The Best Part of Waking Up
Disclaimer: Kim Possible characters are copyrighted to their respective owners.
Unrelated A/N: No idea how or if I should continue 'Some Days,' another Rongo fic. Maybe if the mood strikes. . . .Thanks for letting me waste your time.
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He woke up, every muscle, every ligament, and every organ in his body aching, or so it seemed. He closed his eyes again and tried to fall asleep. However, something felt off. He didn't know what, but he was too tired to find out. Maybe he could rest some more and puzzle the whole thing out.
Okay, let's start with his name. What was it again? Ron? That sounds about right. Ron Stoppable. God, his parents must have hated him. He could remember things more clearly now, as if there was a bright light shining into the seemingly impenetrable fog that filled his brain. He lived in Middleton. He had a best friend named Kim in high school. Bueno Nacho was God.
Proud of himself for recalling this much, Ron decided to reward himself with another nap. Unfortunately, his splitting headache and pains made this rather hard to accomplish. Unbidden, the memories started resurfacing. Missions. Junior Prom Night. Walks in the park. Normal stuff, but good times still. Nothing that would explain why he was in bed with his shoes on. This wasn't even his bed, actually.
Where had he been the last three years? Ron struggled to remember. Ah yes, culinary school. And a brief stint on Iron Chef, Japan and America. He'd gone out with some of his fellow chefs to celebrate after getting back to Middleton. So they were at the bar, ready for some serious underage drinking–how many drinks did he have? Only one, but it was his first time drinking anything over five-proof. Some of that alcohol-free beer Yori gave him was actually pretty good. Japanese people came up with the strangest things. Ron shook his head. Beer for kids. Who woulda thought?
So he was at the party right, getting hammered. Some cute girl (he couldn't be sure, but she had boobs) had come up and started flirting with him. She seemed familiar, but his alcohol-numbed brain couldn't place the voice.
More memories started washed over him. He wanted to scream as he recalled the events of that night. Taking a taxi ride over to her place. Having some more beer. Being too drunk to even take his clothes off. The memories pounded and rattled around in his skull. He tried to clutch his head, but he couldn't move his arms, his legs, anything. His brain had shut down. He woke up screaming.
It was a quiet Saturday afternoon. Rain drops pattered lightly against the windows. Shego was lying next to him, probably just as hungover. Ron cringed as she involuntarily dug her claws into his back. Once she woke up, he was probably dead. He knew he had to get out, somehow.
As if sensing his thoughts, her grip tightened. Ron sighed and thought about his predicament. It was very cold out, he smelled like cheap alcohol, and his hair was mussed up. He had also slept with the enemy. Actually slept. Didn't get past second base before passing out.
Ron huddled closer to Shego's warm body and put his arms around her. He ran his fingers through her dark hair and let himself drift back off to sleep. There were worse ways to die, after all.