College, shockingly enough, is easy.
The school's campus is a tangled web of walkways and buildings of various sizes. Ron doesn't find himself getting lost all that often – at least, not as often as the other people in his dormitory. He swears that two thirds of his conversations with them have revolved around the horrors of traversing the campus of the campus. These people, they aren't jocks or fools, so Ron is fairly baffled by their troubles. In the moments following these conversations, Ron wonders if years of winding through Drew's thrown together lairs have honed his sense of direction.
Aside from that though, Ron finds that focusing on one subject – the culinary arts – has allowed him to actually progress in class. He's never found learning hard, to be honest. If Ron is honest with himself, a textbook oddly specific to Middleton High might actually have his picture beside the phrase 'needs to apply himself'. He's heard the phrase enough times for it to permanently bounce around inside of his head at the very least. It isn't that he particularly enjoys getting mediocre grades. But even after hours of lectures from various school faculty and Possible family members, Ron had never really seen the wisdom in cramming his head full of useless numbers and scraps of history. Maybe that's why – at least during this early stage – Ron finds himself near the top of his classes at college. It's so much easier to excel in a field he is passionate about.
By the time Thursday evening rolls around, Ron's first week of classes has come to a fairly anticlimactic end. He's even finished the meager amount of work his more eager instructors have given him. Out of habit, Ron finds himself lying on his bed, staring at the roof. The Fearless Ferret plays on his little television, crackling and droning in the background. His mind slowly ticks away and Ron can barely hear it over the gears grinding in the back of his head. For most of his life, Ron's been a doer and not a thinker. It's weird, but ever since Kim and himself have closed up the website, Ron's found himself alone with his thoughts more often. He wonders if he's always been a reflective person robbed of the time to actually ponder things. It's the first in a long thread of thoughts that drift listlessly through Ron's head.
The guy next door – Johnny or Jimmy – wanders past, muttering low in his throat about something. Most of the words are obscure, but there is a scattered reference to having a damned Friday class. Ron grins to himself. He's managed to avoid the dreaded Friday morning double block collectively feared by the student body. For the rest of the semester at least, he'll have the luxury of a three-day weekend. The gap in his schedule has tossed something else into his lap as well. Middleton is only around a forty-five minute drive from his dorm, the Neon Python a little bit less.
Ron's hand hovers above his cell phone. It's resting beside him on the bed as it has been for most of the week. His fingers have danced around it since Tuesday. Thursday is – it's the night he's Shego's personal chauffeur. He's been meaning to tell Shego that he's still available for days now, but things are even weirder than usual, if that's possible. Since the victory Shego and himself shared against Kim and Drew, he hasn't really talked to any of them. Kim is insanely busy with her induction program at Global Justice. Drew is busy with something similar – he'd mentioned taking a research position. Shego though, Shego is different. Ron had exchanged a few texts with her the next day, but since then it's been radio silence. It's not that Ron has shut the book on befriending or helping or bumbling around Shego. He just really isn't sure on how to proceed. With Kim, if he wanted to strike up a conversation with her, he could just send her a silly message. With Shego, Ron really isn't sure how that would play out. Stern, sarcastic, acerbic – these are all words to describe Shego. Somehow, Ron can't imagine that she has either the time or patience for superfluous conversations.
A few moments later, just when Ron thinks he's convinced himself to text Shego, his phone goes off like a grenade beneath his fingers. It's his message tone, Ron is sure of it. Even muffled by his hand, it's unmistakable. A strangled yelp claws it's way up Ron's throat and he harshly yanks the phone up to where he can see it.
'Hope your first week went well =)'
It's not Shego. It's a message from Kim.
