Disclaimer: I don't own KP, wish I did, but I don't.
A Note from the Authoress: I originally wrote this piece with the intent of submitting it to some sort of contest, but, as there are no contests going on right now, or at the end of July which was when I finished revising it. This story takes place after Kim and Ron got married, in the same timestream in which So the Drama happens, but, because everything got fixed when Ron broke the Tempus Simia, A Sitch in Time has not happened. So think of this as an alternate version of it. :)
Hope you all enjoy!
Once, So Long Ago
Kim sat quietly in her seat, listening to the sound of the nearby pendulum clock tick away the seconds as it had for decades, reaching beneath the netting of her hat to toy with the lock of hair that had freed itself from the confines of numerous hairpins. She'd cut her hair to fit in here – now – and as a result she often found herself being compared to her mother (by her own subconscious, of course). Shifting a bit impatiently, she slid one leg over the other and glanced to the window, catching a short glimpse of her reflection there: one of red hair and green eyes, with only the slightest hint of the wrinkles beginning to crease her features. Her eyes darted with rueful evasion to the gloves held in her aging hand. It was always difficult to believe that it had happened so long ago, but it would not actually occur for many years to come. But perhaps that would all change with this new discovery.
"Miss Possible?" asked the gentle voice of the receptionist, accompanied by the discordant sound of rustling papers.
"It's Mrs. Stoppable," Kim corrected, standing. She collected her handbag from the chair next to her, clutching it tightly in one hand, her gloves still dangling from the other.
"Mrs. Stoppable," the woman amended, "Miss Go will see you now." Kim thanked the woman and made her way to the familiar office, her high heels clicking on the tile floor.
The room itself was bland, furnished only by two well stocked bookshelves and a desk, absolutely devoid of personal items. On either side of the desk resided two chairs, one already occupied by that familiar form: the raven hair pinned fashionably to the back of her head, the pale skin that shone with a green luminescence that could hardly be considered normal and the long fingernails that drummed rhythmically against the edge of the desk. "Well, hello, Princess."
"Shego," the redhead nodded, slipping into the opposite chair.
"Oh, no, my dear, Sheila will do just fine. After all, we're on the same side now, aren't we?" The former villainess grinned maliciously, one of the few evil qualities that she'd retained over the years.
The princess sighed, setting her handbag on the floor and arranging her gloves in her lap. "I suppose we are." She considered this for a moment, tapping one slender finger against her lower lip. "Not by choice, though."
"Of course not." She stood, her black and green dress shifting with her movements. She approached the door through which Kim had entered, calling over her shoulder, "Tea?"
"Coffee."
She nodded, cracking the door open, requesting the secretary bring in the coffee when it had finished brewing. She glided back to her chair, leaning back into the support in a sultry manner. "I assume you've found a lead?"
Kim nodded, reaching down almost protectively to her bag, but before she could do more, the receptionist backed her way in, carrying a little tray with all the necessary ingredients for two nice cups of coffee. She set it down on the desk between them and left with a nod, closing the door behind her.
The woman in green poured one cup and handed it to Kim, leaving her to mix any cream and sugar in as she pleased. She fixed herself some, but allowed it to sit off to the side, ignored. "Now, getting down to business," she began, shoving the tray aside so as to leave the center of the desk open for some sort of transaction. "You said you found something?"
Kim raised an eyebrow as she finished stirring the cream into her coffee. "Why else would I be here?" she countered, still not accustomed to working with someone she'd spent her entire life trying to defeat.
Shego smiled, "True, Possible, very true." She took one quick sip from the steaming cup at her elbow.
"It's Stoppable," Kim hissed, clinking her spoon against the edge of her mug and briefly setting it aside to take a quick taste.
Sighing, Shego set her cup down, very purposefully, and folded her hands on the edge of the desk. "Kimmie, Ron's been dead for thirteen years." Her voice held no sympathy, no care for the younger woman before her, only insistence in the truth.
