Hey! Sorry it took me so long to update this; an NCIS plot bunny bit me and I am in the process of getting it out of my system. I may even post it...who knows? 3NCIS3

I don't own Kim Possible.

Taptaptaptaptaptaptaptap.

The footsteps sounded less like footsteps and more like subtle taps of one's finger on hardwood. They were so light, so quick, that only someone who was listening hard could hear them, even in the dead of night.

Taptaptaptap...taptaptaptap.

For a split second, a dark figure was visible as it leaped over a gap between two buildings, silhouetted against the full moon. Then, just as suddenly, it disappeared into the blackness of the night, and the faint footsteps resumed. From roof to roof the figure leapt, barely making a sound as it sprinted along. It had been like that for years now - always running, stealing what was needed to survive, never being able to let your guard down.

The figure, barely more than a shadow to any potential onlookers, stopped dead at the edge of the roof of an apartment building. It adjusted its grip on the small tote bag it held and leaped down, landing with a soft metallic thud on the fire escape nearly seven feet below. The window there was already open, as was expected. It hadn't been closed at all that night. Quiet as a whisper - maybe quieter still - the dark figure slipped inside and closed the window as stealthily as possible. Only when the latch had snapped into place did the person finally relax, allowing the sound of heavy breaths to fill the small apartment space. The tote bag fell to the floor, all but forgotten, followed by the tar-black hoodie that had allowed its wearer to blend into the shadows. Long, light brown hair spilled down over the person's shoulders, finally free from the constraints of the hood.

"Mon dieu," came the hushed voice, "où êtes-vous quand je vous veux?"

My God, where are you when I want you?

French was not the person's native language, and religion wasn't normally a priority, but a sense of paranoia had developed over the past four years. One never knows who is listening, right? Steps must be taken to mislead hostiles, right? You can never let your guard down, right?

The bathroom light flicked on and the door closed, leaving the tote bag and hoodie forgotten on the floor. Inside the tiny room, more clothes dropped limply to the floor. Dark blue jeans. A green and blue plaid shirt. A black lace bra. Underwear.

The woman stared at her now naked body in the mirror. She didn't look anything like herself anymore. She had gone through so many changes, so many names, so many houses, that she almost didn't know who she was anymore. Her hand drifted to a spot just above her right breast, her fingertips barely grazing the surface of her skin. Under the light beige foundation that practically covered her body, she could still see a four-inch scar etched on her skin, the only blemish on her otherwise flawless body. It was the only wound that had refused to heal fully since the incident, and now she was left with a reminder of it for the rest of her life.

Suddenly, a series of sharp rapping sounds echoed throughout the apartment. The woman froze, listening for any telltale signs that the source of the sound was hostile.

"Abilene? Abilene, are you home?"

The woman exhaled, snatching a towel from the rack on the wall and wrapping it around her body. She still wasn't used to being called Abilene. It's just another name, she told herself. It's just another name.

She walked to the door of her apartment and hissed through the door, "What, Dolores?"

"So you are home."

"What the hell are you doing? It's midnight!"

"Could you open the door?"

"I'm wrapped in a towel, Dolores. This is the best that you'll get. What do you want?"

"You paid far too much of your rent."

The woman - Abilene, though that wasn't her real name - let her head fall heavily against the wooden door of her apartment. Her building manager was a piece of work, she was. "That's kind of the point. I paid for the next two months along with this one. Didn't you read the note I put in the envelope?"

"Ah...no..." There was a slight shuffling sound from the other side of the door. "I was focused on trying to reach you. It's kind of hard when you disabled the phone in your apartment-"

"Because I despise land lines."

"-and won't give me your cell number-"

"I'm a private person."

"-and never actually come out where any other tenants can see you-"

"I. Am. A. Private. Person." The woman enunciated her words carefully. "Now, if you don't mind, I am tired and sweaty. I am going to take a shower, and then I am going to go to bed. Go back down to your fancy-schmancy building manager's apartment and leave me alone."

