This is a response to a challenge on KP Slash Haven. It's also a bit more dramatic than I'm used to writing, so if it seems awkward in places, now you know why. Thanks to those there that liked the cookie. Hopefully this whets the desire for more of them.

In Memoriam Feminae Viridis

By Ken-Zero

It really wasn't supposed to be like this…

Kim Possible sucked on the knuckles of her right hand as she stared at the sitch that had rapidly gone way out of her control. The sting of her tongue playing over the split flesh helped her focus her mind, keep it from wandering…keep her from giving up and letting the helplessness and sadness and feelings of self-hatred take over.

Again. She'd done it again. She'd gone and gotten so worked up, angrier than ever, and the bantering didn't help, only increased the heat that boiled all those feelings together under the rigid control of her composure, increasing the pressure until finally she snapped and…and…

Kim shook her head violently; there would be time enough for introspection and other personal activities later. For now, though, she had two priorities: saving her own life—and that of the body lying in front of her right now—and doing everything in her power to make the sitch right again.

That was what she did best: make things right. After all…she could do anything.

Clinging onto that last thought like it was a lifeline to sanity, Kim collected the body into her arms, mindful of its dead weight—she winced at the term; Really bad choice of words, she commented in her head—and making sure to keep her movements as smooth as possible lest she inadvertently damage something else…unlike the apparently-completely-advertent damage she'd already done. It slowed her movement speed by quite a bit, but in Kim's mind right now, the payoff was well worth it.

Deep booming noises and shaking floors indicated she was running out of time, but she found what she was looking for: the exit. As quickly as she dared she passed through it and into the darkness beyond, and not a moment too soon: behind her the structure continued its slow self-demolition, eventually crumbling down to large piles of rubble and twisted bits of steel poking out. By that time, though, Kim and her passenger were far enough away that the falling of the structure meant nothing to them.

Outside it was deep night, and the cloud cover ensured that there was little-to-no moonlight to assist her vision. There was heat at her back as the building slowly smoldered, but the night air was relatively cool, as it should be for the end of summer. Distant sounds of sirens heralded the approaches of emergency vehicles. After examining the area for anyone else, Kim lay the body on the ground, again moving as slowly and gently as she could. The face on the body was completely relaxed save for the line of blood down one side, but even that was dried and flaking off, which relieved Kim, if only a little bit. On that face was an expression Kim had never once expected to see gracing it; she actually halfway expected it to default to its usual scowling appearance.

Nothing else appeared out of place on that body, but Kim wanted to leave nothing to chance; she prodded its limbs with her fingers, feeling nothing out of place. She put her ear to its abdomen, then its chest. She could hear nothing out of the ordinary; in fact, the heartbeat sounded strong, to her. Then again, anything that wasn't dead would probably sound strong to her, in Kim's current state of mind.

She sat back from the body, her feet under her, and took in the scene again. She could feel tears welling in her eyes, and as much as she told herself to hold them in she just couldn't. The guilt, the worry; everything hit her at once, and this time her willpower simply wasn't enough to hold it back.

She stayed that way for some minutes, weeping quietly at the evil she'd wrought; she couldn't think of a more appropriate description for what she'd done.

A noise interrupted her crying, and she felt her pants vibrate briefly as the distinctive four-note chime of her Kimmunicator sounded again from her pocket. Sniffling, she wiped her face off and pulled it out, hitting the key to receive the call but leaving the screen off. "Go, Wade," she said, her voice watery but otherwise clear.

"Just making sure you got out okay," the voice of her eleven-year-old supergenius said. She heard tinges of worry in it, and that just made her feel worse.

"Yeah, I did," she said, her voice catching on the last word so half of it came out in something of a squeak. She cleared her throat. "Look, Wade, I…I need to go," she said.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I'll be fine," she assured him. And really, she would be. Eventually.

"Okay, Kim." It was obvious he didn't believe her, but it was equally obvious he wasn't going to push her into saying anything, for which she was quite thankful. She ended the call and put the device away and was on the verge of sitting there and moping again when a plan suddenly came to mind.

Drying the rest of her tears, she picked up the body again, treating it a little less like glass and a little more like an unconscious body, and made her way over to her own vehicle. She lifted her victim slightly, enough to allow her to rotate her wrist and gain a small amount of use from her hand, and opened the door to her car, lifting the gull-wing door until the hydraulic piston took over and opened it the rest of the way. She deposited the body on the back seat, arranging it as carefully as she could, even buckling it up to keep it from sliding around. Kim climbed into the driver seat and shut the door, heaving a shuddering sigh as she simply sat there for a second.