"No," Kim corrected. "He died in 2012, and he was born in 1987. He won't even be born for forty-five years; how can he have died?" The technicality was almost humorous, but the tone in her voice held no mirth, only firm belief in the statement.
Shego seemed to consider this, and then pointed out, "And you won't be Mrs. Stoppable for another sixty-seven."
Kim simply took a meaningful glance at the ring on the third finger of her left hand and continued fixing her coffee with more cream and sugar. "Need I remind you that you've not technically met Drakken yet?"
Narrowing her eyes, Shego growled, "What have you got?"
Kim abandoned her coffee for a moment to pull a sealed white envelope from her purse. "A letter." She placed it on the desk, her fingers pressing it down with an almost sad tenderness, and slid it across to her associate.
She retrieved the item with a raised eyebrow. "That's all?" Despite her apparent doubt, her lips were curved into an almost knowing smile.
Kim's hands once more occupied with her nervous pastime (it had developed quickly in the past thirteen years of living in these odd times when women were expected to stir their drinks thusly), Kim commented, "I believe you'll find it very revealing."
The elder woman used one sharp fingernail to slice open the top of the envelope to find another, smaller envelope – blank as well, but torn open – inside. "No heading?"
Kim gestured for her to continue.
From within the second envelope, she withdrew a worn piece of paper covered in sprawling handwriting. Shego seemed to skim through the contents before giving Kim a curious look, reading aloud, "Your Excellency, I am both pleased and distraught to inform you of the results of our assignment. As planned, we arranged for a 'top secret, urgent meeting' at Bueno Nacho Headquarters, inviting Lipsky, his accomplice and the Stoppables, informing Lipsky that this would concern his lasting hold on the franchise, and, obviously, the Stoppables as the new owners. We were successful in keeping the participants unaware of the other members of this gathering . . ." Shego read from there in silence until she found something of importance. "Unfortunately, Lipsky's partner was not present, instead doing some mercenary work for the renowned Señor Senior, Sr., and the young Mrs. Stoppable was on an extended solo mission in the Amazon. However, Lipsky suffered a fatal gunshot to the head, killed instantly. Stoppable suffered a bullet wound to the chest. He died later due to surgical complications. Only one of our men was killed when Stoppable attempted to forcibly obtain his weapon . . ." She fell into silence once more, reading the rest quietly.
When she looked up, Kim was stirring her coffee idly, showing no intention of drinking it. "Is it enough?" she asked, her eyes still fixed on the murky brown liquid.
Shego nodded dumbly, although the corners of her mouth were curved upward in an almost menacing smile. "I think it's time, Princess . . . I think it's time."
Kim simply nodded, gazing at the device strapped to her left wrist. It had been her life for thirteen years now, after Ron had died. Her father had feared for her safety and, instead of making a fortune on his discovery of the reality of time travel, used it to send her back in time to keep her safe from the assassins, at whose hand Ron had perished.
It was odd, really, that such an accomplishment was the result of the rocket scientist's new hobby-like interest in an artifact known as the Tempus Simia, and his experiments that resulted in the ability to harness the time monkey's chrono-energies. He'd managed to apply them to a small device that could be worn on one's wrist like a watch, but had the ability to transport them through time itself.
Shego wore an identical accessory – she'd met Kim in their mourning and they'd instantly decided to have vengeance on those who'd caused them such pain. Unfortunately, the murderers were still at large. They'd convinced Kim's father to work with them in secret, using Kim's mysterious disappearance as reason to obtain protection from the authorities as well as to lead the murderers astray. For the past thirteen years, Shego'd remained a feminist businesswoman in the first half of the twentieth century, while Kim time-hopped, looking for some way to stop her husband's death. And now she found all her searching had not been in vain.
"So," Shego began, pulling some papers from a drawer, writing notes here and there. "We'll meet at the scene two hours before the time the meeting was scheduled. We'll be able to intercept the assassins before the boys even get there. And boy, they'll be surprised."
