A/N: I just wanted to thank my betas, whom I should have mentioned before now:

Nikkou, my good friend and editor-in-chief of StageStorm, for all the previous chapters and beyond. I would have never started if not for you!

catrlgirl for giving me valuable advice regarding descriptions and dialogue. I might not have been able to implement them all, since my skills aren't quite up to the task, but I tried!

Anyways, this chapter was grueling to write due to weird things happening in RL, but it's finally ready! I've also noticed that the conversion from word to whatever ff.n is using is the same as OCR scanning: only 98 accurate.

Lastly I've been neglecting the pre-requisite disclaimer:

Kim Possible and all Kim Possible Characters are the property of Disney. This fanfic generates nothing but joy for the readers (I hope!)

Please read and leave a review if you will.


Interlude

My life is now officially -weird-.

Sure there was egg nog. Sure there were presents. Sure there was a Christmas bonus underneath the tree. There was even fucking Snowman Hank and a truce. But sharing eggnog with that underage cheerleader and her family? That has –got- to be the weirdest thing I've –ever- done.

After a while it got all psychedelic. All we had was spiked eggnog from the extreme sports camera crew. Maybe there were some weird chemicals in that pod.

And boy was she a lightweight. Half a mug of warm eggnog and she was giggling like... well,... like a cheerleader. She got all flushed. Even her hands were pink. I bet she gets red all over... After a while, I was the only one up and I looked at her, lying in the firelight, her hair pooled around her like a halo. And I thought, was I ever like that? I used to be a hero once. But family can fuck you up as much as they can help you. If my freak family... fucking devil and that self-aggrandizing schmuck Hego... were like hers, would I have stayed in the Tower?

I had the plasma running hot and my claw was raised, poised, ready to make my future as the one who killed Kim Possible.

What the -fuck- was I thinking?

Looking at them like that... on Christmas,... I pressed the big button on her communicator and after hearing the nerdlinger responding "Merry Christmas! Kim? Hello?" I took Drakken back to the closest timeshare lair.


We just had about the -greatest- Christmas ever!

Even though we were on the North Pole, inside an escape capsule with a bonfire. We were all there: Nana, Mom, Dad, the Tweebs, Ron, and even Drakken and... her. We'd rocket-boarded around the pole, chasing and fighting. It was so intense...

You know the weirdest thing today was I just couldn't give Ron the smacker that I knew he'd wanted ever since he hit puberty... not in front of her. But once, we were fooling around, singing and dancing, and she and I ended up under the mistletoe… I blushed really red, and covered up by taking a deep swig of egg nog.

But after a while, it all kinda got blurred, and somehow, we all ended up at home, and Drakken and Shego,... well, I guess they ended up at one of their lairs.


Chapter Four – No Simple Language

It was on her mind again, breaking her concentration, intruding into her conscious thoughts.

The squad captain thought it might be that time of month. Big Mike, her front spotter for the finale of the routine had to wave her off her reload twice that would have seen an aerial Wolf Jump to an aerial Double Full that would have topped off a 3 tier pyramid. Kim hit the reload on the third try but nearly flattened the two girls on the second tier when she miscalculated the height and her own momentum. Instead of sticking the landing atop the girls' shoulders, she whipped past and landed in a perfect split position in front. Perfect, except it was not part of the routine.

"Kim, are you alright?" The blond captain stopped her as the rest of the squad hit the showers. His hazel eyes were concerned. He had heard all the rumours about this teenaged hero, and although he had been surprised that the establishment had allowed a freshman onto the main campus squad, everything he had seen in the redhead had dispelled those misgivings. She was loyal, dedicated and driven to excellence. She had an extreme workaholic ethic, but was kind and compassionate. He had heard she was flighty and although she did run out on them on occasion, as she did during one game the past spring, they later heard of the thousands of lives she had helped save in China. Most of the squad was proud to call Kim a squadmate.

"Yeah, just a bit tired. Sorry about the screw-ups," Kim sighed. "Had a bit of a late night."

"Well, take care of yourself," the captain nodded. "You're our flyer because you're light, strong, agile and a redhead. But that's not going to help if you put yourself into traction."

"I'll be more careful, Stan, thanks."

"Was it something that happened at the Fiske?" Stan asked after a glance at her. He had passed by the yellow police tape and seen the smoking ruins of the auditorium on his way to practice. Several intervarsity members had stopped to converse about it.