Finally, though, her usual persona resurfaced. Kim buckled herself in, twisted the ignition fob, and felt the engine of the Sloth rumble to life. She once again sent a mental thank-you to the Tweebs for their super-souping of her car all those months ago as she took off, careful to keep her driving smooth yet still moving with all possible haste. She made good progress, the modified engine enabling her to cruise along at speeds that would make even that deranged mechanic Motor Ed proud.

Inside, Kim was barely managing to keep her turmoil at bay. Her usually-indomitable will had cracked back outside the ex-lair, and even now it was barely back in place. But now Kim Possible had a mission.

Kim was extremely glad for the fact that her mother's car wasn't visible in the hospital's parking lot. Much as she loved her mother, and knew that she was one of the best people in the universe for the trouble she thought her passenger was having, the situation would be far too awkward—awkweird, even, she thought with a mental chuckle—to entrust to the older Possible. Besides, it's not like Anne Possible was the only neurosurgeon at Middleton General Hospital, nor was she the only excellent one. She was the best, true, but the others were no slouches. In fact, there was Dr. Randy, Dr. Joseefson, Dr. Bruback, and…

She shook her head free of the rambling thoughts. Dr. Bruback's probably my best bet; he's the one Mom always says could take her place… So deciding, she parked the Sloth in an empty spot, taking advantage of the late hour and her desperation to park in a handicapped spot. Technically, one of us is handicapped… She practically ripped the door open, urgency gnawing at her insides, and unbuckled the still-unmoving body before lifting it free of the back seat and shutting the door. Adrenaline still fueled her movements, that and worry, and though she knew she'd be feeling it tomorrow it didn't bother her at all.

She marched inside the emergency receiving area, cradling the body against her own, receiving several surprised stares from people both working and staying at the hospital. Security guards also made moves her way, but the glare she shot at them halted them in their tracks—well, that and recognition, she guessed. It didn't matter, though. She had a mission.

Now she was by the elevators. This part of the hospital she knew well, for she'd entered it enough herself over the last few years. Her destination, she also knew well, for that was her mother's territory and Kim had been part of more than a few "Take Your Son/Daughter to Work" days. She waited patiently after pressing the appropriate button, and when the doors to the elevator slid open she boarded in silence, pressed the eighth-floor button in silence, watched the doors close in silence, and rode up in silence.

The ding sounded and the doors opened. Kim stepped out onto a floor almost devoid of activity, in stark contrast to the emergency receiving setting she'd just left. She turned left, walking past several observation rooms that all had open doors, until she found what she was looking for: an office. The name plate by the door read "Karl Bruback, M.D.," but Kim knew he had several other certifications, just like her mother. He just couldn't fit them all on the plate in a reasonably-sized font.

She knocked on the door. She knew it was unusual for a hospital to have a doctor's office, especially one near patient's rooms…then again, Middleton General was an unusual hospital, with an unusual staff.

Several seconds later the door opened, and the head of a man with very little hair—and what was left of it was salt-and-pepper—and small glasses on his face poked out. When he saw who was knocking he blinked several times.

"Miss Possible?" he asked.

Kim nodded, a small sense of relief flooding her. Her muscles were starting to ache from holding the body in her arms for so long, but she held on determinedly.

"What can I do for you?"

"Help her," Kim said simply, gently hefting the body. Its ultra-long straight-black hair almost reached the floor even with half of it bunched between Kim's arms and her passenger's head. The green-and-black suit still looked mostly pristine, except for a small spot of dark red on one shoulder. And her passenger's greenish skin looked slightly pale, or at least more so than usual.

"Isn't that…" Dr. Bruback began.

Kim nodded. "But that doesn't matter now. I need you to help her."

He blinked again. "Very well," he said, slipping into the role of medical professional instantly. "Tell me what happened while we walk."

And she did, explaining in halting sentences how the fight had progressed.

"Are we having fun yet, Princess?"

The taunt was delivered with its usual sarcasm. Shego stood there, paused in the middle of their usual fight, her hands still aglow with their plasma charge. She didn't even look like she was breathing hard. Kim, on the other hand, felt winded. Of course, having a day full of dealing with the Tweebs, arguing with her parents again about her college decisions, going at it with Bonnie, who still apparently hated Kim even though high school was over, and then having two missions in one day, would do that to her.