Since the natural disaster also known as bowling with Drew, Ron and Kim have sort of been tiptoeing around one another. Ron isn't beyond admitting that Kim's wells of bravery run much deeper than his own. That she's messaging him now only drives that point home. Ron knows things have been totally awkward between the two of them and he's often wondered if it's insecurity on Kim's part. A lingering infection stemming from the way Shego had plagued Kim and himself during their adolescence. Kim had taken most of the physical damage, trading blows and more often than not, verbal barbs with Shego. Ron knows that the resulting wounds run deep. He knows this because when Kim and himself had met up on his last night in Middleton, he'd accidentally mentioned Shego's name precisely once. Concrete would be less tangible than the tension which had followed. Kim's trying though, really doing her best to shove those feelings toward Shego down, Ron realizes.
He texts her back.
Tossing his eyes toward the alarm clock to his left, Ron gives his phone a frustrated squeeze. Despite how things are between them, Kim's managed to pick up the phone and send him a message. It should be easy for him to message Shego. She's still fairly distant, but it isn't as though their relations are presently strained. As she has many times in the past, Kim has inadvertently managed to make Ron acutely aware of his failings. In the past, it had been his recklessness or his ungainly movements. Right now, it's his damned hesitance.
Ron sighs dramatically, his chest deflating. He has the Yamanouchi to thank for this. During the chasm – he says chasm, because summer seems like too small of a word – between high school ending and college life beginning, Ron had spent three weeks in Japan. He'd spent the better part of that time sharpening his awareness of the things around him. Sensei had demurely lectured him at length about being aware of your environment and more importantly, being aware of the people surrounding you. In the end, the forty-five minute speech had amounted to something along the lines of 'know your enemy, know your friend'. In spite of the fact that he'd rarely exerted so much as the effort required to stand, those twenty-one days had been three of the most exhausting weeks of Ron's life. Sensei had sat beside him, delicately explaining the intricacies of reading body language and expressions. He'd challenged Ron to do the same thing.
As a result of that training, Ron has found every day situations mutating into disconcerting amalgamations of emotions and consequence. Now, more than ever, he's aware of how much gravitas words can carry. Burdened with awareness, Ron finds himself struggling to even send a damned text message. Ever since the fiasco at the bowling alley – and what a miscalculation that had been – he feels more on edge than ever. Anything he does, no matter how minor, could be potentially disastrous, particularly as it relates to Kim and Shego. Relations between the two women have always been akin to warring nations, but at least in the past Ron had known his loyalties lay in Kim's camp. In the present, he feels like a man without a country, marooned on the border between Kim and Shego. Given the tensions, Ron can't help his paranoia. He feels like the text he wants to send – a simple enquiry of whether Shego will need a ride home tonight – could be the whisper of madness either of his friends need to engage in open warfare again.
This same scene plays out in wretched slow motion for the next fifty-three minutes. Ron lies on his bed, agonizing over whether to text Shego or not. Intermittently this is interrupted by Ron's phone beeping with Kim's replies. This loop carries on until there is a creak at Ron's window.
Ron sits bolt upright in an instant, his eyes wide like plates. Spending your adolescence at odds with the most dangerous people in the world has a way of sharpening your nerves. Using his bed to push himself upright, Ron jostles his limbs into a fighting stance. He scans the endless black outside of his window until he finds familiar emerald eyes. Ron holds them, recognition slowly bleeding into his -
"Stoppable, open the damn window." Shego barks, jabbing her slender finger at the ancient lock holding Ron's window shut.
Stunned, Ron just stares out at Shego, jaw hanging loose. A glint of white – Shego's teeth – brings him back to reality like a jab to the throat. Her teeth are grinding together with violent impatience and terrified, Ron flies from his bed. He crosses the room in three long strides, grinning a little bit stupidly. As his shock ebbs away, Ron begins to feel excitement at Shego's presence. If he thinks about all of the history that's passed between Kim and Shego and himself, that excitement begins to churn with guilt and confusion. There had been a time – a recent time – when Shego looming outside of his window would have conjured dread and not anticipation. The way things have shifted so much makes Ron uncomfortable. He blows a deep breath and busies his jittery hands with unlatching the lock on his window.