"Yeah, but it was no big," Kim said with a shrug. It wasn't the break-in that was big. Stan smiled and slapped her on the shoulder.

"Look, take today off then. We can handle the routines at the game. I don't want our principal flyer zoning out with all the local media and half the campus in attendance."

Kim opened her mouth to argue, but thought better of it.

"Thanks Stan. And really, I'm sorry."

"As you say, no big," Stan chuckled as he walked away and with a wave, he disappeared into the men's change room.

Kim turned as Big Mike came up from behind. Since their time in detention together, Kim had helped tutor him after his father threatened to send him to military school for too many F's on his report card. Strangely, the hulking 350 pound bruiser was a pacifist; it was his stuffy principles that landed him in detention more often than not. He also had amazing muscle control and an awfully light touch, which was why he was studying fine arts, focussing on marble sculptures. And he was the best single base lifter she'd ever known.

"Cheerleader," he rumbled his lips curled in a very slight smile.

"Hey, Big Mike," Kim smiled; it had been their inside joke since detention all those years ago. "How's your sculpture for the exhibit?"

"Just a bit of polishing to do, no sweat." He looked across his massive frame at her. "You ok?"

"Yeah, thanks for asking," Kim shrugged back. "And don't worry about Amelia, she was really sorry to miss the last one."

"Thanks. Nobody messes with us, right Kim?"

"Right. See ya later!" Kim slipped into the girls change room and hit the showers. She breathed a deep sigh, trying to keep her mind from wandering back to the thing that had been worrying at her all morning. Focus, Possible! she ordered herself.

Shampoo.

Soap.

Rinse.

Moisturize.

Blow dry hair.

Comb.

Foundation.

Make-up, light and natural.

Straighten hair.

Check nails.

Clothing, a lavender hoodie zipper top over a midriff baring white tube halter and plum yoga pants, with matching purple hightops.

Paying attention to such mundane details didn't seem to help the growing sparks of curiousity. And with the change room quickly emptying out, there wasn't much conversation to take the edge off as her brain shifted into overdrive.

Sparring with Shego. What would that be like? Would it feel as great as it did the previous night? Would it feel different? Would they use a local ring or a dojo? Would it be private of public? And the ground rules, what might they be? Given what Kim knew of Shego, she'd probably add a little something to the competition. "Just to make it more interesting, Princess," she could imagine her saying. As she put away her pom-poms in her sling bag, her eyes fell on the piece of plaster, the item that had been haunting her mind all morning.

Should I call? Shouldn't I? -Arrgggh-! Kim shook her head vigorously as if she could derail her runaway thoughts. Instead of pulling out the number, she picked up a scrunchie and methodically pulled her hair into a high ponytail.

Okay, -get a grip girl-! Let's take a deep breath, and analyze this. One deep breath later and a cleansing exhale, Kim finally took her brain off autopilot and kicked it into gear as she packed up and headed out of the stadium, into the bright sunshine. She could use the walk home to clear her head.


Shego and Drakken had been crime free for over two years. Given their past, this was a new record for "non-criminal activity" for them. So the possibility of them setting a trap for her existed, but barely. Drakken was really enjoying the fame he had always coveted, and would not likely risk that for a little revenge. And Shego, no matter how much she claimed to be "evil" had never, to her knowledge, killed anyone. Beaten unconscious, sure. Irrevocably scarred, yeah. Maimed, rare, but it happened. But not the crossing the river to the other side of murder. And so while a little revenge for fun wasn't out of the question, she just felt that it was not a worry. Shego's not like that anyway, Kim thought to herself as she stopped at a light and waited to cross.

What did she have to lose? Other than a potential trip to the hospital, which had happened several times in the past. Though Kim had suffered various contusions, sprains and minor burns, Shego had never been able to seriously harm her. It might take up some of her time, but what didn't? Her summer finals had been last week, and now she was just finishing up some remaining papers from her six summer courses, most of which were already in final draft. By the end of the month, she would have almost nothing to do but missions and cheerleading. Other than the two weeks approaching, helping her dad with the Junior Rocket Booster summer camp, there was nothing else on her plate. Two months of just waiting for missions and cheer squad competitions… alone. The sparring would at least give her something to do. At the fifth intersection, Kim turned left.