Kim began stirring her coffee once again. "Who? Ron and Drakken?"
Shego smirked, "No, the assassins."
Ron Stoppable sat in his armchair, watching a repeat of Agony County. It was ten o'clock on a Sunday evening, and, normally, he and Kim would be heading off to bed right about then (although there would be very little sleeping involved, naturally). But tonight, Kim was somewhere in the Amazon, thwarting the Seniors' evil plans, and she'd be gone until late Monday afternoon. He missed her deeply, but understood that it came with the territory of being married to a world hero.
Of course, she never accepted any payment for her missions, but governments from all around the world insisted on paying their expenses, and any store they shopped at gave them their items at no cost, no matter how much they insisted on paying. It wasn't like they were poor, after all; Ron was the CEO of the Bueno Nacho Corp. and had enough money to feed a third world country (which they actually aided in doing).
Yes, life was good. He was married to the most intelligent, most beautiful, most wonderful woman in the world and nothing could bring him down. They lived alone in a modest house on the outskirts of Middleton, just large enough in which to raise a small family. No, they'd not had any children yet; they thought it was a bit soon for that still. They wanted to enjoy their young love while they could and not rush into such a commitment.
He sighed and glanced over at the wall: a tribute to their life together, full of pictures of everything from those pre-K days to their wedding day and beyond. He felt a pang of loneliness as he realized how empty the house was without her. Bed suddenly seemed a welcome prospect, in a different way, of course; full of dreams of Kim and plenty of rest for the next day's mysterious meeting.
He'd just watch the rest of this episode first.
The sound of the front door creaking on its hinges met his ears. "Wha . . . ?" He considered going and checking on it, but quickly came to the conclusion that it was just from the television program. After all, surround sound can do wonders.
Settling back into his chair, he lost himself momentarily in the superficial drama before him. "Why haven't those two gotten together yet?" he grumbled, not expecting an answer.
"Because that would end the series," replied a familiar voice, accompanied by two loving hands resting on his shoulders from behind.
"Kim!" he startled, turning to look at her, but she moved from his line of sight. "You're home early! Mission went well, I assume?"
"Mhm." Her battle suit-gloved fingers massaged his tense muscles. "I missed you," she added tearfully.
His brow furrowed in confusion and concern. "I missed you, too . . . but it's only been about ten hours. It's not like it was years."
That instigated a little sob of laughter from her. He tried to catch a glimpse of her face, but to no avail, and finally settled to just relax and enjoy her gentle ministrations. A few moments of companionable silence later, she finally spoke, her breath husky against his ear. "Meet me in the bedroom in ten minutes."
He immediately perked up and turned round to look at her, but she was gone. He glanced at the clock: ten eighteen. After all, he didn't plan on being late.
Ten minutes later, at ten twenty-eight, Ron arrived promptly at the master bedroom of his home, opening the door to find the lamps extinguished and, from the dim light of the hallway, saw Kim covered entirely by the sheet. From the visible curves, he gathered she'd not even bothered to don any form of clothing, not even her lingerie.
A few seconds later, the lump under the coverlet spoke, "Close the door, Ron, and come to bed." Her voice was full of love and lust.
A little disturbed that she kept her face hidden from him, he hesitated before tugging the door closed behind him, allowing the room to be devoured by darkness. He knew this was his Kim, but something was up. After a moment, he realized she'd tell him in her own time. He cautiously made his way to the bed, crawling up to where Kim lay.
Before he could say or do anything, she pulled him down to herself, kissing him deeply, pressing her heated body firmly to his, proving she was, indeed, entirely nude. He instantly latched onto her shoulders, at first shocked to find that her hair did not brush against his fingers, and even more so at the realization that her skin felt somewhat different. He allowed his hands to venture under the fabric to trail along her bare skin, gently caressing her curves as her fingers worked at the buttons of his shirt. He finally placed the difference, feeling the rough skin of her fingers against his chest. It felt worn, like that of a person who'd spent their entire life doing hard labor. Of course, she'd spent most of her life freak fighting, but her skin had never felt like this before, the muscles never so tired and strained beneath his grasp.