Not bothering to listen to Dolores' response if there even was one, the tenant stalked away from the door and back into the bathroom, all but slamming the door behind her. No point in being quiet now; from all the knocking and speaking through the door, half the top floor probably knew she was home now. At least they had figured out to leave her alone, while Dolores still hadn't reached that point.

The towel fell to the smooth tiled floor alongside her other clothes, and she stepped into the shower. With a couple of squeaky twists of the faucet handle, a dribble of water began to drip out of the shower head. The woman, used to this by now, waited for a moment, leaning against the far wall of the shower. After a moment, the water flow sputtered and expanded into a steady flow of clear water, only a few degrees below what she considered 'warm'. She stepped into the water and simply stood there for a few moments, doing what people do best in the shower - thinking.

Abilene. What kind of old lady's name is that? It's almost as bad as Dolores! Of all the names I had to choose from, I had to pick Abilene. I'm only twenty-eight, for God's sake!

Abilene Brown. Alex Mitchell. Lindsey O'Connor. Debby-Ann Roberts. A whole mess of other aliases that she couldn't possibly be bothered to remember right then. She wasn't sure which person was most like her. Sure, they had all been her at some point or another, but none of them came close to what she was really about. None of them fully reflected her old life.

She plucked a little bottle from the shower shelf and twisted the cap off, letting some of the thin white liquid inside dribble onto her palm enforce reaching up and massaging it into her hair. This was a special solvent, one that she had formulated herself. It could eat through any sort of hair dye and leave the original color intact. She was tired of being a brunette. She was tired of being Abilene Brown. She could dye her hair a different color: red, maybe, or perhaps a darker brown. She wasn't hurting for hair dye by any means; she always had some just in case she needed to change identities to avoid detection.

The water that dripped from her body began to change colors, streams of brown flowing down the drain instead of clear liquid. The foundation that was rampant on her body began to wash off, swirls of tan mixing in with the dye. The woman blinked some water out of her eyes and looked down at the shower floor, internally groaning. I'm gonna have to power wash this thing to get it clean.

She picked up a shampoo bottle and squeezed a considerable amount in her hand, rubbing it into her scalp to speed along the purging of the dye. Plus, she reasoned, her hair didn't exactly smell amazing as of then, and the strong odor of the solvent wasn't helping in the slightest. It was an effective concoction, but any attempts to improve the smell always resulted in loss of capability.

After almost fifteen minutes standing under the shower head, the water finally started to run clear. Pleased (and slightly relieved that she wouldn't have to turn into a raisin standing in the shower anymore), she turned the faucet off with a deft twist of her wrist and pushed the curtain aside. Water slid down her lithe and curvy figure, dripping on the tile floor as she stepped out and reached down for her towel. She paused in front of the mirror again before she wrapped it around her body, studying herself. The scar on her chest was even more pronounced now that it was no longer concealed by makeup. With a small shudder, she lifted the cloth over the mark. Now, with the scar no longer visible and her skin and hair back to their original shades, she looked more like herself - or as much of herself as she had left.

The woman ran a hand through her hair and held a few strands up so the light glinted off the beads of water there. Black, she thought with mild satisfaction. Brown is overrated anyways. I missed having black hair.

She glanced at the little hair dryer sitting on the counter and looked away just as quickly, a brief wave of grief sweeping through her body. Ever since the accident, little things like hair dryers and stuffed animals seemed to set her off. It was just association, but there were painful memories with those associations.

Memories of her Princess.

Shego wrapped the fluffy towel fully around her body and stepped out of the bathroom. A gust of cold air hit her and she shivered, goosebumps rising on her exposed arms and legs. She wrapped the towel tighter around herself, realizing partway through the action that it would do nothing for her limbs, and scurried down the hall into her bedroom. At least it was warmer in there from being closed up all day.