A few seconds later, Shego is inside.
The wind outside has blown Shego's mane of raven hair into the worst state Ron's ever seen it. Quite a feat considering the scraps he's seen Kim and her get into. He purses his lips and just tries not to laugh. Shego's eyes are grazing over the room, so she's likely oblivious to his battle. That observation isn't as comforting as Ron would have hoped. His accommodations are Spartan. His bed dominates the room and he'd only put up his Fearless Ferret poster yesterday. Thanks to strict campus bylaws, it's the closest he'll get to bringing Rufus inside these walls. Although the little guy had understood, Ron's throat tightens at the memory.
"So … not that you aren't welcome here, but um. What are – what brings you here?" After Ron asks her that, Shego watches him for a moment. Time passes slowly under her gaze and Ron feels like a stranger in his own room. Though she isn't really doing anything, Shego's still got a way of setting him on edge.
Shego's eyes shift to Ron. "Oh, you know. This and that." She drawls in a voice that is frustratingly casual. Ron feels his heart colliding with his ribcage in an agitated way and wishes he could be so composed.
Shego moves around the small room and Ron follows her with his eyes. He's not entirely sure what Shego is doing, but he's seen her do it once before. They'd been at Drew's new house before a Global Justice dinner. Ron had been roped into being their ride and had dismissed it as Shego just being sort of snoopy. Now he's not so sure.
Moving across the room, Shego stops in front of the mirror Ron's affixed to his closet. There's more silence. Shego stares at herself, or more specifically the state of her hair, in the mirror. A look of muted horror struggles onto Shego's face before she suppresses it with extreme prejudice. For some reason, that is even funnier to Ron than the way she's wrestling with her hair. Beginning to unwind, Ron looks, actually looks at Shego.
She isn't wearing a shimmering ball gown or anything conventionally flashy, but regardless, Ron feels his heartbeat quicken at Shego's outfit. Her thin shoulders are wrapped in a letterman jacket from some high school Ron doesn't quite recognize. He wonders if it had been Shego's school back in Go City. Peering over Shego's shoulder and into the mirror, Ron recognizes the reversed insignia of his college stretched across her chest. The shirt Shego's wearing is several sizes too small and the neckline has been shredded by something – either scissors or maybe her old clawed gloves. It all leads Ron's foggy mind to the conclusion that Shego may have raided the laundry hamper of a very petite girl somewhere on campus before turning up at his window. It's late now – really late. Unless Shego's been skulking around campus all day, there's no way she bought it from the school store.
"Hey Stoppable, do you need a napkin?" Shego asks, eyeing Ron through the mirror and ceasing the battle against her hair for long enough to make fun of him.
Vainly dabbing at his mouth for any sign of the drool Shego's implying, Ron ignores the way Shego's shirt has ridden up, exposing a sliver of her toned stomach. With his cheeks blazing crimson, Ron screws his eyes shut and shakes his head. There isn't really anything he can say to Shego at this point. In fact, Shego's mild reaction to his gaze slithering all over her is some sort of a minor miracle. She could have volleyed a ball of plasma in his direction, but she's merely cracked a joke at his expense. It pulls Ron back to the time Drew had told him that Shego might be on the verge of considering him an actual friend. He feels insanely lucky, but equally as confused in relation to her sudden arrival.
"Um that was – Shego, I'm sorry." Ron eventually manages, bleeding charm and charisma all over the place. Shego shrugs impassively, continuing to fix her hair. "Anyway, with that unpleasantness out of the way … you look very nice and you're in my room?"
Shego turns from the mirror and lowers her gaze, watching Ron through her long eyelashes. Her irises are like smoldering green embers. "Oh, so you like the college look on me?"
