The conclusion to my little trilogy. Hope y'all enjoy, and thank you to everyone who reviewed.

*Spot the Darkwing Duck reference - win a cookie!*

Through the Fire

He sticks his crayon in his pocket and presses a hand to his tight, nervous chest. It's hard to concentrate on his coloring book when there are people deciding whether or not to ruin his life somewhere in the very same building. Even coloring all the people blue doesn't help.

Especially since - he runs his tongue over his lips, hoping to work up some saliva- he needs a drink of water badly. He's been trying to ignore it, but now his tongue is sticking to the roof of his dry mouth, which means the situation is desperate. Maybe if he asks Professor Ricardo really, really nicely, he'll let him go to the water fountain.

He opens the door and pokes his head out cautiously. "Um, Professor Ricardo?" he asks in his most polite voice. "I'm really thirsty. Would it be okay if - "

Huh. Professor Ricardo's slumped down in his chair, head nearly touching his chest, mouth gaping open. How can he sleep at a time like this?

Cold shivers creep up his spine, and he's not really sure why. Maybe if he heads over to Lab 591, he can find one of his other colleagues and tell them his guard fell asleep - and Dr. Director will see that he didn't try to make a break for it - and realize that he really is good now and the list in his backpack couldn't possibly have been written by him -

Something's wrong. Lab 591 is way too quiet, even for a room without him in it. When he knocks, no one answers.

Well, at least Dr. Director's the only one who can lock the labs. He turns the doorknob - its squeak sounds like a scream in the silence - and walks in. And stares.

His colleagues - his friends - are all asleep, sprawled in very awkward positions with their arms and legs going in all directions. The Immobilizer 2000 rests carelessly in the middle of the table. None of them would ever leave it unprotected.

And what are the odds that all the scientists in this lab would suddenly get tired and fall asleep, all at the same time? Not very good. Something smells here - actually smells. He sniffs the air and recognizes it.

Knockout gas. Fading and weak - duh, or else he'd be unconscious right now - and a slightly different odor than the kind he used to use, but he'd still know it anywhere.

The

Immobilizer 2000, he realizes with a start, is portable now. If someone - somehow - managed to get past the Global Justice guards - and knock out the scientists in the lab - they could just tuck it right into their coat and walk out with it, though it would make a very suspicious lump. And someone - the thoughts are whirling through his brain almost too fast for him to catch up - someone must be trying to do that right now!

Well, he won't let them. This is his baby - he named it, for crying out loud. Heart still thrashing around wildly, he stomps across the room, snatches up the

Immobilizer 2000, and cradles it to his chest. "It's okay," he whispers soothingly to its wonderful shiny surface. "I won't let them hurt you."

"Still talking to unanimated objects, dumbkompf?"

His neck jerks straight up in panic. He knows that voice - that you-are-dust-particles-between-my-toes tone and that German accent.

Dementor. Here. In GJ HQ. Trying to steal the Immobilizer 2000, his Immobilizer 2000!

He looks down into his rival's squarish, yellowish face and tries not to look even half as scared as he feels. He's not really sure where the words come from, but they're in his brain, so he blurts them out. "My friends call me Doc. You can call me Dr. Drakken."

Dementor gapes for a minute, mouth hanging practically off its hinge, and he tingles in triumph. Yes! Score one for the blue team!

"So," Dementor finally says lazily, "you are improving with ze retorteds, eh? Not that it's going to be of any assistance!"

The tangled English breaks further in his fearful brain, but something shoves its way to the front. Something that makes perfect sense and - and - and infuriates him. "You wrote that note, didn't you?" he demands.

"Vat note?" Dementor seems genuinely confused.

Well, that won't fool him. "Don't play dumb with me, Dementor!" he snaps back, anger roaring in his ears. "You're the one that framed me! You're the one trying to get me fired so you can steal the

Immobilizer 2000 and ta-ta-take - take over the world!" Those words feel weird in his mouth - rusty from not being said in so long.

Dementor's eyes snap. "Ohhhhh, Drakken," he says, voice so demeaning that every hair he has stands on end. "I do not have the slightest clue what you are talking about, but I am not trying to put you in the fire." His mouth curls into a cruel smile. "Matter of facting, I vant you here at Global Justice. It makes my job that much more easy!"

It seems to take forever for his brain to unscramble all that. But in a way, it's not long enough before he realizes what he's saying: that he's so incompetent, his presence makes it easier for Dementor to steal the Immobilizer 2000. His pride deflates like a stepped-on balloon.