Ron, though, seemed to be having a ball dancing around Drakken's death-trap style defenses. Pits? A monkey-fueled leap cleared them easily. Lasers? Dodged by a hair's breadth, and disabled by flinging, of all things, bananas into their focal lenses. Why bananas? Kim didn't quite want to know, but she figured it had something to do with the fact that their last mission had been somewhere in South America. Spinning tops of doom? He didn't have to worry about those, since they were Señor Senior, Sr.'s trademark, and Drakken hadn't "outsourced" for that particular item yet.

Kim could hear all that going on behind her, but her attention was still focused on her true nemesis. True, Drakken hatched the plans and caused Wade to call Kim to save the world, but it was Shego who actually was the challenge. It pissed Kim off to no end that they were still at it, even after having helped save the world themselves, which meant she was angry to begin with. That meant she wasn't so focused in their fight, not as much as she should have been, and Shego was practically wiping the floor with her, which only made her angrier.

She didn't respond to the taunt, at least not verbally; she instead flung herself at her enemy, and their fight began anew. Kim could tell Shego was enjoying this; the look on her face said as much. She could also tell that Shego wasn't taking advantage of Kim's emotional state at the moment, which helped cool her down a little bit. After all, insulting as it might seem that Shego was going easy on her, at least it gave her a chance to get back in the game.

Shego smirked inwardly as she noticed Kim's movements improving. She could tell her verbal jabs were hurting as much as any foot or fist that might make it through the teen's defenses, and that was, of course, all part of her style; however, she wanted Kim at her best to provide the right sort of challenge. She'd seen the cheerleader upon her usual dramatic entrance, and thought she looked a bit worn-out, which was something of a surprise. Usually the Princess looked like she had the energy to take on the entire base by herself, even if it was late at night, but not today.

They separated again after several minutes, and now both were breathing heavily. Kim wanted to do nothing more than drop the villainess and her employer to the dirt, go home, and sleep the next day or two away.

Shego felt similarly, though she'd prefer to just have the buffoon hit the self-destruct button so they could all go home and prepare for the next time. But that meant, for now, she had to keep fighting Kim.

"What's the matter, Shego?" Kim called over. "You're as tired as I am, and you didn't have another mission before this." She faked a gasp. "Are you getting old?"

Shego smirked; her Princess was a fast learner in the taunting department. "What about you? Anxious to go home and get down and dirty with the buffoon?"

She saw the shock on Kim's face, feeling some of it mirrored within herself; where had that come from? Almost as a rule, Shego kept the taunting to surface-level attacks, picking on Kim's skill, her choice of dress—which Shego secretly appreciated, even as on the surface she derided it—her moves, her career in general, high school…the list was lengthy, but nine times out of ten—and point-nine times of the one remaining—Shego absolutely refused to make it that personal. The last time she had done that she'd ended up with a huge electrical tower doing its best to short-circuit her brain. And now…well, she knew she'd better be way on top of her efforts if she wanted to avoid a fate like that again.

Kim's expression quickly cleared to anger, though it was touched with sadness. "No, Shego," she said softly, and the green woman could hear the barely-controlled rage in her voice. "You drove us together, and then you drove us apart, and I have yet to properly thank you for that."

"Uh oh…" Shego wasn't too sure she liked the sound of that, so she resolved to keep from being "thanked properly" lest she regret it later.

The fight began again in earnest. This time Shego wasn't sure what she'd done wrong—well, what she'd done wrong to Kimmie—but whatever it was, it must have been horrendous, because the last time Kim had fought like this was that night of the Li'l Diablos.

Shego ducked a punch and quickly put her arms in front of her face as Kim tried to ram a knee into it; she rolled backwards from the force of the blow, putting some distance between them. Kim stalked forward, and Shego took the opportunity to feint a jab at her ribs before trying a sweep-kick. The redhead cleared her outstretched leg easily, though, snapping out with her own leg in an attempt to clock Shego across the head. The thief twisted aside, her hands dropping to the floor to support her sudden change in center of mass, and Kim's leg harmlessly flew over her head.