Would the sparring be worth it? If last night was what it was going to be like, minus the plasma, then the answer would be a definite –yes-. So what was it that was making her feel all tweaked? Kim already knew the answer.

That old feeling. It was still there. Kim still had the old Shego fan club picture stashed away in a box in her closet back in Middleton. It came along with the fan club membership purchased with money she had saved from 2 months of allowance. Her very first "personal" purchase; her father and mother had approved it without reading the contract as a sign of their trust. A fifteen year-old girl in a black mask and a skin tight catsuit with a bright smile. Signed in black felt a message read "Be a hero in your own way! XOXO Shego, Team Go!" She thought that she had buried it deep, made it go away forever, after that betrayal, that Judas moment. She had been so disappointed, so hurt over Shego's sudden defection to the other side of the law. But she couldn't bring herself to burn the picture as many of her fellow fans had. Kim had even kept all her membership items from the tumultuous and forcible disbanding of the Team Go Shego fan club.

Years later Kim realized that her fangirl crush was simply that. She had built up a wicker idol of the green-hued girl that had nothing to do with being human, and that had combusted like a Harvest effigy at the first spark of trouble. But that shattered image had begun its own rehabilitation when Kim's hero hobby and Shego's villain career had crossed. Little by little, shade and colour, hue and nuance, the image had been reconstructed, no longer based on a grade school swoon. It was brought into sharper, clearer focus with each impact, each taunt, each block, each clash. And along with it came something new, something deep and terrible in its intensity. The feeling Kim had when fighting with Shego was like that of a drowning man resurfacing to connect once again with the outside world. Kim had fought the ex-hero to prove that evil was not the answer, could never be the answer, but had been struck by the realization that the old feeling had never really gone away. It had become… pervasive and mature. So much so that it scared her and was now the source of her indecision.

Was this a path she wanted to explore? Or would this be her Pandora's box, letting nothing but evil out, with no good and very little hope? She paused at the front double doors of a faded three story redstone, her keys jingling a she let herself in.

Long ago, the girl who could do anything had realized one thing. A hero could never be a hero if they were completely alone. Only those villains who had spent their time isolated from human contact were truly mad. And the same went for herself. Team Possible was named such for a single reason; without the team, Kim Possible would simply have been… impossible. Yet being away from family and friends, Kim had realized that she had a lot of growing up to do. Much of her previous ideology was based on her teenaged belief in her own indestructibility. But that little… run-in, with the Dean the past year had taught her the value of knowledge, awareness, objective assessment and practical application. So although she still believed in humanity, she could trust people to be people. She did not believe in killing, but she did believe in measured response. She did not believe that a justifiable end justified all means, but that any worthwhile end needed a foundation based on justified means. So she believed that this decision was her responsibility, hers and hers alone, like the fan club membership. But she didn't have to be alone.

She trusted her friends. She trusted her family even more so. She trusted her instincts. And her instincts were that everyone deserves a second chance. Well, with a little grain of salt, perhaps.

She ran up the stairs, slid her keys into the last door down the corridor. Before she turned the key, she felt a soft puff of air from the security system Wade had secretly installed for her. The puff signaled that she'd been scanned and was free to turn the key without a 50,000 volt charge covering a half meter around the door's frame. Her keys clattered as she pushed in and shut the door.

Anything was possible for a Possible. And the girl who could do anything and was not a girl who had to be alone. With that she reached for the phone.


Doctor Anne Possible sighed as she finished reviewing the charts of her most recent project. Her hand flew over a small blue tinted laptop, a large GCI watermark on her screen, the back of her hand glowing softly every so often as the security scanner under her right palm would send an encrypted wireless pulse to the AOMS chip embedded in the back of her hand. It didn't even bother her now as she worked. The tall, statuesque and internationally renown neural surgeon sat before the laptop in an ivory blouse, black belted knee length skirt of soft silk. She had on her office slippers, her Operating Room sneakers sitting with her two inch pumps by the door and the lab coat that hung on a hanger.

It had been two years since she'd taken the opportunity to work with the famous scientifically heavy GC International to do a bit of work on a longitudinal study on the physiological changes brought about by psychological stress factors on close combat conditioned soldiers returning to civilian duties. The offer came on the heels of delivering a report on a pet project of hers at a spring JAMA convention in Hawaii on physiological neural maps of highly trained people. Kim had willingly agreed to be her subject in a series of deep scan MRI comparisons, and had convinced Tara and Monique to be part of the baseline.

