Edited 10/19/4

Another story inspired by "Emotion Sickness." That was a very inspirational episode.

My head really hurts. A lot. And not just that stupid-migraine-during-that-time-of-the-month-with-no-caffeine-in-sight kind of pain. Something must have crawled to the back of my neck and hung on for dear life with its teeth. I decide that is probably a bad sign.

Maybe there is some Tylenol in the bathroom. Assuming that idiot Drakken hadn't used it as ball bearings in a newly stolen invention. I force open my eyes, hoping the swirls of black and red wouldn't take long to evaporate.

Cold steel was beyond them. I sit up, much too fast. A locked cell? I grab my head, cringing. Damn, but do I feel awful.

There probably wouldn't be any Tylenol in a locked cell. Especially this one. Hell, I had helped design it, no thanks to Drakken. But what was I doing inside it? At least the acid Drakken had demanded be installed hadn't yet poured all over me. The moron.

I think I'm too out of it to worry.

And it couldn't be too bad. Analyze the situation. I'm in a locked cell with a pounding headache. And a Barbie pillow. Was I really sleeping on that? Well, apparently something had happened. An attack? Nah, they couldn't have gotten me in this position.

Unless my brothers jumped me. Damn them.

I glance at the door. For crying out loud, the room's not even locked. A. . . I squint. . . a towel is holding the door somewhat closed.

Okay. . .

"Shego?"

Ow. Voices. Drakken's voice. He has the most irritating whine.

His face is in the door. For some reason I have a memory of getting a lot closer to that face. In a photo booth. No. That cannot be right.

"Shego?"

He seems almost terrified. Good.

"Are you feeling any better? You've been acting strange."

I grimace. How was I acting strange? And why is my new Club Banana parka in the corner?

I suddenly remember hot chocolate. . . No way.

"Strange?" I hiss. "Strange?"

He yelps and cowers. Like the dog that he is. And to think that I work for him. "I'm sorry. Please don't beat me up again."

I don't think I could get any pleasure from that.

I think he's gaining more courage. "I. . I just came to apologize for shutting you up in here last night, but it was my only choice. I'm just not. . . ready for any more. . . kissy-face."

Kissy-face?

The photo booth is back in my mind.

Damn it!

There's a chip lying on the floor next to me. Small, circular. Looks familiar from that one scientist's place. I read that chips like that, when they weaken on their own, can cause headaches and mental blurs.

"At least," he continues. "I wasn't then. But. . ." He looks more terrified than before. "But if you really want a relationship, well. . ." He pulls a bouquet of pink carnations and baby's breath from behind his back. "I bought these for you."

Everything is slowly coming back. Why the hell had that all happened?

I manage to stand up and walk to the door. "Drakkie," I say sweetly.

He cowers again, but holds out the flowers.

I hit him. Hey, it does feel kind of good.

Then I pick up the flowers. I do like carnations. Call it a sin. Best get them into some water. And some water for me and a Tylenol.

The End!