Disclaimer:

Kim Possible and all related characters are property of Disney and the individual creators.

This story is owned by me, Mereel Skirata and cannot be used without my permission.

Pairing: Kigo (eventually)

The wind whips through your hair, as you look back at the rooftop below you.
At the cracked concrete and smashed skylight, glass spread all over the roof. The smoking remains of the Doc's latest invention.

At them. Her and Him. Her and HIM. Her. And. HIM.
Together, hands linked, intertwined. Slowly walking towards the lift, presumably one that will carry them back down to whatever form of transport brought them running this time.
The last glimpse you catch, before you get too far away even for your eyes to grab any details, is her resting her head on his shoulder, red hair spreading out as she does so.

Her. Kim Possible. The girl who can do anything.
Including stealing my heart.

It is a silent flight back to Drakken's lair. Well, not silent really.
The wind is rushing past, filling me ears. Dr. D is mildly ranting. Something about next time. And bigger ideas.
But I'm not listening.

My mind is silent. Still completely filled with the image of Kimmie, just before cloud had whipped across my vision.
In front of my eyes is the most horrible freeze frame I can imagine.
She does look happy, content. That's good, I guess.

But, she could be happy with me.
Surely she would have the same expression on her face, if it was my shoulder she was leaning on, not his.
The Buffoon. I do know his name, actually. I just pretend not to. It's my way of getting at him.
Ron Stoppable. The boy who can't do anything. Except steal Kimmie away from me.

The second we land, I'm moving. Popping the restraints and leaping out of the hovercraft. Stalking off to my room.
My face, its expression, must be quite something I reflect distractedly.
Henchmen are literally jumping out of my way.
Not that I care.

Slamming the door behind me, I flop down on the bed, not even bothering to take off my mission gear.

I can't sit still for long. The stillness in my mind has evaporated, replaced by an energy that has no-where to go.
I stand back up, walking over discarded magazines and clothes that have just be thrown down after I have finished with them. I really can't see any reason to tidy them up. A pair of panties snags on my foot. I kick it away in disgust. My anger is building now. A kind of red destructive rage, that has no focus.

I can't blame Kimmie, God forbid. She doesn't know how I feel. What it's doing to me to me to not be with her.
I can't even ready blame Ron. But, at the same time, I do. I hate him for keeping me from being with Kim. Kimmie. Princess. My Princess.

'He's taken her.' I roar in my head.
My mind starts to loop The same thoughts running through my head and I can't stop them.
The need to punch something is becoming overwhelming.
Almost ripping the door off, I storm out, heading towards the gym.
I have my own private room in the gym here, one of the perks of the jobs. Plus, a workout takes on a different meaning when you can shoot green fire from your hands.
I hurry in, ignoring my name being called behind me. Drakken or Henchman. I don't care.

Ignoring all the machines, I head straight for the punching block, a padded block of titanium, mounted on powerful springs. A punching bag won't cut it for me. They don't last.
Slipping on my gloves, I square up, throwing two quick punches, the block rocking slightly as the springs absorb the force I throw at it.

This isn't helping, I noticed. I'm just getting more caught up in my anger, not really letting it out and I don't care. I start to punch and punch, any thought of skill or precision gone. I just want to hurt something. I start screaming in my head with each hit.

'I want to be with Kimmie'

'She should be with me'

My rants are becoming more irrational.

'She shouldn't be with him'

'She should be with me. Me'

I'm actually shouting now. My voice bouncing off the walls.

Each word punctuated by a punch.

"She."

WHACK

"Should."

WHACK

"Be."

WHACK

"With."

WHACK

"Me."

WHACK

Tears are in my eyes. I can feel them gather in my cheeks, running down my cheeks. I don't care.

"HE."

WHACK

"STOLE."

WHACK

"HER!!"

WHACK

I can feel my plasma flowing down my arms, into my arms. I don't care. I just keep hitting. My boxing gloves start to split and tear as the energy backlash hits them. It doesn't matter. The metal at the core of the block is starting to warp. I can feel it.
And my anger is still building. Boiling in my veins.

Punching won t do it anymore. I step back, my fire glowing brightly in my hands, throwing dancing shadows onto the four walls.