The AOMS chip was something they had insisted on, accompanying the levels of national and international security that they dealt with, complete with NSA, FBI, Interpol and Global Justice security clearance probes. Even James and Wade had been impressed when a GCI security courier had arrived with an armed escort, delivering all the particulars along with their laptop and offer. They had explained the whole procedure for being "secured" as they called it. James was familiar with being RFIDs, but GCI's AOMS chipping system required a surgeon.

"What is this exactly?" She remembered James asking the representative.

"It allows us to be sure that whoever logs into our network remotely is who we think they are. Each laptop is geared with the latest bioware scanners, and if someone without an AOMS tries to use it, the laptop immediately undergoes a level 5 purge." James' eyebrows went up at that.

"What, you don't mean,..." The representative had nodded.

"Yes sir. Insulated, isolated EMP pulse. There'll be nothing left inside that puppy when that happens."

James whistled, then turned to his wife.

"You better keep that 'puppy' at the office, Anne. No telling what'll happen if the boys get at it." Then he had leaned in close, his darling face slightly concerned. "Are you really sure you want to go through with this dear?" he asked in a low voice. She had felt all warm and tingly, even after all these years at his open-minded no-strings-attached heart.

"I've reviewed the procedure," was her low reply. "It's mostly a day thing, not even worth the trouble for footing the bill for at the private clinic like they are. Doctor Andrews is going to oversee it anyway, and I trust his ethics and his eye." Wade had chimed in at that point over a Kimmunicator that Kim had left for them.

"Don't worry Doctor Possible, I've looked at the specs, and it really does what they say it does. It'll also allow them to track people if they're kidnapped and everything. I think Vivian Porter has one, and you know Doctor Director wouldn't allow it if it were even remotely suspicious."

"Yes, well," James' eyebrows had contracted at the names. "She better take care of that woman, after how Global Justice swept her away from our robotics lab like that. Doctor Wu spat nails for weeks..." he muttered. Then he looked at Ann. "Well, dear, if this is what you want, then I'm behind you one hundred percent."

"Just one more thing," she had asked the representative. "What does AOMS stand for?"

"Angel on My Shoulder," was the response.

She smiled at the memory.

A personalized tune rang out and she paused to pick her handheld PC from her waist holster. She didn't need to glance at Kim's photo that appeared on the screen to know who was calling.

"Hey Kimmie, what's up?" she asked, holding the small device with her shoulder as she continued to type.

"Hey Mom, are... are you busy?" Instantly, Anne's maternal instinct noted the slight pause.

"Just some report work on that GCI thing, but nothing that can't wait." She stopped typing and shut her laptop. Instantly, her AOMS chip stopped glowing. "So how'd you finals go? Are you done yet?"

"Oh, yeah, it was no big."

"We saw you on the news this morning."

"Really? Is dad still watching that feed from the local university station here?" Anne could hear the amusement in her daughter's voice.

"Yes, and he complained all the way through about their use of the cellular video for their reporting." Anne chuckled softly. Then she went for the heart of the matter. "Is there something you'd like to talk about? I know you wouldn't just call unless something's up." There was another pause.

"Yeah mom. You remember Shego?" Anne sat back, knowing this was one of those calls.

"Sure. Works for Drew, plasma wielding villainess. You put her away a few times, she got away from you a few times. Had a green complexion. That Shego?" The only person whose picture you've kept without telling your father and I, she added in her mind. Of course she knew. What kind of mother would she be if she didn't?

"Yeah Mom. Turns out last night's thing was because Dementor was trying to steal something of Drak-, uh, I mean Doctor Lipsky's. It was over even before I got there. Anyway," Kim paused. "The reason why I'm calling is that Shego invited me to spar with her. So I'm thinking I might stay at my place for a little longer before I come home for the summer." Anne picked up the careful way that Kim said those words. Inwardly, Anne sighed, oh, Kimmie.

"Are you sure? Honey, your father's going to be all disappointed. It'll be the first time without either you or Ronald to help out with the Junior Rocket Boosters. He was so looking forward to it after the great way you guys were last year."

"At least we weren't participants last year," Kim muttered through the phone. "Tell him sorry for me?"

"Sure, Kim. Just be careful. Don't play too rough."

"Gotcha, Mom. I love you, talk to you later!"

