I don't own Kim Possible.
Shego sat on the ground with her legs folded underneath her. Her hair was neatly pulled back into a ponytail and she wore a simple black dress. Her normally pale green face was stained with tears as she gazed at the gray headstone in front of her. Usually, she viewed crying as the ultimate sign of weakness and refrained from doing so at all costs. However, this time she allowed herself to cry despite the fact she didn't enjoy it. Her nose was stuffed, and her eyes were bloodshot. She knew she was a sight for sore eyes, but for once, she didn't care about her appearance. If someone were to see her crying, she wouldn't feel ashamed this time. No, instead, she knew she would look up weakly at whomever it was that was staring at her.
The sky was gray, she could tell, and the sun was blocked by clouds. She shivered a bit due to the coldness of the air hitting her skin, but she wouldn't move from her spot. Shego knew it was going to rain at any moment. The clouds were ready to burst, just like her tear ducts, and she began crying again. The clouds seemed to be stronger than her today because they were holding off. Of course, she was thankful for this because the last thing she needed was to become soaked in rain.
Shego held pink hydrangeas, her favorite flower. Not his, of course, but then again, she never knew his favorite flower. She doubted he even had one come to think of it. He would sometimes complain at her flower scented perfume she had once worn and she could laugh at the memory and at the way he crinkled his nose in disgust.
Shego closed her green eyes and pictured him- tall, muscular, black messy hair when he woke up in the morning, and blue skin. Why did he have to die? It was too much for her to handle nowadays with everything that was going on in her own life. She placed the flowers in front of his grave, covering most of the writing on the headstone.
She opened her eyes and could honestly say that after being a hero and saving multiple people, he should have a large monument in his honor. Besides, his ego was pretty big, and she was extremely surprised he didn't even request something that outshined the other graves in the cemetery. Instead, he surprised her in his will that he requested a modest burial with only his closest friends and family attending the funeral, and he wanted a normal sized headstone.
Normal. Maybe that was all he wanted to be. How come she had never noticed this before he passed away? She had never wanted to be normal, which was obvious because she always wanted to be the best at what she did whether it was martial arts, swimming, running, stealing, or even crime fighting. Now that she thought about it, he only tried to be normal, but he failed at that with his quirkiness, even as a child.
But perhaps he was normal. He was born into the world just like everyone else, he lived on the Earth, and was buried in it. His flesh was even slowly decaying in his coffin just like so many others. Maybe everyone was just average. Maybe there was nothing such as normal, once she thought about it. Society defines normal, and its definition changes from society to society. Normal, she decided, didn't exist.
Her head was beginning to hurt. Nowadays, thinking too much caused major migraines, especially about life's philosophies. And there were other times to think about this. At that moment, she just wanted to focus on him, but it brought on horrible memories of the end of his life that she wished her mind wouldn't focus on. She recalled that he had a machine breathing for him as well as feeding him and just keeping him alive. He would look at her with his eyes that had been glazed over, and he was probably silently begging her to end his misery. But she didn't. Instead, she watched him waste away.
The night he died, she remembered people asking her how he was faring in the hospital. She could have used a number of adequate terms-he is no longer with us, he passed on, he passed away, etcetera. Instead, she simply looked whoever it was in the eyes and said that he was dead. It was simple and to the point even though it was a harsh way of putting it.
Shego hadn't cried when he died. She had been holding his hand as his heart stopped beating, but she had felt nothing. It just didn't seem real to her, although she couldn't say why exactly. She didn't cry at his wake or funeral, either. People had said she was strong and that she was taking it very well. Others thought that she was used to death and it no longer affected her the way it should. But she was crying now, three weeks after he passed, and seeing the headstone was all too real for her. She felt she was the only one left, and she most definitely was.
Shego didn't believe in an afterlife, so she knew she'd never see him again or ever hear his voice. She wished she had saved a message with his voice on her cell phone so she could sometimes pretend that her life was the way it was and pretend to be annoyed at him for attempting to contact her. She hoped she was wrong about her beliefs, though, but even though she hoped, she didn't question them.
Apparently, it had begun to rain but she hadn't noticed until that moment because an umbrella was being held over her head. She looked up at the other blue man in her life, and he gave her a sad smile. "I think we should go now," he spoke. "You'll catch a cold if you're out in this rain any longer." Unable to find the words and too emotionally weak to speak, she nodded. His strong arms lifted her up and he placed her in her wheelchair. For two months, she hadn't been able to walk long distances properly.
As she was wheeled away, she looked back at the four headstones with an empty plot in the middle.
She'd be the next one to go because her comet powers would soon take her life, too.