He ran his hands down the length of her arms, stopping when he felt something like an odd, large watch on her left wrist. Breaking their kiss, he reached over and, before she could stop him, turned on the bedside lamp.
The sight that greeted him was something he had no way of explaining. There was Kim, her hair cut short and dimming slightly, as if a prelude to the graying that was obviously ahead. Her face was creased with the finest of wrinkles: laugh lines and crow's feet. On her wrist was a strange timepiece, awkwardly large and bright blue. This was not the Kim he knew, but it was obviously her. He recognized her touch, her kiss . . . her love, but the woman before him looked more like Dr. Ann Possible than her daughter. He scrambled away from her, almost off the foot of the bed, gasping, "Kim?"
She approached him tearfully, crawling toward him on her hands and knees. "Ron," she whispered soothingly, "It's me. I can explain, really, I can."
He shook his head stupidly, trying to escape her, but she was fast, and was soon holding both his hands within her own, pressing them to her timeworn cheek. "It can't be you," he whispered, although he knew deep down that those emerald eyes could only belong to one person, and that her voice was unchanged.
She smiled slightly, despite the tear that trickled down her cheek, running down their hands. Her voice was broken, but he heard a childish resonance there. "You're weird . . . but I like you."
He blinked a few times. "KP?"
"Yes, Ron," she sighed, releasing his hands, testing his trust by leaning in close. Instinctively, he pulled her into his arms and began stroking her hair, albeit awkwardly as it was shorter than he was accustomed to. He was seriously disturbed; although this Kim wasn't old enough to be his mother, this wasn't the same Kim. The younger Kim would scorn this aged body, not so much as to be useless in battle, but all the same worn and weaker. But no matter what he saw before him, this was his Kim, and she was upset and frightened . . . and he could not resist the urge to comfort her so. "It's me . . . thirteen years from now."
Tremendously confused, he asked dumbly, "How?"
"It's a long story," she admitted.
He paused momentarily, considering this. Stranger things had happened, but nothing this strange since high school. "You're thirty-eight, then?"
"Mhm." His embrace felt awkward, as if he weren't entirely sure of her. "And I'm here to save you."
"Save me?" She sighed and explained how the meeting was a trap and that he and Drakken would be murdered the next day, beginning to cry when she spoke of the depression she'd fallen into following his death. He held her more tightly, trying to ignore the fact that the woman in his arms was thirteen years his elder, and yet the same girl with whom he'd attended preschool. She told him of how she and Shego had teamed up, at which he'd protested until she'd explained their common cause and remaining hostility. She related how her father's technology had not been patented and instead used to help her and Shego.
Ron stared off beyond her and shook his head slowly. "No . . . this isn't real . . ."
"Ron," she murmured, touching his face reverently. "You can feel me, right?" She leaned forward with a little sob, her forehead pressing into his cheek. "Can't you feel this?" Her hair tickled his nose and her breath his neck. They both shuddered. "I wish it weren't real, I really do." Her worn but still delicate fingers ran lightly over his bare chest, shaking as her tears caused her entire body to tremble. "I've been so lonely . . . in thirteen years, I haven't been with anyone." She moved to look up at him, her fingertips barely grazing over his skin, as if should she press too hard, he might vanish before her eyes. "I never gave up on you, love. I always believed I could bring you back."
He touched her chin briefly. "It's taken you this long to see me again . . . why have you not come to warn me before now? Not even to see me?"