The follow-through wasn't so harmless; Kim's other leg descended in an axe kick that caught Shego on the shoulder. She grunted as the kick landed; it almost popped her arm from its socket, the force was so great, but Shego pulled herself together and got some distance back.

Desperation without fear; that's what Shego felt right now. She had to get Kim to back down, or go away, or something, before the girl did something she'd regret. It looked like Kim was in full unstoppable mode now, so Shego figured it was time for drastic measures on her own part.

She lit her hands; Kim barely slowed, if at all. She threw a pair of blasts at the ground right in front of Kim, but the light show and resulting explosions did little to deter the force of destruction. That was okay; she didn't want the hero stopped, she wanted her distracted. She did it again, this time aiming for Kim's torso. Kim twisted out of the way, and Shego charged and leapt, aiming to tackle Kim, wrestle a bit, and pin the wiry girl.

Except Kim had other ideas. She saw Shego coming from what seemed like a mile away and grabbed her outstretched hands; she saw the look of surprise on Shego's face as her plan went to hell; she felt cold satisfaction as she began to spin; she saw the worry creasing the villainess' face as Kim's muscles contracted further with anger, bringing her in closer and thus speeding their rotational velocity; she watched the worry grow as she let go and flung Shego across the room…

She saw, and heard, the sickening crunch as the side of Shego's head impacted the corner of one of Drakken's steel workbenches.

Instantly all that bottled rage evaporated, leaving her feeling much like she had that night a year ago, standing by the ruined Bueno Nacho, watching the jailers cart an unhurt Drakken and a badly-damaged Shego off to jail. The same sense of regret, of remorse, of failing to be the good person she tried so hard to be, welled up inside her.

She fell to her knees, and her fist hammered the cold concrete floor. Somewhere in the fight she'd lost her glove, and the impact did little to help her mood; in fact, she could feel that the skin on her knuckles had split from imperfections in the floor.

Just then, Ron called her name before yelping as Drakken chased him again. An automated voice called out the beginning of a five-minute-long self-destruct sequence, but Kim barely heard it. She had just one thought running through her mind at that moment:

It really wasn't supposed to be like this…

Dr. Bruback listened as professionally as he could, but this was something a bit foreign to him. Wasn't one normally supposed to beat the hell out of one's enemies? Then again, he saved lives, not the world, and the only "defeat" he knew was to lose a patient.

He looked at Kim and saw a little girl scared spitless over something she'd done—something she hadn't realized she had the power to do—and wanting someone to fix it and make it all better. So in his most reassuring tone, he told her, "Let me get a gurney, and we'll take a look, okay?"

Kim nodded, her expression still pensive, as the neurosurgeon appropriated one of the moving beds, upon which she carefully laid the body of her adversary. Shego was still breathing, and the pulse was as strong as it had been before, outside Drakken's lair, so she wasn't afraid of the green-skinned woman passing away…but she was afraid of whatever damage she may have wrought by swinging her into the bench like that.

Kim lost herself in her mind as she walked with the doctor to an examination room. She could acknowledge that she'd lost control, that her darker instincts had taken over when Shego mentioned Ron earlier, and she'd almost delighted in the chance to hurt the thief physically for the emotional hurt inflicted on Kim. The bench, though…that noise kept coming back to her, making her feel sick to her own stomach.

She hadn't meant for that. Her darker self had almost reveled while watching Shego arc through the air towards it, but as soon as her head hit Kim had wanted to rewind time and take it all back. Beating her was one thing…hurting her was another, a line Kim always tried to avoid entirely, much less toe.

She was snapped from her reverie by Dr. Bruback announcing they'd arrived. From what Kim had told him, he knew to check only her head and neck, since those were the areas most likely to have been affected. Sure enough he found it: a small indentation on the right side of her head where there really ought not to have been one, behind the temple but above and in front of her ear. It was covered in dried blood, but he couldn't feel much of a cut anymore. He parted her hair and was privately a bit shocked to see only a thin scrape remaining from what should have been a fairly significant gouge wound.

He looked over at Kim. "I'll need to give her a functional MRI to figure out if there's been any significant damage," he told her, his tone sounding grandfatherly. "From the looks of it, though, the worst I can say is she'll have a concussion, since it looks like she didn't hit as hard as you thought."

Hope stirred within Kim; she wouldn't let herself off the hook that easily, though. "She heals fast," she warned Dr. Bruback. "That might screw things up."