Warmth. She had never thought she would be without it. For most of her life since the comet hit, heat had been a part of her. She was never truly cold, never wanting for warmth. But, four years before, when the bomb hit her villa in the woods, she felt colder than she ever had before in her life. She knew that she was supposed to feel heat, the searing heat of the fiery explosion, but she didn't. She was so cold, so weak, that she had barely managed to slip away before she was discovered. She had barely managed to survive.

The woman shuddered in disgust, letting the towel fall to the ground as she walked over to her closet. She would never forgive herself for what she had done that day. She had struggled up, gasping for breath and clutching the most severe of her many wounds, and she had run away. She hadn't even looked for Kim, the girl who had tried to save her life. Sure, the idea had crossed her mind, but she didn't look. She just left Kim there to die. She had figured that Kim would find a way out of it - because after all, she was the Girl Who Could Do Anything.

But when she heard that Kim had died in the explosion...well, she wished that she had been the one to die instead.

Every day now she berated herself, wishing that she could turn back the clock. She didn't question her soft spot for Kim; she had long known about it, but had only recently come to terms with it. Her only wish was that she hadn't been so selfish that day, because that day was the one that had really mattered. Now Kim was dead, and she blamed herself.

She took a black camisole and matching pair of shorts from a shelf in her closet. As she started to slip them on, she caught sight of herself in her closet door mirror - more specifically, on her scar, the sole wound from the explosion that was still visible. It was the only injury that hadn't healed fully, and she had no idea why. Everything else healed - all of her burns, cuts, and bruises - except for that one gash on her chest, that one ugly scar. She was sick and tired of looking at it every day.

Shego shook her head to rid her mind of these thoughts and quickly donned the pajamas she held in her now tight grip. She needed to see a hypnotist or something, because at this rate she knew she would be insane before her next birthday. Droplets of water still falling from her still-wet hair, she trudged over to her bed and flopped down onto it ungracefully. The springs in her mattress squeaked in protest, but she ignored them. She needed a new mattress - she was well aware of that - but if she went out and bought one she ran the risk of being recognized. She could always steal one, but they were too bulky to manage.

God, she thought despondently, look at me. The old me would have been worrying about my image. Now I could care less.

It was true; Shego had changed since she had heard about Kim's death. Maybe if she had believed the young hero's story, they both could have gotten away unscathed. Either way, though, Shego knew that it would result in a situation similar to her current one. Whether she had believed Kim or not, her death warrant would still stand.

Shego shifted her position on the bed so her head was half-resting on the pillow even though her body was asymmetrical with the sides of the mattress. Her hair was spread out around her head like a soaking wet black mat, but she didn't care. She just wasn't feeling the motivation to go and dry her hair. She knew she would regret it in the morning, but right now all she wanted to do was sleep. Sleep and have the rest of the world simply melt away.

Then, suddenly, she heard a series of four quick beeps echo throughout the quiet bedroom.

Shego sat bolt upright in bed, eyes rapidly darting around the room in search of the origin of the sound.

Her first thought: Bomb!

Her second thought: I'm a paranoid idiot.

In the corner farthest from the door, on a dingy little writing desk, sat her laptop. It was whirring gently, the light of the screen dimly illuminating the surrounding area. Her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion; she was sure the laptop had been hibernating when she entered the room. The screen definitely had been dark then.

"C'est bizarre..." she muttered, swinging her legs over the edge of her mattress and standing up to approach the desk.

The little machine beeped again, like it was angry with her.

"Férme ta bouche," Shego snapped, not really registering that she had just ordered a laptop to shut its mouth. Either she had just gotten an email, or there was a tiny bomb implanted somewhere in the wiring. The latter was considerably more likely. Even so, when she swiped her finger across the track pad and the screen brightened further, she was surprised with a little notification box.

You've got mail.

Raising a slender eyebrow, Shego sat down in front of the desk and opened her email. Something was up. Ever since the explosion, she had taken huge steps to cover her electronic tracks. No one had her email address - no one. She had never used this one before, so to have received an email...but sure enough, there it was, sitting in her inbox. It was titled merely, "Shego".