Anne disconnected the call and put down her handheld, then turned in her seat to look out the window. She knew how devastated Kim had been when things with Ron hadn't seemed to work out. Those months had been grueling for her daughter. It was like learning to live with the death of a loved one. But it had also brought them closer, had given Anne a new role; not just as a career supermom, or physician, but as a pal, a friend. She had finally been able to be a shoulder for her strong willed daughter to cry on. Be careful, Kimmie, she sighed again, then turned back to her desk and opened her laptop. The GCI logo swirled in greeting.

"Scanning for AOMS. Please log in," asked a smooth female voice. The soft pulsing on the back of her hand resumed.

"Doctor Anne Possible," Anne responded. After a moment, the screen with her work flashed up again.

"Welcome back, Doctor Possible. The analysis you've requested from our statistics team is complete. Do you wish to review their report?"

"Yes. New window please." Anne made a note on her handheld to remind herself to tell James about Kim's delayed return and went back to work. After a moment, she sat back, tapping her pursed lips with a well manicured finger, then she quickly picked up the device and added another entry. She gazed at it before giving it a last button press and placed it down. The item read "Think of how to explain to James Kim may be a lesbian."


"So what did you think of the speech?" asked Drew Lipsky, formerly known as Doctor Drakken, pulled at the lapels to his black shawl collared tuxedo jacket. His collars were always tight these days, the silly yellow petals and the tiny pink flowered vine growing out of his neck. The vine drew a cream coloured scarf around his shoulders as he flicked some lint off his left shoulder in front of the bathroom mirror.

Shego sat in the hotel bedroom in an armchair across from the bathroom door. She wore a custom cheongsam, bare backed with the front hugged up just above her breasts and a side slit that went daringly high on the left. Her long lustrous hair was flipped to one side, flowing softly over jacket that only had short sleeves, and a band of silk that covered her clavicles and trapezii that anchored to a mandarin collar, which left a swathe of smooth light green skin exposed above her cleavage. The luminous emerald dragon embroidery shimmered as she meticulously filed the claws on her right hand. Nail files could cause rather painful burns due to carelessness. But burns weren't on her mind. It was a certain perky little red-head.

Shego liked to think of herself as a free spirit who was very much in touch with her emotions, although it was mostly anger, lust and greed that she connected with. But as a highly trained fighter, she also trusted her instincts and decisions. So it was strange for her to be second guessing herself.

-Why- did I invite Kimmie like that, she wondered. It was like a spur of the moment lapse in thinking. The fight with the goons was fun, but predictable. They always made the same old mistakes, surprised by the same old feints and stunts. It was like tossing around two hundred and fifty pound children. Steroid damaged muscle men.

But then Kim showed up; Shego thought she could surprise her so that she could thoroughly enjoy any taunting opportunities, but Kim had nearly wiped her smirk off her face with a sizzling flip-kick that set her blood swirling in expectation… of what? It was the feeling of adrenaline running in her veins, the shivering anticipation of a real challenge. And then she had spoken to the teen hero, as if they were… okay, not friends, but something like that. Shego had suddenly realized, as Will had led her away from the red-headed adventurer, that she had missed their little fights. She even missed the feeling of talking with someone who seemed to…. understand her?

-Fuck-. What's wrong with me? She used to be the most wanted woman in the world. She had commanded top dollar for her services; hard or soft, she could do it all. She'd even been training some of Drew's goons before Warmonga and Warhok had appeared and flipped Shego's villain career on its head. Saving the world had garnered a series of pardons and restitution discussions; Drew had even offered and eventually paid some of the amounts when he'd heard that he was being honoured for his role in the fight against the Lorwardians.

Long ago, she'd vowed to never, -ever- let anyone get close to her again. Being soft, meant being a chump, a sap, a sucker. It made you sentimental and weak. It made you vulnerable. And that was one thing Shego would NOT allow. She was still a premiere fighter and continued to enjoy her nonchalant days. But she lacked someone to push her, to really keep her on top of her game. And that was what Princess was going to do for her.

"Shego!" the blue scientist hollered at her. She looked up to see the scar faced man standing before her, but just outside clawing distance.

"Hmm? What was that? I was too busy ignoring you."

"At least you could honour your contract and pretend to listen to me when I speak," Drakken crossed his arms in a huff.

