Author's Note- I really should be shot for doing a Timmy/Trixie. But that's where this story headed and you know what? I'm not terribly unhappy about that.

Disclaimer: Although I'm ascribing to an idea perpetuated by Butch Hartman and, until Channel Chasers, quite possibly the future for our intrepid heroes, I do not own it any of the characters herein. They are owned by their respective companies and I own nothing, aside from the story of this one-shot.

Reflections in a Shallow Pool

She was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and, in many people's opinions, a pedigree in bitchiness. She was the elite, better than everyone, and she let them know it. No one outshone her, she was Trixie Tang.

Chewing on an expensive, imported pencil, Trixie gazed about her luxurious room, newly redecorated thanks to that bucktoothed pink wearing loser. To think, she'd recently lost her mind enough to permit him to be her boyfriend. What folly.

Still, she had to admit he had a certain charm about him. Perhaps it was his daring, wearing pink and yet not adhering to the idea that he was completely straight. (She had no doubt he was, he nearly fell over every time he saw her). Or perhaps it was just how pathetic he was, always dashing after her with another crackpot way to win her heart. Of all her potential suitors, Timmy had to be the most dedicated.

Yes, Timmy- she knew his name. No matter how many times she called him 'Tommy', she really did know who he was. He was Timmy Turner, someone who she wouldn't pass up if it weren't for the fact he wasn't rich like her.

Money accounted for a lot in her world. As a matter of fact, those born in poverty were immediately stricken from family records, never to be spoken of again and the bane of their existence. Sometimes, if she just twisted her mind around it, she could vaguely remember an uncle Jack falling on hard times and buying a trailer to live in. Honestly, that was sadder than Timmy.

Speaking of sad, if she looked up the word, she knew she'd find Tootie. God, what a lovesick loser. The girl would do anything, anything at all, to get Timmy to notice her. She didn't blame Timmy for shunning her, she did the same. After all, who the hell wanted to hear a bratty, poor child whine and moan about someone who couldn't care less if they lived or died?

The only good thing about her was her sister Vicky, a girl she greatly admired. Such terror she invoked, and surely this came with the ability to manipulate men. Although she hadn't heard of anything recently as far as romantic entanglements, she was sure Vicky was on top of everything there.

All girls she knew like that were always entwining boys on their fingers. What good were boys if you couldn't play with their minds, make them think they were the boss? Whenever one looked at her with pining eyes, she could always act a little slutty and make their jaws drop. Then, just when they thought they were going to get ahead, she lost interest. She wasn't a slut- just a tease.

Her parents disdained teenage pregnancies. Therefore, her mother, castigated from her family, lent her one bit of advice before she vanished for parts unknown (middle class): "if you've got it, flaunt it. But just make sure you don't go too far with it. Don't fall for the hero."

Now, she wasn't entirely certain who the hero was in this tale, but she was no Cinderella. She wasn't going to wait for someone to deliver her from her world into their world, nor was she going to allow them to. She had one interest and one only- herself. Everyone else could go rot in hell.

But that returned her thoughts to Timmy. He had to be the most selfless admirer she'd ever met, literally risking rejection from every angle just to be with her. If she weren't afraid of (a), losing her status, (b), losing her family, and (c), losing her heart, she'd go with him in a second.

It wasn't that he had a way with words. Words had a way with him, darting away just when he was about to utter them.

Nor was he poetic or romantic. He was a boy; therefore, he possessed neither of these qualities. He'd never written her a ballad of epic proportions, one worthy of praise, nor had he laid out a picnic for two in the schoolyard.

And he wore pink! Pink, for a boy, that was truly heinous. If she didn't know better, she'd say his friends were far more than friends. But she did know better, and just ignored them.

For instance, she happened to know A.J. harbored a crush on her. It was harmless infatuation and he'd never acted upon it. He wasn't a slave to love, like Timmy was (something she found cute).

A.J. was just there- too smart to be noticed even if he was rich. If he lost a few I.Q. points and Timmy left the picture, she might give him a second look. And he should be honored that the great Trixie Tang did so, because knowing a loser's name was a huge accomplishment.

Of course she knew more than Timmy's name. She knew where he lived, even his phone number. Naturally, she'd never called him, but she'd thought about it. Fantasized about what she'd say, how she'd say it, and what his reaction would be. But no, too risky.