Ron fights with a dry swallow as Shego bites down on her bottom lip and cocks her hip. He really has no idea how to respond to that. With his arms limp and his tongue lolling feebly in the bottom of his mouth, Ron feels helpless in a way that's difficult to articulate. He's felt weak before, but this is something else entirely. These kinds of interactions have always been difficult for Ron, but that fact that Shego of all people is involved is –
Shego laughs. "Oh man, you are too easy." She laughs again and this time she doubles over, bending faintly at the waist. She actually – and Ron hadn't known this was a thing real people do – clutches her sides as she cackles at him.
Ron blinks back at her. Shego is sort of just smirking at him now. She's mostly managed to tame her hair by this point, having pulled it away from her face. Without a scowl dominating her features, Ron admits to himself that Shego is almost inhumanly pretty. Her cheekbones are high and her jawline has a delicate slant. Ron furrows his brows at the woman in front of him. He's told Shego he'll be her friend, not another mindless zombie relentlessly hitting on her.
"So, aside from tormenting me, shall we do something else tonight? I think there is a club that doesn't really check IDs on the other side of town. We could uh, if you want to, we could check that out?" Ron tentatively prompts.
Amused, Shego eyes Ron's jittery form. "Kind of over the club scene." Shego replies, a little more fiercely than Ron had been expecting. "So mostly I'm just here for the Buffoon tormenting amenities."
Shego does a good job of camouflaging her sudden irritation by teasing Ron. Leaning tentatively against his window frame, Ron isn't really sure what to do next. He'd kind of just assumed Shego would want to go out and lose him in a crowded room. He knows they're tentatively stowing away each other's frenemy labels and replacing them with ones of friendship, but this, this is weird. He looks at Shego and she just looks back at him. He's half expecting her to say something or charge him, but Shego hasn't been acting entirely like herself for weeks. She stays where she is, half leaning against his desk.
"S-Shego … I'm not – um. Not to labor the point – a-and not that I don't believe you about the whole thievery aspect of your visit – but did you really drive forty-five minutes just to torment me?"
"Don't flatter yourself, Stoppable. It was only fifteen by hovercraft." Shego retorts, eyeballs circling in their sockets. The dull, flat tone in her voice is reassuringly familiar. Ron finds himself laughing with relief as the nervous tension in his shoulders unwinds slightly.
"So um." Ron fumbles for something to say and Shego sighs.
Shego props herself up on his desk. Some of his notes rustle in protest. "Come on, Stoppable. I'm trying here. Aside from the horrible awkwardness, bowling with you was okay. Better than being hit on by weirdoes, losers and creeps in a shitty club, at least."
"Oh." Ron murmurs, mostly to himself. He half expects Shego say something else, to invalidate what she's said by lashing out against him. She just gives a slow blink and inclines her head for Ron to continue. Rather than confidently outline his plan for the evening on the fly, Ron just blurts out what he's really thinking. "I – uh. Honestly, I'm kind of lost. What do you want to do?"
"Yeeeah, the thing is, I'm more of a doer and a complainer, than a planner." Shego admits, leaning against the wall and regarding him with a lazy smirk perched on her lips. The absence of the sneer he's come to expect from Shego still catches him off guard every time it's missing.
"Well, um." Ron leans against the window behind him and attempts to focus all of the pent up anxiety sparking around inside of him. His stomach emits a low rumble and it's the spark of inspiration he'd needed. "Have you had dinner?"
Shego briefly furrows her brow before answering with a small amount of embarrassment. "I had a pop tart a couple of hours ago."
Ron's eyes widen. He pushes himself off the ledge and upright, suddenly feeling like he has a foothold in the conversation. Facing Shego, he begins to babble excitedly. "Oh man, now that is definitely where we are going to start. What do you feel like, Shego? I'm not sure … I mean, since we're friends, this is kind of embarrassing, but what is your favorite kind of food?"
Ron's jittering finally slows down and he looks at Shego expectantly. She's sitting upright now, eyes betraying the smallest amount of shock at Ron's explosion. Shego folds her arms and they fall across her chest like slabs of concrete. Ron swallows. Her posture is suddenly defensive.