Hesitantly, she clicked it.

Shego,

First of all, don't bother trying to trace this IP address. I have it blocked, and I have some of the best technical geniuses in the world constantly working on my security.

Shego leaned forward slightly in her chair. Whoever had sent this, they knew her. They knew that the first thing she would try to do would be to trace the IP.

Yes, I know who you are. I've known who you are for a very long time. You may know me, or you may not. The only thing that matters is that I know you, and I know what you can do.

I need something. Something that I can't easily obtain by myself. That's why I need you. I've heard many stories about your prowess as a thief and fighter, and I know you're able. It's not a question of ability. It's also not a question of whether you'll do it or not, because you will.

Shego's other eyebrow shot up alongside the first. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Face it, Shego. You're bored. You're tired of constantly having to hide, to dodge the law. You want to do what I do - to just get out and do what you want to do. I know what happened four years ago, and I'm fully aware that Global Justice wants you dead. But they want me dead too. That doesn't stop me, and it shouldn't stop you.

You haven't heard of me, so don't go digging through your memories. GJ has kept my activities under wraps, but I think you would have recognized them if you heard them. Haven't you noticed anything odd in the criminal world lately? Like a few long-missing villains? Maybe a decrease in GJ agents pursuing them?

The emerald woman pursed her lips. Yes, she had noticed things like that. She hadn't seen hide nor hair of Duff Killigan in two years, and she hadn't heard anything regarding Jack Hench in nearly three. On top of that, she had heard stories of Global Justice agents suddenly turning up grievously injured or dead all over the world. She hadn't thought much of the events before - after all, things like that happened all the time - but now it seemed that there was a connection.

Get me what I want, and you'll get what you want - action. It's all you've ever needed to thrive. This life, if you can even call it that, is slowly driving you insane. But you know this, don't you? You already know that you're going to do what I ask of you.

When you come to terms with this fact, send a return email. I will contact you again with details about what I need and where it is.

You've wasted four years, Shego. Don't waste any more time.

Shego massaged her temples for a moment or two. There were so many things odd about the email that she wasn't sure if it was a trap or not. She didn't even know who it was from.

After a minute, she clicked the reply button and began typing.

I need more information before I can decide. Who are you? How do you know me? What do you need, and why do you need it?

She sent it quickly and without bothering to put her name at the end, hoping that whoever had sent it would still be on their email when it arrived. Sitting back and interlacing her fingers behind her head, she waited.

After only five minutes, a reply came.

We all have our secrets, Shego. I know you have more than your fair share.

As for what I need, you'll find that out when I receive a definite answer from you. That is my final word.

The Green Wraith

"The Green Wraith?" Shego muttered skeptically, but her fingers were already typing out another email. Just three simple words.

I'll do it.

She paused with her finger over the ENTER key, biting her lower lip. What am I getting myself into here?

She pressed it, and her irrevocable reply was sent.

"Mon Dieu," she murmured, glancing up at the rough popcorn ceiling of the bedroom. "Mon Dieu."

She stayed there, reclined in her computer chair, for nearly twenty minutes. At some point, her eyes had drifted shut without her noticing. That was one of the things that she just never noticed. There were always pictures running through her head, images and memories from her past - so even when her eyes were closed, she was still seeing.

The most frequent memories she relived? Those of Kim.

Kim ducked, pressing her lithe body close to the concrete floor of Drakken's latest lair as Shego's foot whizzed over her head.

"Gotta be faster than that, Shego," she taunted.

"I'm giving you nothing right now, Princess!" Shego shot back, the smirk on her face evident simply from her tone of voice. "Don't go thinking that this is my best!"

"Would have never suggested it," Kim answered, her words hitching slightly as her fist was solidly stopped by the villainess's hand.

Shego's smirk morphed into a full-on grin. "Good. But I'll suggest it to you. Step it up, Possible, or..."

Her hands ignited with their familiar dangerous glow...

"Shego..."

