmate with practised ease. "Sorry, professor! I have to take this."

The professor seems to realise something as soon as they get a good look at Kim's face. After referring to some papers in their briefcase, they nod. "Very well, Ms. Possible. Join us again whenever you're ready."

Kim waves appreciatively as she bounds out of the nearest exit. "What's the sitch, Wade?" she asks as soon as the door closes behind her.

On the small screen, the image is split between Wade on one side and Ron and Rufus on the other. "You just got a really weird hit on the side, Kim, and it's for you specifically."

"Aw man, no one ever remembers me!" Ron laments. Rufus agrees, "Uh-huh, uh-huh."

"What's going on?"

"Someone just asked you for help with his, uh, 'WGSS' project? I tried doing some research, but my usual sources aren't being very helpful. The only results that pop up for that acronym are Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies courses at colleges. I sent a clarification email in response, but I'll keep looking until we hear back."

So he did recognise her. Kim rolls her eyes. "Don't bother, Wade. Some classmate of mine thinks if we partner up for the semester project, he won't have to do any of the work."

Wade pulls at the collar of his shirt uneasily. "He wrote here, and I quote, 'I promise I'll do the work. I just need some help, is all.' Close quote."

"That's what you do, right?" a voice from behind calls out. Kim whirls around to find the guy from class only a few steps away from her. "Help people?"

Other students are spilling out of the lecture hall behind him. Class must have ended while she was out.

Kim is used to making quick decisions with barely any information to go on. It's a habit that's saved her life more times than she can count. Between his earnestness, his unique way of going about asking her, and something else she really can't just put her finger on, she decides to trust him.

After one last glance to the student's hopeful expression, she looks down to her team on the screen. "Tell him I'm in."

She hears cheers behind her, and she can't help but smile.

"Who is this guy?" Ron cuts in, trying to peer closer to the screen as if that will help him see the newcomer behind Kim.

"The form says 'Norman Midable'," Wade responds.

The other student steps closer to Kim, eyeing her device with interest, and she tilts the Kimmunicator over so that they both can be seen by the camera.