I start to throw, the first two hits bursting the padding, filling the air with dust. The next slam directly into the metal, denting it. The hits keep coming, the metal denting even more. Then it bends with a loud snap, the surface cracking. Shrapnel flies. A shard scratches my face, just below my eye. The blood joining with my tears.
Who cares. I'll heal.

I scream, a loud throat scraping shout, leaving it raw. Anger, sorrow, pain and hate, all flowing out at once. Both in my voice and plasma.
Bringing my hands together, I launch a stream, not a blast, that smashes into the mangled wreck of the punching block, ripping it apart, before continuing into the wall, blasting a deep crater into the concrete.
I collapse, all my energy spent, but a hard knot of anger can still be felt in my chest. I just haven't got the energy to do anything with it.

I hear the door open behind me, a voice calling out, "Shego? Shego, are you okay."
Drakken. The last person I want to see. But then I only want to see one person. To have her take me in her arms and say she loves me.

As I turn my head, slowly, as if it had become made of lead, I see Drakken leaning around the edge. I shoot him a look, full of threats that I don't really feel that I could carry out.
He doesn't know that and ducks back, mumbling something I don t bother to catch.

I hear footsteps outside, moving away very quickly. A lot of them.

I manage to pull myself up, slowly dragging my deadweight of a body out of the gym. As I guessed, the Henchmen have fled. Drakken too.

Back in my room, I barely manage to drag my suit off, leaving it in a pile by the bed. I just feel so tired. So very tired. Sleep, as it comes, is a huge relief. I welcome the blackness as it claims me.

The next morning, I just couldn't stay in the lair. I had to get out.
Slipping yesterday's suit back on, even though it is all wrinkled and a little ripe from my exertions, I make my way to the hanger, heading towards my jet.
I punch in the co-ordinates, setting the autopilot without even thinking about it. Middleton.
I press the button and the plane does the rest. Probably for the best. I can't think well enough to fly.
I land near the outskirts, a short distance away from the Possible house.

As I approach, trying to be stealthy, I stop suddenly. Coming out of the house. There she is.

I duck behind the house. I don't think she saw me. In fact, she isn't even looking at me. She's looking down the street, away from me, at oh no.

My anger starts to grow as the buffoon closes in. Very close and. I can't look, but I do. He's kissing her, leaning in, his lips pressing against hers. I have to think of it like this. He has to be kissing her. She can't be kissing him. I know I'm kidding myself, but I can't take it. It has to be him. She can't want this.

Still I can feel my blood boiling, as I watch them pull apart, before heading off.

I follow them. I don't know why or what I will do, but I just have to.

I follow them all the way to Middleton General. Her mother works here, I think.
I'm surprised that she hasn't spotted me. The Buffoon, of course, doesn't worry me. If he spots me, I deserve to be caught.
But Kimmie, she's sharp. She should have noticed me. I'm not being sneaky. This bright green outfit doesn't really blend in. It's lucky it's early. If there were more people around, I'd be creating quite a stir. Maybe she has something on her mind.

They head around to the rear, to the ambulance bay. I slip in between two dustbins, so they don't see me as they come back this way.
Her mother is waiting there for her. Kimmie hands her something. Her lunch, maybe. Then she leaves, Ron still glued to her.

I can feel my anger rising again, so strong that I have to get it out. I slam my fists into the ground. But like yesterday, it only fuels my anger, so I hit again and again.
No gloves this time, but it makes no difference to me. I hit and hit, not caring about the pain in my hands or the thumps they make as they impact on the street. The pain doesn't matter. Anything to distract me from the pain in my heart.

I pause, my breathing short, blood pounding in my head.
Then I notice the shadow that has fallen over me.
I look up into the face of Dr Possible.
She looks so much like her daughter, that my heart skips a beat, before I realise my mistake.

She kneels down, concern all over her face, gently grasping my wrists, lifting my hands up.
Then I notice the blood. The skin on both my hands has been split, deep cuts over my knuckles and fingers.
Blood running over my palms, dripping onto the floor.

Kim's mother places one hand under my elbows, gently guiding me up, leading me into the hospital.
The ER is quite busy, and I get some strange looks as I'm let to one of the exam rooms. I don't care. All the fire seems to have gone out of me, replaced by a dull ache in my heart.