The emerald woman looked at Kim expressionlessly. She was trapped inside of herself, unable to act violently towards Kim or say anything remotely out of line. The funny thing was, she wasn't exactly sour about it.

"Something's bothering you," the redhead continued, plopping down on her couch heavily and sighing. "Want to talk?"

Shego reached up and tucked a stray strand of hair back into her headband. "Am I getting in between you and Ron?"

Kim blinked. "Hmm?"

"It just seems like he's getting jealous of us. Like he thinks we're together or something."

Kim shook her head and smiled, patting the couch cushion next to her. Shego sat down obediently, looking at the younger girl for answers.

"Ron..." Kim began slowly, "...he's a different type of guy. He gets jealous easily. He knows full well that we aren't together, and to be honest I don't think he would ever believe it if by some divine act it were to happen. He's not with me, either. We're just really good friends now. But you listen to me, Shego. As long as your brain waves are good, you're welcome to stay with my family and I."

Shego smiled gratefully, the expression for once wholehearted. It almost felt...nice, not having to suppress any evil urges. It was the only thing she could thank the Reverse Polarizer for.

Shego watched this with awe. "Didn't happen to get that mouth of yours from spending time around me, did you?"

Kim shook her head. "Be serious, Shego. I am not lying. I really don't want to see you dead. You need to get out of here now. Just go and hide where nobody can find you."

Shego pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Why do you care so much?"

Kim's blush returned. "I told you, I just can't assist in a murder. Please, Shego...please believe me."

Shego thought for a moment. "Let's say for a moment that I do believe you."

"Yeah, that's the right track..." Kim prompted, gesturing toward the door emphatically.

"What would GJ do now that their secret mission is compromised?"

Kim cast her gaze down at the crushed earpiece next to her foot. "I don't know. I don't really feel like I know what goes on in GJ anymore."

"Because they didn't tell you about this alleged plot," Shego elaborated.

"It's not alleged! I swear this is serious! Shego, your life is on the line right now!"

Shego folded her arms over her chest. "Pumpkin, you've been my arch foe for four years now. Give me one reason why I should trust you on this."

Kim opened her mouth and closed it several times without saying anything. The truth was, she didn't have a good reason. She was sure that, somewhere deep in her mind, there was a perfectly plausible explanation, but right now she was drawing a blank.

"I'm waiting," Shego said impatiently. "If you're not gonna say anything, then get out."

Kim shook her head slowly. "I can't...I mean, I don't have a good reason right now. Yeah, we've been mortal enemies for years, but that doesn't mean I want you to die."

"You sure you know the definition of 'mortal enemies', Princess?" Shego inquired.

"Please, Shego. I'll prove it later, if you believe me and we get out of here. I don't know how I'll prove it, but I will, I promise."

At that moment, both women heard a faint sound from outside. They both looked up, though they knew that it wouldn't do any good given that all they were staring at was the ceiling. The noise grew steadily louder until it was almost deafening.

"GJ plane," Kim said nervously. "They must be coming to get you themselves."

Then they heard a faint whistling noise as the jet passed overhead, increasing in volume with each passing second...

Shego's laptop beeped indignantly, jerking Shego out of her reverie. In a way, she was glad for it. Memories of Kim were just too painful. Blinking rapidly, she leaned forward again and checked her latest email.

I knew you'd see sense, Shego. It's all in your profile. You're a lot like me, really.

Before I tell you more, though, I have a few little errands I need to run. You will be hearing from me shortly, though. That I promise.

The Green Wraith

"Errands?" Shego muttered under her breath. For some reason - and she would never willingly admit this to anyone - this strange character was sending tiny notes of anxiety through her body. Whoever this Green Wraith person was, she didn't trust them. She didn't even really want to get involved with them.

Because anyone who could strike fear into the mighty Shego's heart was no one to be trifled with.

Hope this chapter pleased! See that little link below these words? The link pertaining to reviewing? I am currently using the force to move your cursor towards that little review button...