She laughed slightly. "I have, Ron. Just from a distance. I couldn't risk being caught . . . and I don't want to pollute the timestream too much." Now that was the Kim he knew: logical, practical, and, above all, driven by love. "I'm sorry," she added. "This must be a little . . ." she scrambled for the word, "awk-weird." He smiled at her choice of terminology, although 'awk-weird' was a ferocious understatement. "But I thought that if . . . if . . ." she trailed off, realizing that, in truth, she'd tried to deceive him. Weeping harder, she pulled away. "I'll leave, if you'd like. I know how unsettling this must be. I'll . . ."
He silenced her with a firm kiss to her lips, pulling her body flush against his. Despite his apprehensions, despite the deep psychological effects he knew would follow, this was Kim, and she deserved love. They pulled away, breathless. She looked up at him in surprise, afraid to say or do anything, lest she wake from this wonderful dream. "You've not . . . you know . . . in thirteen years?"
She shook her head.
"Then, I'm due," he whispered. He bent forward once more, planting a delicate kiss on her lips before allowing his own to trail downwards, over her neck and collarbone, detouring to her shoulder before turning his attentions lower, caressing and worshipping her curves, pushing his doubts aside for the one absolute truth: this was Kim. Her lips had not changed, still sweet to kiss and caress, and her eyes, although carrying a great sadness, were still filled with the absolute devotion she'd given him their entire lives. He could not deny her love as she lay trembling beneath him under the intoxicating influence of his gentle touch.
"Ron," she gasped as she felt him move toward her nether-regions, her shaky hands tangled in his hair.
He moved up to touch the tip of his nose to hers, focusing on those emerald orbs, too afraid to see her aging skin. "It's you," he asserted, wiping away her tears with great tenderness. "It's you; it's my KP . . ."
She boldly moved to press her lips to his, and he returned the favor with fervor, cradling her to him. Soon, she began tugging at the remainder of his clothing, only briefly glancing at him for permission. The love in his eyes said it all, that he believed her, as he always had, and, although he'd never outwardly admit it, he was deeply touched by her undying will to save him.
"I love you," he murmured against her lips, and with that, for the first time in thirteen years, Kim felt the full joy of their love. The night passed slowly, full of kisses and gasps and the whisperings of names, but it ended all too soon. As they reached the heights of their pleasure, she pulled him in close, cradling him between her thighs as he loved her. She sobbed his name, burying her tearful face in his shoulder, too consumed by utter joy to do anything but cry and hold him in her fierce, possessive grip.
Even after things had calmed down, she'd not let him go, whispering his name over and over again into the soft skin of his neck. She'd spent so long without feeling such love, and now, lying in his arms, trapped beneath him, she finally felt complete.
But, so lost in her reverie, she did not notice the tears fall from his cheeks.
Once she'd finally relaxed, he rolled off her, pulling her into a gentle embrace, shrugging the covers over their cooling bodies. "I'm going with you tomorrow," he said simply.
She sat up halfway. "What?"
"I'm going with you to catch the assassins," he replied.
"You can't," she demanded. "You might be killed."
Ron laughed slightly at the irony of her comment. "Ya think?"
The next morning, Kim and Ron arrived promptly two hours before the meeting at Bueno Nacho Headquarters, entering the empty meeting room with great caution. "Shego?" Kim called out, but there was no response. "Sheila? Are you here?" Only silence greeted her ears.
Protectively, Ron clamped a hand around Kim's upper arm. "Are you sure about her?"
Kim looked up at him certainly. "Yes," she said. "I already told you, we may not like each other, but she wants Drakken alive just as much as I want you alive."
Ron stopped. "Wait, are you saying they're a . . . a . . . a couple?"
Kim shrugged, obviously not in the mood to be discussing Shego's personal life. "She never liked talking about it much." She surreptitiously touched the pouch on her right thigh, assuring the objects inside were ready for whatever may come their way. She lowered her eyes at the thought. Ron had watched her don her old blue and white battle suit that morning, and handed her the hairdryer grappling gun. What he didn't realize is that while he was in the shower, she'd squeezed a small, light handgun in along with it. But she didn't want him to know; it might make him unnecessarily worried.