"Does it really matter?" She asks, glaring a little bit.
"Well," Ron swallows hesitantly. He's really unsure of what he's done to put Shego on guard and it's churned up all of the apprehension inside of him. "There are like, dozens of late night places within walking distance – like mostly on the same street. If you have a preference, maybe I know of somewhere good. We can uh, plan the rest of the night there."
"Oh." Shego's sudden anger deflates. She takes a deep breath and readjusts herself amid angry crumpling from Ron's notes.
Ron broadcasts a tentative smile across the room. Shego shifts her gaze to something else, looking more lost than anything. Ron tries to follow her line of vision. She doesn't appear to be looking at anything in particular. She doesn't say anything, so Ron finds his mind beginning to wander. He watches the woman in front of him. Until now, he thought Shego was a fairly uncomplicated person. He'd thought that over the years, he'd sketched out a fairly accurate picture of who she was. But now, in the wake of her openly hostile reaction to a fairly innocuous question, he feels less certain. All of the events and circumstances that have come together to form Shego – he only really knows the main ones and the ones he's found himself caught up in. Pensive, Ron realizes that he doesn't even know whether the name Shego is an alias, nickname or something eccentric Shego's parents had come up with for their only daughter.
"I guess I could go for something spicy." Shego eventually says, having returned to the easy tone of before. "Not, I repeat, not that abomination of a Mexican place you are thinking of."
Unabashed, Ron grins at her. Shego rolls her eyes again, but her eyes have lost their hardened glint. "Well, since the fine cuisine is out," He says, finally stumbling across his sense of humor. "There are a few places I know of. There is an Indian restaurant, Raj's Temple, but I'm not sure that is a great idea. Their curry is – I think it sent one of the sophomores from upstairs to hospital -"
"Spare me the details." Shego winces, raising her palms between herself and Ron.
"How about Guerrero's Last Stand?" Ron enquires. Shego makes a face and her eyes narrow with vaguely defined suspicion. Nevertheless, she lifts one hand again and motions for Ron to continue. "It's Mexican, but real Mexican food. The owner – Eddie, I think it was – Is actually a trained Lucha Libre from Tijuana."
"Huh. Okay." Shego answers distractedly. She glances down at her hand and inspects her nail polish. Ron's eyebrows twitch together. He'd been expecting something slightly more enthused. "Yeah, lets do that." She nods, inclining her head toward the door.
The hallway is silent mostly, aside from a lone exchange student – Mark or Mike, something like that - from Malaysia. Shego actually bares her teeth at the undersized freshman and he scurries off in the other direction. Ron follows Mark's retreating form with a frown. Shego just laughs with pride and continues walking. Ron ambles along beside her, unwilling to scold a woman capable of rendering him to ashes. The front door to the dormitory comes up surprisingly quick. Ron flings himself ahead of Shego with enough time to run his ID card through the sensor. Chivalrous in a way he's rarely managed in the past, Ron leans against the door and holds it open. Shego perks an eyebrow, but remains otherwise impassive as she marches past.
As he steps outside, Ron shoves his hands into his pockets at pulls his jacket closer to his body. It's a lot colder than it had been after class. It is just past 10 O'clock though, so he shouldn't really be surprised that the air is so crisp. From the corner of his eye, Ron catches Shego swing her head from left to right, scanning the street. She looks a little smaller, and a little less sure of herself than usual. Still, under the moonlight, she looks pale and beautiful. Every fiber of Ron's being tells him to move, but he just finds himself staring. He finds himself staring until Shego's eyes lock with his and her eyebrows swoop down dangerously.
"I'm not planning an ambush or something, if that's what you're thinking." Shego snits, blowing a stray lock of hair away from her face.
