Chapter 4


After his talk with Kim, he realized that she was exhausted and hungry, and he let her go. He had other work to do.

She stayed in his mind, like always. But he focused instead on reports from undercover agents abroad. There was nothing remarkable concerning GJ, probably because they'd squeezed another fifteen mil off of them in the past couple of weeks.

It was a small amount, compared to the other times they'd taken money from GJ, but it was worth it because it was more than enough to send someone on an undercover mission. Kim had been training him and his team intensively for this assignment, and Wade had coached him in his alias and back story until there were no holes, even though this guy's ability to bullshit was unparallelled.

He'd also toyed with the idea of squeezing more money off GJ to put in a fund for the experiments. The ones that hadn't died were recovering, slowly but surely, and he was sure they wouldn't want to hide forever. They had a right to move on, and he wanted them to have financial security if they did. There were over a hundred people he'd had to place and give work to.

Some of the 'experiments gone wrong' that had low intelligence capacity, he'd decided to keep closer to home, and had them moved to the island where they wouldn't be found and harmed. The others had been moved to other bases and given jobs as well. The younger ones that couldn't be put to work were also kept on the base, and he'd gotten some of the other experiments to team up with tutors and psychologists to teach them during the day. Their school and compound were being built on the south west part of the island.

For now, satisfied that his man was trained to perfection—as perfect as anything could be, anyway—he would have Kim and Wade assemble a team for back-up for him and call it a day.

Maybe Kim would be up to movies this weekend, if she wasn't busy.

-23-

She wasn't. "You're in a mood."

A dull glare.

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing."

"I made you cookies."

"I don't want cookies."

"Bullshit, you always want cookies."

"I don't always want cookies."

Ron shrugged, taking the hint. "Alright. When you're done being combative and irritated, I'll have cookies, popcorn, and the most boring movies I can find."

She didn't say anything, and he left her to her work. She'd chewed the heck out of her pen, another clear sign of her tension. What had gotten into her?

He made his way to his place, opening the door and closing it with a sigh. Then he glared. Shego was leaning on his kitchen counter, a cookie in her hand. The plate next to her was half empty. He thought Wade had changed the codes on his door. He'd hear about it later, that was for sure.

"Hey. Who knew you were so awesome at making cookies?"

"They weren't for you. Get out of my apartment. Now."

"Don't be that way," she said flirtatiously.

He ignored her completely and moved toward his cupboards, retrieving flour and other essentials. He'd have to make more sugar cookies, since Shego clearly had the intention of eating them all. "Get out," he said flatly. "You wanna work here, fine. But you can't just bounce up in my space, eat my cookies, and expect to just climb back in my bed after you ended it! Go away, I mean it."

"I didn't end it. I was mad because you were thinking about her."

"Okay well, if you didn't end it, I am now. Please leave."

She scoffed. "You're hung up on an experiment. A freak. She's unnatural, and she's fucked up! Please explain how you're thinking about doing someone that might not even be one hundred percent human."

"She's just as human as you or me, and right now, she's an important part of this thing, so don't you start shit with her."

"How important exactly?"

Ron smirked. "She's chief trainer in survival and rescue, and I asked her to do special ops too."

Shego frowned. She was the chief spec-ops trainer.

"She does demonstrations for bomb squad sometimes too. She's ah... pretty well liked around here. I'd do yourself a favor and keep your opinion of her to yourself."

"I want my job back in spec-ops."

"You ditched it," he shrugged. "Why should I give it back to you?"

"Because she's a freak—"

"If you had a job at the bank, or at the store, or at anywhere at all, and you abandoned your job, you wouldn't waltz in an demand to have your job back," Ron growled. "Kim has been filling the hole you left, along with Mark and Clark Smith. You wanna work in spec-ops again, you work for them."

"I'm not working for her."

"Then you're not working at all. I'm done dealing with you and your damn tantrums. You're not three years old anymore. Get out."

"You're going to see. I'm going to make you see that I'm better than she is."

"You're already proving the contrary," he said testily. "Now get out, I have to bake."

She huffed and stomped away.

With Shego and Kim working together, he'd have to find a new place to build a base on, because those two were going to go nuclear and sink the whole damned island.

He sighed.

To be honest though, between the research she'd been doing for Wade, being chief trainer in three different areas, and her own studying, Kim was stretched pretty thin. He'd have to talk to her. When she was less irritable.

He wondered if he was like that all the time. If he was, he was sorry.