He gives a jaunty little salute. "But you can call me Nor."

~~~

It really is more a matter of when than a matter of if.

"Excuse me, hi," someone interrupts Kim where she's sitting out on a picnic table in the quad doing her assigned reading. She looks up confusedly at the young girl, probably a freshman like she is, looking nervous and embarrassed.

"Hi," Kim answers, wary but kind. "Can I help you?"

That's what you do right? Help people?

The words of that guy from her WGSS class flit through her head, unbidden and annoying. She forces it out of her mind as quickly as it came in.

"Yes! Well, no. Uh…" the student trails off. Kim surreptitiously looks around, wondering if Ron's routine emails to Prank'd finally resulted in her appearance on the show.

Finally, the girl musters up the courage to say what she wants to say. "Are you Kim Possible?" she blurts out.

Oh. Kim can't help the embarrassed twist to her smile. "Yeah, that's me."

The girl plops down in the seat opposite from her in relief. "Oh my gosh, hi! I heard you were going to attend this school, but I thought it was just a rumour!"

Kim gives a strained smile. As nice as they always are, she's still not used to people recognising her while she's doing basic, average girl things.

"Well, clearly not a rumour," she jokes awkwardly. "I really go here."

"That's so cool. You know, you came to my hometown once! Yeah, there was a boat stuck in the canal, and you were able to clear it out with, like, wine and a spyglass, or something. If the canal were blocked for any longer, my uncle wouldn't have been able to bring his shipment downstream and would have lost out on a major contract. Literally, he was up a creek without a paddle."

Kim's awkwardness melts into genuine pride, and she chuckles freely at the other's joke. "I'm glad to hear that I helped your family out, even if it's indirectly. That was down in Mississippi, right? I remember that."

The two of them happily converse about each other's hometowns and some of Kim's most memorable missions. Her reading can wait. She's just happy to find someone who didn't treat her like she was too cool to talk to them or who clearly just wanted to be able to say that they met Kim Possible once.

It's nice while it lasts.

"Howdy, ladies," someone greets as he smoothly slides into the seat next to hers at the picnic table.

The other girl shoots Kim a quick, weirded out look, and Kim nods concedingly to show the situation is still under control. "This is Norman," she says as she gestures to the intruder with an eye roll. "I met him in WGSS, and I thought he would know better than to butt into people's conversations uninvited." She directs the second half of her statement to Nor with a pointed look.

Nor simply shrugs. "The more the merrier, right?" He leans across the table with an outstretched hand. "Hiya. No need to be so formal; you can call me Nor."

The girl warily reaches out to accept his handshake. "Hi, I'm—"

"—Not obligated to divulge your identity if you're genuinely uncomfortable," Kim interjects with a stink eye still directed towards Nor.

"Who's uncomfortable? Not me." Nor laces his fingers behind his head and leans back in affected nonchalance. Since there isn't anything to actually support him, he's just suspending himself at an unnatural angle in the air.

Kim darts her hand out to topple him over, but Nor's spasm to avoid her touch results in his backwards fall anyway. Nor yelps, and Kim is still laughing at him even when she leans over to help him upright again.

"Are we still meeting up later?" Kim asks through a giggle as she sweeps some grass off Nor's hair and the back of his shirt.

"Yeah, why?" Nor asks, roughly mimicking the same sweeping motion on Kim for the sole purpose of annoying her.

He succeeds; she swats his arms away. "Then why are you bothering me now if you know you'll see me later?"

"Uh, is there a maximum on how often I can see you in one day? Come on, Kim."

She doesn't respond, instead trying to force the bookbag he took off back into his hands while trying to tug the zipper closed. "I'll see you later then," Kim underscores.

"Alright, alright. I can tell when I'm not wanted." Nor finally takes the bag into his own grasp and heaves himself out of his seat. He bids goodbye to the other girl, "I hope I get to meet you again without Kim Jong-un over here dictating when and where I go."

Kim gasps in offense, and Nor winks. "Laters."

Needing to have the last word, Kim calls out after him, "Yes! I will see you 'later'!"

She stares after him until she's sure he won't turn around and bother them again. Her squinted eyes smooth into something much friendlier when she finally turns her attention back to her new friend and her amused look. "I'm so sorry about that," Kim effuses.

"No problem," the girl brushes off easily. "Was that your boyfriend?"

Kim chokes on air. "W-what?" she coughs out.

The other student offers her water bottle, but Kim waves her off. "No, no. He's not my boyfriend," she eventually gets out. "I do have one, but he's working back home."

"Ah," the girl intones. "Well, you better watch out for that one"—she points in the direction where Nor had walked away—"'cause I think he likes you."

Kim twists her face into an are-you-sure-about-that expression, and the girl shrugs like hey-you-never-know.

"So, what's your boyfriend like?" she redirects. "Can I see a picture?"

Kim is more than happy to oblige.

~~~

Between instances like that one, the events her Resident Assistant puts on, and small talk with her classmates, Kim slowly gets to know more and more people. It helps make the big campus feel a little smaller, and it definitely soothes the homesickness for Middleton that lances through her every now and then.

She'd even call some of those people friends, but she hasn't been able to find anyone she gels with that well. At least, no one except—

"Nor! This isn't research!"

The two of them are in the library, supposedly doing independent research in order to pick a topic for their WGSS paper. Kim presumed the frantic and intermittent typing on Nor's end was the creation of an annotated bibliography while she thumbed through books, but a chance glance on his screen reveals an active forum of some sorts instead.

"Uh, ch'yeah it is, Kim," Nor retorts like it should have been obvious. "There are bozos on the internet who think Truman Capote was the real author of To Kill a Mockingbird just because they can't handle it when a woman is successful. That sounds like prime WGSS material to me! How can I be expected to properly defend my stance without fully understanding the opposing narrative's standpoint?"

Kim faceplms. "We're writing a term paper, Nor, not a blog post for your latest conspiracy-theory-of-the-week fixation!"

Nor patronisingly shakes his head. "Kim, Kim, Kim… Wait, what's that short for, by the way? 'Kimothy'?"

"Nor!"

"Is there a problem here, Ms. Audible?" a gruff voice snarks from behind her.

Kim and Nor wince in their seats before turning around to face the school's librarian.