"I was uh…" Ron feels suddenly and palpably grateful that the moonlight has washed most of the color out of his skin. His blush probably isn't apparent. "So, you're wearing a Colorado University shirt. Tell me about that as we walk." He blurts out, tongue stumbling amid his scattershot delivery.
Before his brain has the chance to scream no, Ron places his hand on the small of Shego's back and bustles her forward. They take approximately three steps forward before the gears inside of Ron's head slowly crank into action. That Shego hasn't singed any part of him feels incredibly significant to Ron. He's just barreled in and touched her spine, yet he's still standing. It's sort of amazing to be -
"You going to chauffeur me the entire way, Stoppable?" Shego asks, looking over her shoulder at him. Her hair is still more unruly than usual, spilling over her eyes and her tone isn't quite as gruff as Ron is used to.
"I um …" Ron coughs up, dropping his arm back to his side.
"Buffoon, Stoppable – Ron …" Shego's tone isn't mean, but rather a little bit lost. She gnaws at her bottom lip and her eyes flit down to the hand that was just on her back. It takes her a moment, but she presses on. "If we're going to pal around or whatever, you really need to calm down."
Shego says it so matter-of-factly that Ron's jaw just swings loose. He stops and stares open mouthed, at her. Shego slows to a halt a few steps in front of him. She emits a soft sigh of frustration, looks over her shoulder at Ron and then finally turns to face him. The expression on her face is open and raw, so unlike Shego. In that moment, she looks so young that Ron finds himself flying backward in time. He's standing in Pre-K, there's a redhead in front of him and she's been segregated from the rest of the class for the color of her hair. The memory flickers and then burns away. Kim's face – mostly the expression of isolation and uncertainty – bleeds into Shego's.
He remembers the terror of cooties from Pre-K. It had taken him all day to work up the nerve to say a thing to Kim. It reminds him of how nervous he'd been in the lead up to talking to Shego for the first time – every time, actually. Cooties don't really compare to Shego's comet powers, but Ron feels himself becoming more and more aware of the parallels. It's a physical thing too. The realization is a tangible slap, cracking against his face.
"You're right, I'm – you know how hard old habits are to break." He isn't sure why, but Ron feels suddenly aggravated – disappointed, mostly - at his own failings in dealing with Shego. In response to his ungainly movements, Shego's mouth curls into a smirk. "How about we start off fresh?" Ron asks abruptly, proffering his hand to Shego with a jerky movement. Her smirk fades.
"I'm not introducing myself to you." Shego says, blinking down at the hand hovering between them. Shego's scowling, but Ron wonders if perhaps, it isn't as venomous as she'd intended. Maybe that's why Ron waves his hand around for emphasis, able to ignore the roiling sense of danger churning in his stomach.
"Shego."
Just when Ron's about to lose his nerve, Shego extends her hand and wraps her fingers around Ron's hand. Her eyebrows are resting low against her emerald eyes. Irritation is plain to see in her features, but she hasn't blasted him across the road. For once – this little scrap of time – things are easy. He's just Ron and Shego's just his friend. They could be anybody in the world right now.
"Oh hey there, Shego." Ron chirps, coasting along on the moment. "I'm Ron Stoppable. My, aren't you a bundle of joy?" He asks, bending at the waist to regard her more carefully.
Shego's eyelids squeeze shut before she turns away from him. Muttering, she marches off into the night. Blinking and then grinning, Ron sets off after her. Things won't be this simple for long. Ron's acutely aware that the chaos in his life will soon swallow up this peaceful moment. He'll just enjoy this respite while it lasts.
This is a little bit late now, sorry! I honestly struggled a bit with this chapter. There are a lot of things being set into motion by it and I've tried to explain a few things that might have been too vague/ooc in the first three chapters.
As always, I love the feedback – thank you so much everybody! Keep on letting me know what you're enjoying and what you're not. This is unbeta'd again, so if you pick up on anything, please comment on it and I'll fix it up.