He nodded. "Still, I doubt even she could repair bone quickly enough for me to misdiagnose something like that. This all happened inside an hour ago, right?"

"Yeah," Kim answered. His response to her warning allowed that little bit of hope to graduate to a larger little-bit. "Can…can I stay with her?" she asked.

"Well, when we get her in the machine, you can watch the scans with me," he offered. "But I don't anticipate there being any surgery involved, so she should be back in a room in no time."

Kim nodded. She was so tired, but at the same time completely wired. How could she let herself sleep when she'd done something so potentially…well, evil?

The answer to that question came when Dr. Bruback wheeled Shego down to the imaging room. Kim appropriated a second chair while the doctor started the tests, making his obligatory doctoral "oohs" and "mmhmms" while watching the colored scans on the monitor. The test took long enough, and the heat of the room was just enough, and Kim was tired enough, that she dozed about six minutes into the test, fighting it every step of the way but eventually just giving in.

Dr. Bruback looked over at Kim when he heard her slump in the chair, and smiled softly when he saw her totally knocked out. Poor kid's been running on adrenaline alone for probably the last two hours.

He turned back to his scans; the machines showed a relatively high amount of activity at the site of the injury, but for now he dismissed it as simply her natural healing at work, delivering what it could to patch up the bone. He considered a CT scan as well, since cranial injuries rarely brought good news, and he wanted to know if she had any bone fragments that may have resided in the brain itself, but based on the activity that he could see with the MRI, that was a possibility he wasn't that worried about.

The computer beeped half an hour later, the scan finished entirely, and Dr. Bruback thought about waking Kim up. He decided against it, though; leaving her in the chair for the time being, he instead removed Shego from the machine, replacing her on the gurney.

Then he got an idea. He wheeled the mobile bed into the doorway of the viewing room, picked up the daughter of his favorite co-worker, and laid her onto the gurney as well, before carting them both to one of the rooms in the recovery ward. He made sure the room had two empty beds before calling a nurse in to help get Shego out of her catsuit and into a hospital gown, get the IVs and other monitors in place, and get her situated, before lifting the sleeping Kim and depositing her on the other bed.

Then, in violation of hospital policy but in deference to the teen hero's probable wishes (and, quite possibly, to her mother's, as well), he bade them good night and closed the door. After all, he reasoned, the monitors would alert them if something went wrong, but given the results he'd seen earlier, there was nothing to fear.

When Kim awoke and saw the unfamiliar surroundings, her first instinct was to wriggle out of whatever was binding her and get out of there. Two things prevented her from doing that: one, she found she wasn't bound; and two, the plastic curtain, bent-in-half bed, and small, wall-mounted television clued her in to being in a hospital room.

Groggily she levered herself up into a sitting position, wondering why she was in a hospital room, of all places. She wasn't all that injured, that she could tell; her knuckles still hurt, and she had a couple of bruises, but was otherwise okay.

Her gaze fell on the room's other occupant, and she was roughly and instantly reminded of why she was where she was.

Shego was in the other bed, sleeping seemingly peacefully in spite of the tube in the back of one hand connected to a saline bag. She noticed the green-skinned woman was in a hospital gown now—thoughtfully, a green one had been provided—and when Kim looked closely, it seemed the wound site had been cleaned. She couldn't find any blood on her at all, which was good. And when Kim probed the site with curious fingers, she found, much to her surprise, that the "dent" from the night before was almost nonexistent. I know she heals fast, but that's just ridiculous.

Her relief at Shego's healing was interrupted by a knock on the door to the room. She turned to see who might be at the door and was privately shocked when her mother walked in, dressed in her usual lab coat.

Dr. Anne Possible regarded the curious scene with merely a raised eyebrow. If it weren't for the look on Kim's face, one would be excused for thinking that she'd just been caught in a rather compromising position with a secret lover, or something. The anxiety, though, drove all thoughts of humor away.

"So this is where you've been," Anne said calmly, like it was an everyday occurrence.

"Y-yeah, Mom," Kim answered. Her throat felt dry, which is why her voice cracked.

"Are you okay, Kimmie?" Concern for her daughter was evident in her voice.

It only made Kim feel guiltier. "I'm fine, Mom," she mumbled. "Is she?" She turned back to face her sleeping nemesis.

Anne shrugged. "As fine as she can be while comatose," she answered. It evidently wasn't what Kim was looking for, because Kim's face screwed up into something that Anne didn't like seeing there. "Kimmie, do you remember what Dr. Bruback said last night?"