"No problem at all, Professor Snarkin," Kim says in that tone people use when they know nothing they say is going to be good enough for the other person to hear.

"Is that so? Well, there shouldn't be any problems then when I kick you out of the library for disturbing the peace."

Nor checks his watch. "Could you kick us out in about 30 to 40 minutes? If I wait any longer than that, I'll be late for my next class."

"You'll be later than that if I end up burying you under the Archaeology tomes for the juniors to find during their labs! Out, now!"

Kim and Nor quickly scramble to collect their things and hightail it out of the library. As soon as the door swings closed behind them, they're greeted by a blur of white tackling Nor in the gut and making him spill the contents of his never-fully-closed bookbag.

"Igor! How are ya, buddy?" Nor exclaims with no heed paid to his other belongings.

Kim shakes her head at the scene. "An albino gopher. Nor, you ever think about circumventing the college's no-pet rules with something more normal?"

"Like what?" Nor asks obliviously as he ruffles Igor's fur.

"Like something not albino!"

"Kimothy, Kimothy, Kimothy—"

"—That's not my name."

"Oh, it isn't? … Well, anyway—"

"We need to pick a WGSS topic today, Nor," Kim interrupts before Nor could launch into a long winded and almost-impressive-in-its-meaninglessness tirade on something or another. "Come on, we'll try to find spots in the student union instead."

Igor follows along happily as the two students make their way through campus in companionable silence. The late September weather is still warm, but something in the air tells them autumn will make its appearance any day now.

"You know, when I first signed up for WGSS, I thought it was gonna involve a lot more women and sex than it does."

Kim snorts. That much is obvious.

Nor continues, "I should have known on the first day that something was up when there weren't nearly as many dudes in the hall as I expected."

"It's not too late to drop," Kim teases.

"And leave you all alone to write a paper about Truman Capote?"

"If you intended for him to be the topic of the paper instead of Harper Lee herself, maybe you actually should drop."

She cuts a sideway glance at Nor just in time to catch a smirk on his face that must mirror her own. He draws her into a quick one-armed side hug before ruffling her hair as he pushes her back to her side of the sidewalk.

"If you think that's all it takes to get rid of me, Possible, think again."