"Ron?" came the voice of Kim, but the woman beside him had not spoken. They both turned around in shock.
Before them was the image of a young woman, no older than twenty-five, dressed in a battle suit of white and blue, red hair falling to her waist, staring back at them with equal surprise. She instantly recognized the woman as herself, and, oddly enough, seemed less disturbed than her older self.
"What are you doing here?" the elder asked, as if suddenly she weren't sure why any of them were there, least of all her younger image.
Confused, the younger Kim looked from herself to her husband. "I received a message saying Ron was in trouble . . . I came as fast as I could."
The older Kim shook her head slowly. "There wasn't a message before . . . no, wait . . . yes. Yes, there was." She smiled briefly in triumph over her own mind.
Ron frowned at the older Kim. "You didn't mention it last night."
"I must have forgotten," she told him quickly.
"Last night?" the younger woman asked, to which Ron immediately began scratching the back of his neck, stammering nervously.
"Oh," the younger woman blushed. "Oh, that . . ." Ron smiled in relief and amusement at his wife's reaction, although he did notice that her eyes held a pang of hurt.
The older Kim held her head in her hands. "Shego's not going to be here," she said slowly. "I remember now."
The younger Kim seemed confused at the mention of Shego, but quickly pushed it aside. "So you remember what's going to happen?"
"Not everything," she explained, obviously a bit confused herself. She touched her forehead as if she were dizzy. "But I know she won't be here." The two Kims regarded one another for a moment before the elder winced, pressing her fingertips to her temples. "Watch out!" she cried, tackling herself to the ground, seconds before a bullet sped past them.
Ron spun around and launched himself at the gunman, tackling him to the ground, trying, if anything, to take the weapon from him. In their struggle, the man squeezed the trigger in one last defense, allowing the bullet to graze Ron's shoulder. Ron ripped the gun from his hand and hit him upside the head with it, knocking him out cold.
"Ron!" he heard the younger Kim cry. He spun around to find another gunman trained on him, apparently waiting for him to drop his weapon. Ron shot at the man, but nothing happened; it was out of ammo. He ducked behind a support column just in time as bullets came flying past him.
The older Kim swept her leg beneath him, knocking his feet from under him, causing bullets to go everywhere, grazing her upper arms as she struggled for the weapon. In the scuffle, the trigger was pulled one last time, causing the man to take a bullet to the head, killed instantly.
Seeing her younger self fighting for a gun, she called out "Ron!" and, upon his turning, tossed the dead man's firearm to him, retrieving her own from the pouch on her thigh.
The younger Kim, now bearing a pistol, knocked out the last of their assailants, approaching her husband and herself cautiously. "That's the last of them, I think."
The elder shook her head, resting the side of the handgun against her forehead. "I . . . I thought so, but . . . no . . . no . . . no! Look out!" She tugged them both down to their knees, narrowly missing the flood of bullets that greeted them. They knocked over the nearby table, crouching behind it for protection.
Both Kims shot blindly toward the source of the fire, Ron looking around as if expecting someone to sneak up on them from behind. As soon as he spotted someone and began to yell for Kim's attention, the older Kim cried, "No!" and tugged him towards her as several bullets shot through the table where he had been. With one shot, the elder Kim killed the man, then turning her attention to the three on the other side.
Together, the two women managed to kill two of the remaining assailants with several shots to the chest. The younger rose to attack the last enemy, training her weapon to the left of the column she knew he hid behind.
Ron had torn off the sleeve of his mission shirt, tying the strip around the older woman's upper arm in an attempt to staunch the bleeding of a particularly deep wound. She winced as he tightened the bandage, before a sharp pain in her head caused her to moan and lean forward into his chest, tearing at her hair in agony. "Kim?" He cried aloud. "Kim!" he said shaking her.
Suddenly, she sat up and looked in his direction, unseeing. "No!" she whispered, barely audible.
