Note: This story was based on a prompt from my wife.

Kim landed on her feet after a graceful backflip and looked down to assess the damage. As she suspected, her shirt was torn in three places from Shego's well-filed claws, and one rip was large enough to leave a four inch gap along the bottom of the fabric. Her midriff was exposed, and while that wasn't an issue, the irreparable damage was.

"This was my favorite shirt," she shouted, "and they don't even make it anymore!"

"Too bad, so sad," mocked Shego, readying for another round with the cheerleader.

Drakken scurried around behind her, dodging Ron's attempts at capture, managing to half-fall into the hovercraft, start the engine, and lift it off the ground before Ron could get a grip on the vehicle. The boy fell a few feet, unhurt, waving his arms pathetically as he refused to admit defeat.

"Shego! Let's go."

With a wink at her still disheartened opponent, Shego performed a few backflips of her own and landed in the backseat of the hovercraft. Shoving Drakken to the passenger side, she climbed over the seat and took control, lifting them away from the scene.

Kim huffed a sigh and walked up to her partner.

"You okay, KP?"

"Just a scratch. But... my shirt." She frowned. "I can't patch it up this time."

Ron shrugged. "At least it's just a shirt though, right? I mean, not like we have to patch you up."

Kim had to agree with that. "True." She sighed again. "But, still."

For once, the altercation had been somewhere close enough for Kim to drive her car and not depend on Wade and all his contacts for transportation. She drove Ron home, waved good night to Rufus, and wearily entered her house.

It wasn't quite full dark, but her dad had already gone to bed. Or wasn't home yet, working late at the lab, even on a Saturday evening. Either was a possibility.

Her mom was waiting up, as she always did when Kim had a mission. She really needed to get her mom into using the cell phone. Then Kim could call or text her to reassure her safety, on missions where she wasn't home until the wee hours of the morning, or some missions where it might last a day or two. Worrying about her mother's insomnia would not make the mission any easier.

"Are you all right, Kimmie?"

"I'm fine, mom. My shirt has seen its last though, I think."

Ann Possible drew her daughter into the kitchen for better light. "Hm, I'm afraid you're right, honey. I can probably patch the shoulder, but this tear here won't stitch well. We can just get you another one this weekend, though."

"No, they stopped making this shirt a few months ago." Kim flicked the torn piece of purple cloth. "This was my last one."

"I'm sorry," Ann said, sincerely, since she knew how attached her daughter became to her wardrobe once she found a combination she liked. "You're going to go upstairs and take care of this scratch, right? I don't have to follow after you?"

Kim smiled. "Yes, mom. I'm going to go upstairs right now and make sure it's clean, dry, and then I'll add some antiseptic ointment. How's that?"

"Good girl. I love you, Kimmie," Ann said, kissing her forehead. "Get some sleep."

"You too, mom. You don't have to wait up, you know."

"Yes, I do."

Kim followed her mother upstairs and turned right into her room as her mother continued down the hall towards the master bedroom. As she'd promised, Kim removed the tattered shirt and then set to cleaning and caring for the scratch across her abdomen. It was not deep by any stretch of the imagination, but at about four inches long, infection was still a concern if it was left alone.

That done, the redhead fell into bed, still upset that not only had she lost her favorite shirt but Shego and Drakken had escaped, but exhaustion claimed her before anger could take root.

Kim spent Sunday trying not to mope, but by the time Monday rolled around, a pop quiz in History kept her occupied and at lunch, she realized it was silly to be so hung up about a piece of clothing. So, yes, it was her favorite. That didn't mean she couldn't get a new favorite.

The one she was wearing just then, red with white clouds on the bottom half, was probably not a candidate. It didn't quite replace the fit and design of the other. In addition to the solid purple color, it had been her favorite due to the comfort of the cut, a turtleneck-short-sleeve pattern the company no longer used.

But it was still possible. She'd develop another favorite that looked good with her mission pants and was almost as comfortable. She would.

And so, when she got home and trudged up to her room, tossing her backpack on the floor, she was startled to find a gift on the middle of her bed.

Her shirt.

Her favorite shirt.

Her favorite, comfortable, purple, turtleneck-short-sleeve, not-made-anymore, shirt.

But, how? She picked it up and examined it thoroughly. This was not her old one, there were no signs of wear, no patches or stitching from spots that had been torn and repaired. Just to be sure, she glanced in the small trash can by her desk. Nope, old and tattered shirt was still there.

Maybe her mom had bought an extra during a previous shopping trip and just forgotten about it?

No, she would have said something Friday night. Unless she'd forgotten until she checked her closet Monday morning before work?

Maybe.

Regardless of the source, Kim was pleased. She hung the shirt up in her own closet, ready to be worn the next time a mission called for it.

She'd do better to keep away from Shego's nails next time.