Kim fights a lot of things; but even she can't fight the smile on her face as she makes a show out of complaining and fixing her hair.

~~~

"... And get this: he eats his cheeseburgers with fries, chips, and mashed potatoes on it! 'I call it the 'potager'. Wanna bite?'" Kim pitches her voice low and nasally to imitate Nor before bursting into giggles. "Gorchy!"

As Kim wraps up her tale of when she and Nor hung out a few days ago while working on their final project, Ron gets a funny feeling in his chest.

"Oh, oh, and one time he even brought one to class! The professor had to dismiss him because he sounds like a freaking food processor when he chews. There's technically no food ban in the syllabus, but I think they'll include one this semester just for Nor."

It takes a second, but Ron recognises it as jealousy. Before he knows it, he's abruptly changing the subject. "How tall is this guy?"

Kim takes in stride, however, and tries to imagine Nor for a second. "Uh, about your height? He gels his hair up; it's hard to say."

"What was his class rank in high school?" he continues determinedly. Kim snorts. "His high school didn't do class ranks. He says that's half the reason he was even able to get into this university."

"Does he play any sports?"

"I don't even think he plays sports video games."

"What's his BMI?"

"And how exactly am I supposed to know that?"

"Hnnnngh, fine. Bueno Nacho or Cow 'n' Chow?"

"Ha. Cow 'n' Chow."

"Has he ever saved the world or done any freak fighting?"

"Definitely not; we'd have heard of him if he did."

Ron sits back in his seat, satisfied with the information he's gathered. "Wow, this guy is even more mediocre than I am!"

"Ron!"

"What?" he defends. "Can you blame me for trying to learn a little more about the guy that you're spending all your time with now?"

"I think your motive is just a tad more ulterior than that," Kim admonishes.

"Ahhh. School word, KP."

Kim rolls her eyes, but she can't help how her mouth quirks at the corners. The older she gets, the more she realises how hard it is to admit something you don't know; but Ron rarely ever has that problem.

"Why don't you tell me what's really going on?" she asks with a conceding tone. When Ron struggles with what to say to her, she senses that this is a bigger deal than she originally ascertained.

She watches him as much as she can through the screen while she waits. She hasn't spent this long this far apart from him in forever, and moments like this one hit her with how much she's taken his proximity for granted. This conversation would be a lot easier sitting on the couch in her den side by side, his hands in hers.

"It's like I said, Kim. You spend a lot of time with this guy now, is all," Ron eventually gets out. "You didn't even come home for the long weekend."

Kim doesn't like where her mind went next, but it's worth it to voice and seek clarification on your understanding of a situation. It's a habit that's saved her life more times than she can count.

"Do," she starts, then stops, then starts again, "Do you think I would leave you for some guy I just met?"

Ron lets out an audible sigh, and Kim bites her lips at the admission. How long has she been making him feel this way?

"Maybe not leave me, but…"

"Ron." She's pleading, though she couldn't pinpoint what exactly it is she's asking for. "I honestly can't imagine myself ever leaving you, for Nor or for anyone! You're not just my boyfriend; you're my best friend. Remember my promise at the beginning of the semester? I'm not gonna break it six weeks in."

Cursed with an audiographic memory of anything Kim Possible has ever said, Ron cannot help how his brain remembers the exact phrasing of her promise, phrasing that does not cover the situation in which they've found themselves.

And yet, he understands that Kim invoked the memory of the promise for what she really means it to mean, so he resolves to let it go.

"You're my best friend too, KP," he says with a small smile.

Kim mirrors it with a palpable sense of relief; and Ron reminds himself that it was she who was waiting for him the whole time, not the other way around. Now it's his turn.

Ron would be the first to admit he was anxious about Kim going off to college. He had nightmares of Kim attending fancy seminars or college parties, meeting people who could talk intelligently about the things she cares about, getting bored of him and the kinds of experiences being with him entails. What could a high school boyfriend—who takes cooking classes at night,and daylights at Smarty Mart, and stays behind in their hometown—give her that college couldn't?

to: Kim <3 hola kp, think u got time 4 a chatty chat 2nite?

from: Kim <3 sorry Ron :( the school's community haunted house is in desperate need of volunteers

Luckily for him, college didn't transform Kim overnight. Even with her advisor's recommendation to hold off on extracurriculars for a semester, she still has the same extreme aversion to staying still that she did in high school; the only difference is that he can't be along for the ride. He told himself he could handle that, and he can. Really.

But only to an extent.

from: Kim <3 and Nor's acting like he's too busy to help me help them, so I have to deal with him too :P

from: Kim <3 I think I'll have time on Tuesday!

After reading the latest messages from Kim, Ron throws his Ronnunicator over his shoulder in frustration and plops face down on his bed.

He almost wishes Kim would attend fancy seminars and college parties, just to do something that isn't hanging out with Nor for once.

Ron sneers at the name even as he says it in his mind.

The two of them study together; they explore the collegetown, or go to the movies, or walk around the park; he introduces her to frankly genius fast food concoctions…

Ron's seen this movie before.

He's 100% sure that this Nor character already likes or is in love with Kim, and Ron can't even blame him. Thanks to Bonnie's active efforts, Kim is completely unaware of the kind of magnetic pull she has on people: she's a one-two punch to the heart with her looks and her personality, and she soothes the wound with a smile. Nor would have to lack both eyes and ears to be immune against the full force of Kim's charms for the extended periods of time that he's been spending with her.

What's worse? Kim likes him back. She likes him back, and she doesn't even know it.

Sure, she may not be a crushing sheep around Nor—though, Ron almost wishes she were; that's a Kim he knows how to handle—but she regards him with affection and familiarity. There's an ease and a comfort to the way Kim talks about the guy that Ron hasn't seen from her since… well, since him.

Despite what she says or what she intends, there is a very real chance that she develops genuine feelings for her classmate. What then? What happens then, and what is he willing to do about it?

Rufus scurries over to the Ronnunicator to read the message log still open on screen. "Kim, Kim!" he chitters.

Ron forces himself back into an upright position and picks up the device to see what Rufus was talking about: a new message came in while he was dwelling.

from: Kim <3 my morning class lets out at noon, let's call over lunch?

to: Kim <3 i do miss my kp lunch dates. alrite, c u then! good luck with the haunted house

to: Kim <3 as long as u tell the truth all night long, maybe u'll actually enjoy urself this time

from: Kim <3 ha ha ha. thanks :P

from: Kim <3 talk to you later, i love you!

to: Kim <3 rite back at ya kp :*

Ron lightly scratches Rufus' back as he scurries up the sleeve to Ron's shoulder. "We haven't lost her yet, buddy."