-23-

It was so frosty between Shego and Kim that if he got within a thirty foot radius of either one, he could see his breath.

It got so heated between Shego and Kim, that their baleful looks and growled insults crackled like volcanic lightning during an eruption.

This time he wasn't going to wait for them to destroy the building with their attitudes. But he refused to do anything to alienate Kim again. The conundrum was so confusing, he felt like he was on one of those spinny rides that always made him sick as a kid in the Middleton Fair.

Kim blamed him for letting Shego back on the island, he knew that. He didn't really know what to do with that aspect. Shego also sent him death glares over Kim having her position. He wasn't budging on that. Shego had abandoned her employment, he was being reasonable. Merciful, even.

Kim looked like she wanted to kill her—or him—about eighty percent of the time. Hopefully this weekend, he'd be able to settle things with her, at least. He made her raspberry-lemon mascarpone cheesecake. She hadn't been fond of the regular stuff, but maybe this would change her mind. If not, he had chocolate cream pie as back up. With extra whip and Oreos.

He'd asked her to come over, and she'd grunted some unintelligible response and stalked away to training.

He frowned and started on a batch of sugar cookies. He'd just pulled them out of the oven when her voice startled him. "What the hell is this?!"

"A good will gesture?" He turned, the tray of cookies still in his hand, and looked at her.

She stared around at the cake and the chocolate pie and the cookies he'd just set on the counter. She frowned. "You aren't mad?"

"You're asking me?"

"No—I mean, I..."

"I thought we could talk. You know, calmly. With sweet treats and popcorn... you know."

"I don't want to talk," she said stiffly. "I don't want her here."

"I can't just let GJ kill her because she's a pain in the ass," he said, pouring her a glass of milk before cutting a slice of his fancy lemon cheesecake and a piece of chocolate pie. "Try them both," he said. "Tell me which one you like more."

She glared at him a little bit, but tentatively tasted the cakes. Her frown fled from her face and she broke into a large smile as took a bite of one of them.. "Chocolate pie?"

He chuckled. "Yes."

"And... what's this one?"

"Try it, then I'll tell you."

She was frowning again, but in concentration. She tasted another bite, and then another. "Lemon and... raspberry, I think... cheesecake."

"Very good."

"But it isn't normal cheesecake. This one is sweeter. I like this better."

"Because of the type of cheese. I used mascarpone instead of the regular stuff. Also, the lemon has that weird sweet-and-sour effect, and it makes it taste really good."

"I like this."

"I thought you would."

"Where did you learn how to bake like this?" Kim asked with a bright smile.

He glowered. "At home," he said flatly.

"Oh." She swallowed.

"Look, I know you and Shego get along for shit, but you two need to get over it. I'm not going to let her die out there, but I'm not going to let her pick on you either."

"I d—"

"Just do your damn job, alright?"

Kim recoiled. "I didn't do anything wrong," she whispered.

He sighed and his shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Quit hurting me," she mumbled back.

When he looked up again, she was gone.

-23-

Ron stalked out of his office two days later to find Shego leaning on the doorframe, eating a cookie he no doubt made. "I thought I told you to stay out of my place," he growled. "What do you want?"

"Whoa," she chuckled. "What got up your butt, bossman?"

"None of your business," he snapped, and she snorted.

"You and the Petri Dish Princess fall out or something?" she asked around her last bite of Kim's cookies.

"Fuck off. And her name is Kim, get it right. Quit eating her fucking cookies. I made them for her, not you." He walked away from her and down the hall toward the wing where his apartment would be.

"She clearly isn't eating your baked goods, and she clearly isn't getting any of your other goods either."

"I said, fuck off," he hissed, pressing the elevator button with more force than necessary.

"I told you," she mused, her tongue flicking out to catch some left over crumb on the left side of her lip. "She's a freak. All she's going to do is let you down, screw you over."

The elevator dinged and opened, and there she was, her red hair in a messy knot at the back of her head and a stack of files in her hands. He saw that instead of her usual gear, she was wearing wide sweatpants and a hoodie with the WWEE logo over the left chest. She scurried out of the elevator and Shego made to knock the files out of her hands.

Ron grabbed her wrist and glared. She shrugged and stepped into the elevator. Ron went in the other direction, hurrying after Kim.

"Oh, Wade said to give you this," she said hurriedly when he caught up. She thrust the pile of papers and folders into his arms and left like the hallway was on fire.