"Um, yeah, I was. I nodded and uh-huhed in the right spots," Shego deadpanned, her eyes taking on a dangerous glint.

"Yes, but you didn't have to use that tone when you did," he whined. A black eyebrow went up as the emerald eyes stared back at him. "Alright, Shego, fine. Come along, we've got a party to attend. And we don't want to be late." Shego stood up, picking up a black and green wristlet wallet. As Drew turned for the door, the back of his right hand began to emit a soft glow.

"Hey Doctor D," Shego called, "your hand is doing its weird glow thing again." Drew held up his hand.

"Mmmmrmh! They always finish their reports at the most inopportune times!" He rubbed the glowing back of his right had with his left thumb three times and the glow stopped. "There! Let's get going; someone told me they'll have pigs in a blanket, and I want some!"


"And I said 'Prepare to taste defeat... and boy is it salty!'" The blue scientist and the men and women around him in formal wear laughed. The laughter reached up to the vaulted twenty foot ceiling of the reception hall, draped with golden shears and overhung with crystal chandeliers. A waiter with a tray of croissant wrapped cocktail wieners walked by and amazingly didn't flinch when the pink flowered vine reached out and scooped up 3 as he passed. "Really, Dean Connor, these pigs in a blanket are so tasty!"

"I'm glad you like them, Doctor Lipsky," The Dean was a tall thin man with brown hair and dark beady eyes. A small trimmed moustache hung above a droopy mouth, similar in shape to the plucked eyebrows.

"Please, call me Drew," the ex-villain said around his stuffed mouth. He glanced around for a moment. "Shego!" he bellowed, startling a nearby man into dropping a champagne flute. "Where could she be, I need some refreshment!"

"Ah, let me call one for you, Drew," Dean Connor gave a wry smile.


Outside the lavishly decorated reception room was a small elevated glass enclosed rotunda. Sweeping stone staircases dropped away from either side of open double doors that led back inside to the reception hall. The middle of the rotunda had railing surrounding a large opening through which a series of large marble balls spun as water was pushed up under each, spilling over sculpted pedestals to a pool below.

Shego leaned against the stone railing opposite of the doors and looked up at the stars. How did she get here? All her training. Those long hard hours at the monastery. The bruises and fractures from martial arts competitions. That fucking meteorite. Her fucking brothers…. Well, just the two; she couldn't blame the twins as annoying as they were. The fucking devil. Her string of heists and thefts in Europe, Asia, Africa. The top ten wanted lists in eleven countries. And now she was legit. She was "clean." And she felt… bored. Like there was something missing. She still had money, plenty of it. She had fame; dozens of high-level security firms continued to clamor for her testing services. But sometimes, in the middle of the crowd, or the silence of the early morning, something felt… off. As if she'd hit a bull's-eye but on someone else's target. She gazed up at the constellation of Aquila, divine bird of the Greek gods, bearer of Zeus's mighty thunder. Had the thunder been taken from her some how? She gave a sigh, unaware at its wistful quality.

"Penny for your thoughts?" purred a soft voice.

Shego drew in a surprised breath, then slowly turned around. Behind her stood a round faced girl, with her dramatic red hair pulled up into a high ponytail, her curled bangs framing her amused sea green eyes. Pumpkin wore a flowing empire waist black dress. Under an intricate brocade top, silver chased pleats flowed from between her breasts to the toe covering hem. Shego stared for a moment, then cast her own emerald gaze like a weapon as she leaned back on the railing on her elbows.

"And I thought only VIPs were invited," Shego evaded. "Freshmen aren't VIPs."

"And most freshmen aren't personal friends of the guests of honour," the hero replied as she sidled over to lean over the rail next to the ex-thief.

"Personal friends?" Shego snorted in rebuttal. "That floats like the Titanic."

"We've known each other for almost seven years; what else would you call it?" the redhead quipped back.

Shego made no reply, but her face was pensive. Princess glanced at her.

"I love your dress, you look really great in it," that voice purred again.

"Thanks. Uh, you too." Shego's thoughts were awhirl. What's Pumpkin doing here? Why is she here instead of calling like I asked? Is she going to blow me off? Then she blinked. What the –fuck- is wrong with me?

"This, I had it on the hanger. Never been worn. I didn't think I'd ever get any use out of it; thought this might be the chance" the hero shrugged.