Kim shook her head.

"You won't need to worry about a thing. She doesn't need surgery; we did a CT scan this morning and didn't find any bone fragments. We don't even need to stitch her scalp shut, since it healed on its own so quickly. When she wakes up from this, you should be back to trading blows in a week."

Relief washed over Kim, and she felt some of her self-loathing fade. "Thanks, Mom. I still have to make it up to her, though." She thought for a second. "Can I stay here?"

Anne seemed to consider it for a moment. "I don't see why not," she said. "You're not up to anything right now anyway." There was faint disapproval in her voice, but her expression was gentle.

"Thanks, Mom," Kim said again, and Anne left. Kim had to sigh; her parents hadn't exactly taken it well when Kim had decided to take a year off between high school and college, but she needed the time to decide what to do with her life. She couldn't follow either of her parents' paths; that would please one and disappoint the other. Mutual disappointment, as she saw it, was at least equal to that. Also, she had considered majoring in psychology, maybe going on to law school after that…but she felt like that was something else she was supposed to do. Like Global Justice was tugging her that way, trying to mold her instead of let her be the person she wanted to be. Of course, that also meant she had nothing to choose for herself.

She'd briefly considered maybe being a music major, but as much as she had improved her singing voice it wasn't worth the hassle. She'd never been much of a musician anyway, in spite of her personal motto. Literature was out, too, as she'd never gotten much pleasure out of the "classics" in high school anyway. Maybe she'd be a mathematician of sorts; that was safely away from both her parents' fields, yet intellectually stimulating enough that she could feel enticed while doing it. Besides, she liked mysteries, and mathematical problems made for some awesome mysteries…

Lost in her own musings, Kim failed to notice much going on in her surroundings. She was so zoned out that a nurse came in to check on Shego and Kim didn't even register her presence.

Hours passed; Kim obeyed her body enough to go get lunch, but she was right back by Shego's side as soon as she could be there. She eventually nodded off in her chair, slumping forward and leaning on the edge of Shego's bed, arms crossed under her head as she dozed.

Her sleep was fitful and restless as nightmares assaulted her; she dreamt of the day before, of the mission that had gone so badly. She dreamt of Ron getting vaporized when Drakken actually did something right, and the blue-skinned mad scientist cackled evilly when he realized his roadblock was no more; she dreamt of herself, failing to escape from a death trap in time and drowning and suffocating and being cut to pieces, and yet somehow being awake for every one of those gruesome fates; she dreamed of what she'd done, throwing Shego across the room like that, except this time the woman smashed into the edge of the table even harder than reality, snapping her neck and killing her instantly, and Kim reveled in the feeling, the heady exhilaration of holding the power of life and death in her hands, of giving in to her anger and letting her dark side reign while the real Kim hid away from reality forever.

For some reason unbeknownst to her, the part of the dream that saddened her the most was the one where she killed Shego. The angry part scared her to death because it could happen, and almost had…but when Shego died, it saddened her beyond belief. Even more so that the part where Ron had died.

She was pulled from her personal hell when the feeling of a hand on her head penetrated the haze of semi-dreamland and brought her back to reality. Opening her eyes, she was surprised to see wetness on her arms. She wiped her cheeks with the palm of one hand before looking around to see who was on her. Suspecting her mother, she checked behind herself first, but the other red-haired Possible was nowhere to be seen. In fact, nobody was back there…

But that meant…

Slowly she turned back to the bed, hope warring with her current pessimistic state, until she saw who had been petting her head.

"You're awake," she said breathlessly.

Shego regarded her with half-open eyes, though one eyebrow was quirked upwards. "Unless you're still dreaming, I think I am," she responded.

Kim couldn't help it; she felt the tears coming and let them fall as relief once again flooded her being. She leaned over the bed and wrapped herself around Shego's waist. "Oh thank God," she bawled, muttering the phrase over and over again as she clutched tighter onto the green-skinned woman.

"Hey, easy!" Shego protested when Kim's grip got too tight. "I'm already in here for something, best not make it two somethings."

"Sorry," Kim said, finally getting herself under control and sitting back, smiling softly. It felt like it'd been days since she'd done that. "I'm just happy you're awake."

Shego nodded slowly. "Well…not that I mind the show of affection, but…just who are you anyway?"