He sighed and went back to the office to put the stack of paperwork away. He'd screwed things up with her again. He needed alcohol.

-23-

She would have said that the banging at the door woke her up—but she would have had to be asleep for that.

She sighed and got to the door, pulling it open and stumbling as a very drunk—drunker than last time—Ron fell through it and into her. "Hey," he mumbled, hugging her so tightly he coughed.

"Uh—hi. Why are you here?"

"I missed you," he answered simply, plopping on to the couch after pulling a flask out of his back pocket. "Last time I apologized to you, I didn't drink enough." He took a swig from the flask and gave her a lazy smile. "Not making that mistake again," he said, wiggling the small bottle in front of her.

She took it and set it down on the table. "The fact that you have to drink to apologize to me makes me wonder if I should accept your apology."

"On my seventh birthday—which is five days, nine hours, and thirty seven minutes before Independence day, by the way—my mom got me one of those pink Granny Crocket oven things... I'd been begging her for one, and she kept telling me that those were for girls. My dad must have convinced her that that was bullshit. I made my first cupcakes for the fourth of July, and I sold them for twenty five cents. I sold the first one, and then the other eleven sold in less than five minutes. After that my mom spent every weekend teaching me how to bake in the kitchen. It started with cupcakes and cookies, but as I got older she taught me other stuff—pies, cake... fucking crème brulee... those are my best memories with my mom."

"You were really close to her," Kim said gently.

"My mom was a saint," he said stiffly. "She didn't deserve..." He squeezed his eyes shut as a tremor rolled through his spine. "She taught me cooking and stuff too as I got older and older. By the time... I was winning county and state competitions for cooking. I was only a sophomore in high school, but there were colleges calling my house and sending me letters about scholarships to their culinary programs."

"That's very impressive."

"All cause of my mom and her gift—that fuckin'... Granny Crocket oven—and weeks washing flour out of my hair because we'd get into food fights and—my mom was everything to me, and I still love her more than anybody."

"I'm sorry," she said.

"I don't want your pity," he said roughly.

"I'm not pitying you. I'm sorry you lost your family. I mean—I don't know what it's like... I just—I don't know how to be around you!" she finally burst out, frustrated. "You said we were friends, and I never meant to hurt you or drag up all these painful memories with my question—but if you don't tell me when questions like that are off limits, I can't know! And instead of telling me, you just bite my head off like it's my fault your mom's dead!"

He snorted. "Believe me, if you had something to do with my mother's death, you would be without a head, but not because I verbally bit it off."

"You're an asshole."

"I know," he said, taking the flask from the coffee table and taking another big swig. He had stopped wincing at the burn a long time before. "You aren't the first person to tell me that." Then he sighed, staring down at his hands in his lap, his trusty flask, now mostly empty, still in them. "You're the first person whose opinion I care about though. I... wish I weren't an asshole to you so much."

"Then don't be one," she said testily.

"It isn't that simple."

"Try me," she said testily.

"I'd rather not. If I try you and I lose, you'll leave me, and I won't be able to protect you anymore. I don't want you to die."

"Why?"

"Because you're special. Like my mom was. There was this... this thing about her... you have it too. And if I lose you like I lost her I won't..."

Kim stood and walked away a little bit. "I'm not your mother. I'm not some saint. I can take care of myself. If you've forgotten, I was engineered, breeded, and trained to take care of myself—and take care of you, and not the good way."

"Kim, I—"

"If you keep hurting me like this, you're going to lose me just like you said. I can't handle this."

"I'm sorry. Really, I didn't mean to—I swear, I didn't want to snap at you like that."

"You're the one that asked me to go over—a good will gesture—I refuse to accept your apology, or your baked goods, or anything the fuck else if you call that a 'good will' gesture," she hissed, showing the anger he knew was mixed in with the hurt.

He sighed. "I hurt your feelings a lot, don't I?"

She was silent.

"I don't mean it."

"Don't you?" This time, he was silent, and she snorted a derisive chuckle. "I'm not stupid. You just compared me to your mother, who you described as a saint. I know you're afraid of letting me in and getting hurt."

"Yes," he said simply. He swallowed the last of his vodka.

"I'm afraid of getting hurt too, you know. But I'm still trying to learn how to be a friend. You're horrible practice."

"Can you be my friend anyway?"

She turned and studied him. "I can try," she said at last. Then she disappeared into her room.

"I'll try too," he said, although nobody heard.