Hugs like a little black dress, Shego thought until her mind screamed, Shut the fuck up! Pumpkin looked closer at Shego's dress, tracing the strange fiery balls chased with shimmering Chinese dragons patterned the black silk. "Hmm. Dragon lady," the hero smirked.

Shego was glad the only light in the rotunda was moonlight. Her flush, she hoped, would escape notice.

"It was my mother's," she muttered in reply before her brain caught up to her mouth. NO, it screamed, throttling her runaway tongue.

"It's so classy." The redhead turned and stared up at the stars, like Shego had been doing. The older woman rallied her thoughts, then turned to joined in a perusal of the constellations.

"No nice little parties for your little black number?" Shego used a tease to try to get back to normalcy, and get in control of the situation. The younger woman's flush was clear, even under the opalescent moonlight. She looked away for a moment, then turned back and looked Shego right in the eye.

"I was going to use it to prove to Ron we belonged together."

Shego blinked at the frank and very personal admission. Okay, we are now entering the Twilight Zone…

"What happened?" Again with that rebellious mouth. I should just sock myself in the kisser when I have the chance!

"He ran off. I think he knew what I was planning. It broke my heart, but it also opened my eyes," the admission was accented with a sigh, the sea green eyes stared down at the marble floor below. "You can't force things just because you think it's the way it's supposed to be." Pumpkin's face had a melancholy expression that Shego didn't, couldn't understand that she was reacting to. Shego leaned towards the redhead.

"Hey Princess."

"Yeah?" The girl looked up. Shego noted the eyes were more green blue with gold flecks.

"What say we blow this popsicle and blow off some steam?" Kim's face became still. Her eyes delved into Shego's, her lips parted slightly as she drew breath to answer.


Beneath neatly coiffed brown hair, a single dark eye glares out of a deep socket into the midnight blue of a large oval window. Steepled hands with rough calluses, elbows resting on the swivel chair's leather armrests. A barrel chest sporting a tight fitting jacket, the purple arms a sickly dark stain in the dim light, the torso a bruised bluish grey. Black combat boots finish off similarly sickly purple baggy pants. A black metal desk crouches behind him. To his right, a tall lanky black man in a deep blue tank top, black slacks and combat boots stands, arms crossed. Black piercing eyes stare out dispassionately, like a predator considering his prey. Tattoos of stylized black vines with wicked looking blood-touched thorns entwine both his arms, meeting together on his back beneath a horned skull. A long braid of dreadlocks hang down his back. A few meters to the left of the desk lounges a long legged Asian beauty on a charcoal leather couch. A series of tight buns crown her scalp. A white Chinese cheongsam with a double pattern of fire wielding demons and wild-eyed horses hugs her lithesome shape. A foot crossing a knee dangles a white two inch pump. An enigmatic smile curls her rouged lips.

An extremely nervous young Asian man in a similar purple and grey jumpsuit with dark eye pieces kneels before them. He has been kneeling for over thirty minutes, awaiting to deliver his report.

"Begin." The voice itself is shocking, wet, like a corpse dragging over gravel.

"I've come with the latest r-report, s-s-sir." His brown eyes dart from the lounging woman to the dark man by the desk and back. "Agents Green, Blue, Purple, and Red have all reported in with positive identification of targets, a-and are ready to execute." He struggles to keep from gasping for breath, but sweat beads his forehead and trickles down his temple.

"And Agent Orange?" asks a rasping voice, like the rustle of wilted branches. The messenger barely resists the urge to shiver at its sound.

"I-," his eyes dart once again to the motionless presence by the desk. He coughs. "I believe Agent Orange's last report had him tracking down a lead that he described as 'most promising.'" A movement from the couch draws his eyes. The woman now holds a meter long white feather-tipped fan. She opens it with an audible snap and begins fanning herself. The kneeling man licks his lips as sweat drops onto his knee. "He estimates two weeks to find the location, another week to excavate."

"Very well." With that, the black man makes his first movement, making a lazy shooing motion at the trembling man on the floor. The man scrambles to his feet and bows, backing away towards the door. He backs out the door which closes with a soft thud.

"Dei." The black man turns to the face the chair, cracking his knuckles. "Tien." The Asian woman glides to her feet, her fan collapsing with a flourish and an audible snap. The chair turns around. Nested in a neatly trimmed beard, a toothsome grin lights the face like a sacrificial fire, the eye patch gleaming milky white.

"Let us begin."