~~~

One Saturday afternoon, Nor texts her asking if she wants to go to the mall then to Cow 'n' Chow on the way back, and she jumps on the offer immediately. She hasn't gone shopping in forever! Besides, with the November chill finally settling in, she'll need some layers to tide her over until she can switch out her wardrobe for winter clothes during Thanksgiving break.

She asks him when he wants her to pick him up, and he says it's no big, he'll drive.

Strangely, his response causes a sense of impending to strike through her chest. It's a familiar feeling that has saved her life more times than she can count; but without any noticeable threats in her physical environment, she pushes the feeling down. It's just a trip to the mall with her best friend—her best college friend, she amends in her mind. If she happens upon any trouble while she's out, she can handle it like she always does. She's Kim Possible.

She texts back that she'll be ready in fifteen, and Nor arrives in thirty. Kim opens up the passenger seat and greets him with a glare.

"You think this happens by accident?" he defends, gesturing to his casual outfit and gelled hair with a raised eyebrow and his tongue literally in his cheek.

"I think you're an accident," she shoots back as she clicks her seatbelt. "Come on. The mall closes in four, and it'll take the better part of an hour to get there."

Nor hollers with laughter as he peels out of the parking lot of Kim's dormitory. "Is that how Planet Earth's Sweetheart Kim Possible should be speaking to the populace she's meant to protect?"

Kim groans good-naturedly. "Oh my god, don't call me that. It's so embarrassing."

"What's so embarrassing? In fact, I think you should be outraged. It's not good enough! You shouldn't rest until you're the Sweetheart of the entire solar system!"

Nor's so ridiculous. "Seriously, please stop talking."

"I'd tell you to shoot for the stars, but the title of Galaxy's Sweetheart is already taken by the winner of last season's Lowardia's Next Top Model, Wardrangea."

Kim can't even respond with how hard she's laughing, and Nor finally lets up on his joke so he can join her. The comforting blur of the scenery whizzing by, the happy and relaxed feeling in her shoulders, the sound of Nor's laughter trickling down into giggles… She likes that she can focus on those entirely from her spot in the passenger's seat. It's nice to be driven for a change.

When they reach the mall, they stop at a directory since it's both of their first times there. Nor's in the market for a new pair of sneakers, but he's in no rush. They pick a store clear on the opposite side of the mall so that they can stop and explore in a gradual meandering towards their destination.

As they walk, Kim points out storefronts whose contents she wants to check out, Nor explains his theory that shopping over the Internet is going to become so popular that it'll render the brick-and-mortar shopping experience obsolete within the next ten years, and they both share a laugh at how ridiculous that sounds.

Relaxation settles over her like a physical thing. This is the first time all semester she's done something just for herself, where there's no expectation of her and she can be a basic, average girl—and what's more basic and average than a trip to the mall with your best college friend?

By the end of the day, Kim gains a few new sweaters from Old Maroon and a cute jacket from Club Banana, and Nor is proudly rocking his new kicks, his old pair carried in his bag. On the way back to the car, she doesn't think about it too hard when she offers to drive them back. "CNC is, like, right next to the school; you'd basically be driving us the whole way back. It's only fair that I take the return trip."

"We're hanging out at a local mall, not roadtripping to South Dakota," Nor deadpans. "We don't need to take turns."

She's embarrassed that she asked, but she refuses to show it. "I was just offering. What's in South Dakota?" she redirects as she and Nor load the backseat with their things. "I was there once on a search and rescue mission for a little kid who got lost in a corn field, but I didn't get a chance to look around."