In fact, if she were pressured to admit it, she knew about as much about Timmy as Tootie, only she didn't stalk him to get it. She hired private investigators, skeptical that this much information was needed about a ten-year-old boy, but bribed with a hundred dollars above their fee to keep mum. Her knowledge of him spanned a novel, including the mystery of the goldfish.

No one seemed to know why he kept goldfish, nor why he was accompanied by pink and green objects. She didn't ascribe to the theory they were fairies, there was no such thing. No deity deigned when people would be happy, it was up to them to forge their own destiny. No amount of wishing would change that.

Still, this was another thing she liked about him, the air of mystery. Boys who were too plain were boring, but he had just enough to keep him intriguing. Why his parents just didn't buy him braces, what was up with the pink, and the weird accomplishes- her investigator couldn't tell her all that. It wouldn't do to ask the parents of her obsession questions about him.

She wasn't really allowed to obsess over him. Her obsession wasn't blatant, either, not raging like Tootie's. Instead, it was quiet, the occasional sneak of a glance when she thought he was looking, a flirtacious smile, the cursory touch of her hand on his. Such actions gave her a thrill she could not explain, but it had to be similar to the one Tootie experienced when she shouted Timmy's name.

Seriously, though, who did that? You couldn't tell boys you liked them at that age unless you were certain they liked you first. Tootie just wasn't cute enough to pull that off. Therefore, she terrified Timmy.

At an early age, she'd learned exclusion- how to do it, who to hurt, and who it affects. She'd been assigned a bodyguard who taught her the basics, even providing her with a helpful chart. Until she was fit for society, these lessons were drilled in her head.

Next to her left hand was her princess pink telephone. Her hand wavered indecisively towards it, had done so since she realized she had a thing for him. Usually, when she got the urge to call him, she called Veronica and regained her sanity. But Veronica was out of town for a week, leaving her to her own devices.

If she called him, was there a possibility his parents would answer? Did they let him talk to girls? She really knew nothing about the home situation, just everything about his personality, likes and dislikes, and a few more personal details.

To her back, the TV blared, running Kissy Kissy Goo Goo. It was summer, and she was cool, just not happy. But, a voice whispered in her head, you know how to fix that.

The hand gripping her pencil, scratching out a personal reject to one of her suitors, grew sweaty. She reached for a tissue, imported from France, when her eyes fell upon a letter written in Timmy's scrawling handwriting. This was the seventh in two days, he was getting desperate.

Would it be so horrible if she called him and asked him out? Sure, it went against everything she was taught and she risked her popularity, bought for her, just to do it, but was happiness worth it? Did Timmy have the power to make her happy?

Delicately slipping a perfectly manicured fingernail inside the envelope, she pulled out the letter. It was written, naturally, on pink paper, but, instead of making her snicker, it made her smile. Everything he did was just so cute.

Dear Trixie (it read):

I know you've heard this a thousand times and you think I'm a loser, but if you just give me a chance, I know you'll like me. I mean, a guy with a psychotic fan can't make proposals to you every day.

Trixie laughed. The letter continued in pretty much the same vain for five paragraphs, begging her to think about it in the very least. The signature caught her eye, though.

P.S. Before you file this in the rejection folder, at least make sure you handwrite my reply. I want to see your beautiful handwriting before my heart breaks.

Before she knew it, her hand was on the telephone, dialing a number she knew well but had never dared to complete. She was so nervous, she nearly dropped the pencil and the receiver.

"Hello?" Timmy asked and she breathed a sigh of relief. At least she didn't have to deal with his parents.

"Hi," Trixie said softly. " I have an opening in my schedule this afternoon, so I was wondering if you wanted to do something."

"Are you asking me out on a date?!" He yelped in pleasure and she could just see him dancing around the room, hooting.

Grinning widely, she replied, "It depends. Are you going to stand around and act like an ape or are you going to give me an answer?"

"Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" He yelled, so loudly she had to hold the receiver at arm's length. Wow, what a pair of lungs.

"I'll be there at three." Because I already know where you live.

Listening to him cry gleefully raised her spirits more than she thought possible. Maybe things weren't so bad, maybe her parents would understand. Besides, what did she care? She'd fallen for the hero.