But there was no time to pull the younger woman from danger. The man appeared to the right of the column, his pistol aimed at Kim's torso. She swiveled round. They fired at once. The man died instantly, the bullet hitting him directly between the eyes.
A searing pain overcame young Kim's chest. The older woman lurched forward, clinging to her breast. The younger fell backwards with the force of the blow, glancing down to see the breast of her white suit staining with red.
Ron was at her side instantly, holding her hands between both of his, whispering nonsense to her, heedless of the tears that made their way down both their faces. She was bleeding too hard; the bullet had narrowly missed her heart. Even he knew there was no hope.
The older woman, still clutching her chest with one hand, clung to her head as another violent ache wracked it. "Ron," she breathed. "Ron, there's one more . . ." she staggered, collapsing onto him. He couldn't hear her.
The younger woman choked, her mouth filling with blood, gruesomely dripping from the corners.
The elder felt lightheaded, and, as she held onto the man before her, her form began to fade. Her body began to pass through his, but still she kept her arms round him, helpless.
The younger coughed, some blood managing to hit Ron, trickling down his face. She struggled to breathe, her eyes dimming.
The elder had faded to the glimmer of a candle flame, flickering and struggling to stay alight.
"Ron," she managed to choke out, more blood spilling from her lips. Her voice was strained and mangled by the blood, but he knew what it was she said. "Ron, I couldn't save the world without you . . ."
The ghost of a woman behind him faded away, as did the life of the woman he held in his arms.
He felt something hard and cold pressed to the back of his head, heard the barrel of a gun clicked into position, and with his last breath he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Kim's bloodied cheek.
Shego sat at her desk, a spread of solitaire laid before her. Placing the Queen of Diamonds on the King of Spades, she heard the door open. She looked up to see the familiar form of a former employer, his blue face wearing that familiar grin, his ponytail tucked up into a smart looking hat. "Dr. D." she greeted.
"Shego," he returned.
"You have something of interest, I assume," she said, gathering the playing cards into a neat deck and tying it together with a green silk ribbon.
"Naturally, Shego." He sat across from her, folding his hands on the edge of the desk, allowing a glimpse of the large, crudely made timepiece positioned on his left wrist.
She waited for him to continue, and when he did not, she spoke in a sarcastic tone, "And?"
"And the assassinations were successful. We lost all but one man, but they're dead." Shego smiled but didn't say anything. "You know, faking my death and all the letters was inspired, if I do say so myself. And you didn't believe me when I said I was an evil genius."
Shego's hands clenched into fists, a bright green glow materializing around them. "Care to say that again?"
Drakken scooted backwards in his chair, waving his hands in front of him. "No, no, no, I'm sorry. I meant to say 'I always knew you were the evil genius.'"
Shego grinned. "I thought that's what you meant." She had Drakken wrapped around her little finger. It hadn't been hard, really; all she had to do was use that silly mind control shampoo of his to make him do something that could ruin his reputation if it ever leaked to the villain community, and, as time went on, reputations began to have more weight than truth and actions. From there it was hilariously simple to hold the possibility of blackmail above him, rendering him her ever obedient servant. "Anything else?"
He searched his person, delving into his pants pockets and the various pockets on his jacket (inside and out), until he finally found what he had been looking for. Pulling out a sealed, unmarked envelope, he commented, "From Lord Fiske."
He slid the item across the table, and Shego quickly tore open the seal, removing a handwritten letter from inside. She skimmed over the contents briefly before reading a few highlights aloud. "Your Excellency, I am pleased to inform you that the acquisition of Middleton is complete and the process of reverting it to Shegoton is well under way . . ." She continued in silence for a few moments before reading aloud, "The Possible and Stoppable families have been arrested and are awaiting execution as we speak, and the worldwide extermination of naked rodents will begin tomorrow . . ." she read the rest quietly before putting down the piece of paper, her lips curved into a menacing grin.
She leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto the edge of the desk, folding her hands behind her head. "Looks like the Princess forgot just one thing: I can do anything."
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