"The Six Grandfathers, Kimothy! A.K.A. the greatest cover-up job in American history!"

With a wry smile, she settles into the passenger car seat as she buckles herself in for another of Nor's conspiracy theories. "Do tell."

"You've heard of Mount Rushmore, surely. Well, that mountain is known to the local tribes as the Six Grandfathers, and…"

Nor excitedly babbles about the long-held belief that there is a secret room carved into the mountain behind Abraham Lincoln which houses national secrets while he drives, and Kim just sits back and lets his voice fill the space.

Throughout the whole mall excursion, the impending never fully went away. She refused to let it spoil her good time; but now, with the feeling growing the further along they go, it is begging to be acknowledged.

In line at Cow 'n' Chow, she thinks about mentioning it to Nor when they sit down, but he starts a conversation before she can bring it up.

"What does the word 'transaction' mean to you?" Nor asks before taking a sip of his soda. He is leaned back slightly and turned on his side to face her, adjoined countertop seats being the only ones available when they arrived.

Completely taken aback by the random question, Kim has to take a second before answering him. "Isn't that just, like, an exchange? I go to Club Banana, give the cashier money, and get to walk out with a new jacket."

Nor nods as he assembles his potager. "Yes, yes. Exactly that. Has anyone ever told you that you seem to have a transactions-centric approach to your relationships?"

She makes a face. "What does that even mean?"

"Like… Look at your whole business model. You don't exchange cash; you just ask the people you've helped for favours when it's convenient—favours, I will point out, which they're already capable of providing. This makes the transactions more personal and therefore more valuable or memorable to you, and you've been operating that way since middle school. That's bound to have long-term effects on your perception of the world. Why else would shopping be your favourite hobby?"

He adds the last part as a joke, but Kim has stopped staring at him like she was humouring him and has since started paying rapt attention. He's startled enough at the sight to lose his train of thought, and he continues with less assuredness. "Right, uh. So… Couple that with the fact you're just a genuinely nice person, and I bet it ends up being net-negative for you. I've only known you for a few months, but it seems like your whole existence is so rooted in what you can do for others that when things are done for you unprompted—like today with the car ride—it straight up triggers a recalibration."

Kim still hasn't said anything, so Nor finally bites into his meal, giving her time to think.

And think she does. She completely ignores her own meal as her mind conjures up memory after memory: times she went out of her way to express appreciation for someone after a favour as small as sharing a pencil sharpener in class; tantrums of But I was good! in her youth when she didn't yet understand that behaving well wasn't praised with extra cookies the way behaving poorly resulted in no cookies at all.

"I… think you're onto something," she admits slowly, hesitantly.

Nor raises his eyebrows at her. "What's with the tone?"

"Well, what am I supposed to do with that? How do I fix it?"

He's waving his hands in the air before she even finishes her question. "No! No no no no no. There's nothing to fix! You're clearly happy and fulfilled. I was just… I had a suspicion and wanted to see if I was right. I thought you might have noticed or known this about yourself already. It wasn't meant to mean anything."

"But this isn't normal, right?" she argues.

Nor registers the note of self-criticism sneaking its way into her voice and realises he's messed up. He quickly pulls her into a side hug, hardly a feat with how close the countertop seats are positioned. "Aw, Kimothy. You can't let yourself think like that. 'Always be abnormal,' that's what I always say! Here, have a fry. That'll make you feel better."

The chatter and clatter of a busy restaurant fade into silence as he waves a fry in front of her face, slow motion. The press of his hand on her shoulder and his arm around her back is grounding. Despite the discontent from the previous conversation, she feels comforted here. This place, this ambience, this feeling… it's all so familiar.

There is no more impending.

"... Kim?"

She opens her eyes, and Nor's face is way closer than she remembers it being. The sounds come rushing into her consciousness like a CD on fast forward, and her hand is on Nor's cheek.

"Kim, what was that?"

What has she done.

She stands up abruptly, balance honed from years of cheerleading and freak-fighting being the only thing stopping her from stumbling onto the ground.

"I gotta go," she says, but she is already out the door.

#kim possible #kim possible fanfiction #ron stoppable #kim x ron #k/r #xyzc*#cotsots

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