AN: IMPORTANT I changed it around, have written more, just have to type it. This is going to be a different story, so if you read the last chapter and thought it sucked,...well I thought that too, and also I think this way will be bettre, my fisrt chapter is a prolouge.
PROLOGUE
It was dark., and raining as Shego crept to Casa de Possible. She hated having to do this, but she had no choice. 'It's time to cash in a favour.' The front door gave way to her lock picking skills, and it swung open with the slightest of creaks. She peaked around the corner and saw Mrs. Possible baking cookies in the kitchen. 'I really don't want to be doing this, but there is no other way.'
Stepping into the doorway, she called out, 'Hey Anne, how long till those cookies are done?'
Anne stood up from in front of the oven, having watching the cookies through the window in the door. As she wiped her floury hands she straightened up and said, "Just a couple of –" she noticed who the visitor was, "Shego! What are you doing here?!" Exclaimed the matriarch of the Possible clan.
"I'm here on business, you're involved of course but that story will have to wait till the whole family is together."
Anne was, understandably, shocked. Business that involved her? She had no dealings with Shego, it must be Kim, She;s going to use me to get to kim!
The ring of the timer interrupted her thoughts.
"Yay cookies!" Squealed Shego in a manner that was not hers. "You still use cinnamon, right?"
"Yes," replied Anne slowly, still processing everything that happened. "But how do you know that I used cinnamon?"
Shego mumbled something through a mouth full of cookie., swallowed then repeated, "You'll find out later."
"C'mon, " Shego said while picking up the cookies and piling them up on a plate, "As long as no one's here, we might as well talk, right?" Her voice grew fainter as she walked into the living room.
Anne was shocked, her daughters foe, who had tried to kill her on numerous occasions was eating cinnamon cookies in the living room. She inched slowly towards the phone, intending to phone the police, or the G.J. or anybody that could help her. When a voice floated on a zephyr into the kitchen. "Get away from that phone, and come over here. These cookies won't eat themselves y'know." This voice was not that of the usual Shego. There was no venom. No sarcasm. No threat in her voice, although the words still carried them.
'In fact,' thought Anne, 'her voice sounded really strained, as if she was trying to stop something.' She came into the living room to see Shego wipe something from her eyes. The last of her tears.
"So," said Shego," What have you been up to for the last 20 or so years?"