She sits me down on the bench, grabbing a tray from the corner.
Pulling out a syringe minus the needle, filling it with warm saline, slowly cleaning out my wounds, right hand first.
It stings a bit, as the liquid washes away the blood and concrete dust. But I don't feel it. There is no room for anything else in my head.
Kim's mother is still looking at me, eyes full of concern, despite focusing on her work.

Why is she bothering with me, I wonder. She's a neuro-surgeon, if I remember right. Surely, she should have dumped me on a medical student or something.
She isn't even wearing a lab coat, just a black blouse and dark blue skirt. Maybe she's on a break.

So, again, why is she bothering. I don't deserve this. She doesn't even seem scared of me. She really should, seeing that almost every time we've met, I have been attacking her daughter. Hell, I even attacked her once. But she doesn't seem to remember that I left her tied up on that train. I would have left her to die there.

Her voice drags me out of my thoughts, as I realise she has been calling my name. More by instinct, I look up at her face.
"Shego," she says softly, indicating my hands, "Why did you do this to yourself?"

I'm ready to hit back with my usual sarcasm, but her sudden compassion has reached something in me.
Instead I shout "I love her. I LOVE her." I feel tears pouring out of my eyes, running all over my face, splashing onto my suit.

Damn. I'm actually balling my eyes out, sobbing at the top of my voice.
I pull my hands away, from the Doctor, burying my head in them. The salty water stinging more than the saline did.

I sob until I can't breathe. Gulping in air, I sob again. A long deep wail, like a baby.
An arm slips around my body, gently pulling me over, my head resting on the soft, comfort of her shoulder.

I manage to get myself under control, letting out one last small sob, before I speak again, "I love her. I love her so much. And she's with him. It feels like my heart is ripped out every time I see them together."

Dr Possible nods, knowingly. "You mean Kimmie."
It's not a question.
I answer by breaking down again, pressing my head into her blouse, arms wrapping around her neck, sobs wracking my body again.

As my sobbing fit continues, I feel her arms on my back, one hand stroking my hair.
A mother s embrace. Something I have never felt. But something that feels so right.
Let s say I have some issues around my mother.

After 5 minutes, I pull back, wiping my eyes on my sleeve. My eyes are still a bit teary, but I do feel a bit better.

As I continued to emit tiny sobs, Dr Possible turned back to my hands, quickly cleaning and bandaging them.

I looked down at my hands, thick cloth wrapped around them, already showing spots of blood forming on the surface, then back up at Dr Possible.
"Thank you. I think I ruined your shirt, though."
Blood had dripped on it when I hugged her.

Dr Possible shrugged. "Doesn't matter. It's a cheap one. No Doctor should wear anything expensive. You need that dressing changed in a few days, though."

She left me with my thoughts for a few minutes, before returning with two cups of coffee.
Handing me one of the thin plastic cups, steam pouring off the surface, she sat next to me again.

"Do you want to talk?"

Silence.

"Alright. I will. How long have you loved Kimmie?"

That is a question I don't want to answer. But I feel that I have to. This is her daughter, after all.

"You remember when my personality got reversed. All that time we spent together. We started to bond. I don't know what the Princess thought. Maybe that we were becoming friends. Or maybe that I thought she was like a sister. But I knew what I felt. Even after I was turned back, the feelings I had for her remained. Or maybe they were there all along and I never recognised them for what they were. I know that I always looked forward to fighting her, but maybe it was more than that."

I took a sip of my coffee, wincing.

"I know. Hospital coffee. Not the best. Anyway, does Kimmie know how you feel."

I shake my head, sadly.

"How can she? How can I tell her. She loves Monkey Boy. What would she see in me? The woman who's always hitting her. I'm surprised she doesn't hate me."

"She doesn't hate you, Shego. I know that. But I'm not so sure about what she feels for Ron."

"How do you know. Has she said...."

"Not a thing. Call it a mother's instinct. Anyway, come on."

I stand, confused and suspicious, "Where?"

"Back with me of course. Unless you want to stay here, drinking horrible coffee."

I follow. I don't really care where I go.
I just feel so tired, now.
Maybe somewhere that I can't be found and won't be bothered, is what I need now.

Chapter end.