Think-Drakken-think, his mind commands him, chugging along at nearly the speed of light. If-you-were-Dementor-what-would-you-be-doing? You-can-beat-him-because-you-can-think-like-him!

He closes his eyes, pants, and tries to pretend he's evil again. Well, I'd use the knockout gas - just like he did. And then I'd walk right in, get this thing, and walk right back out - because - because - because -

It comes to him as he opens his eyes, but not in words. In ideas of himself swaggering into the room, grabbing the Immobilizer 2000, and then sauntering back out, his ego refusing to consider that anyone could stop him, so he doesn't bother with the buttons you push to page security -

That's it! All he has to do is push that button, and dozens of Global Justice agents will burst through the door and come to his aid. Only problem is Dementor's looking right at him with don't-you-dare written all over his face.

Oh - help.

"So," Dementor holds out his hand and wiggles his fingers, "just hand it over and I will be being on my way."

Right. And he's the dumbkopf, whatever that is. "Why in the name of Victor Frankenstein would I give this to you?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Because -" Dementor's own eyes are gleaming, and his stomach gives an uneasy rumble. "- when I dominionate the world, I will give you Canada."

Canada. He's always wanted Canada. In fact, if he's not mistaken, that Drakkcanadian flag with his face on it is still in his bedroom, somewhere.

And he steps forward, magnetized by that thought. Ohhh, Drakcanada. . .

NO! he screams inside, stopping in his tracks so fast his shoes squeak. What am I DOING?

He closes his eyes again and sees more pictures. Himself in prison, curled up and miserable and half-dead. No. He doesn't want to go back there.

People he's never seen before cheering for him at the UN ceremony, the respect he's waited for all his life shining in their eyes. The start of his new life, twenty-five-million times better than the old one.

And the clear part of his brain spells out a plan for him, just like it did the night of The World-Saving Event. It's a plan he doesn't want to pull off, though. It's a sacrifice-plan.

He takes a deep breath and lets his eyes open. But it's the only way.

"Vell?" Dementor's voice goes higher, which means he's really getting angry. "I am vaiting!"

"Here, Dementor," he says, breath choking out. He puts the Immobilizer 2000 on the floor and, silently apologizing to it, gives it one big push toward Dementor. "You can have it - "

"- if you can fix it!" Huge breath. He slams his foot straight down into the middle of his great invention, pushing on it with all the strength a five-foot-nine-inch, one-hundred-forty-five-pound body can hold. He's not looking - he can't watch himself destroy what he's worked so hard to create - but several snaps and crunches tell him he's successfully totaled at least part of it. So does the sagging, crumbling metal he can feel under his foot.

Oooooh. For a moment, it almost doesn't seem worth it - until he looks at Dementor, who's gaping like he just announced he was engaged to Kim Possible. "You - you destroyed your own machine!" he cries.

"No duh," he replies drolly. A smug smile starts across his face; turning the tables on Dementor is fun. "You see, I'm smart enough to fix it."

Dementor curls his lip, and it's most unbecoming. "Vell, so am I."

That's true, but it doesn't matter. "Not in thirty seconds," he replies, reaching over the lab table, fingers straining for the security button. "I'm calling security!"

Dementor advances on him - he mentally wills his fingers to grow three inches. Oooh-boy. His arch-enemy's eyes are in glittery little slits. "You vill never get ze chance."

He forces himself to chuckle nervously. Dementor's at least six inches shorter than him, but he probably outweighs him by - by - by - well, quite a bit. "Really?" he laughs in a voice that's a lot higher than he means for it to be. "What are you going to do?"

Dementor answers that question very quickly by flinging out his arm and smashing his fist right into his jaw. His teeth clench down instinctively, directly on his tongue.

Pain! Lots of it! In more than one place!

He staggers backward, vision swimming. He's been hit! Mayday, mayday, mayday! A horrible taste fills his mouth - like sucking on a dirty penny, only saltier.

He staggers backward, vision swimming. He's been hit! Mayday, mayday, mayday! A horrible taste fills his mouth - like sucking on a dirty penny, only saltier.

Sure enough, he spits a reddish glob into his hand. Blood. How do vampires stand it?

That thought gets flung aside as his clear place realizes something. If Dementor says he's never going to get the chance to call security - and he's beating him up - than he must be planning to - to - to -

There are no plants in this room, and he's too scared to remember how to grow his own. So he does the only thing he can do. "HELP!" he hollers at the top of his lungs, just before he gets thunked in the eye.

Dementor pulls his fist back a third time, but it never gets a chance to land. He falls to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs and hair and green plasma that he can barely see through his swelling eye.

Shego. She must be his guardian angel or something.

"Where's your hall pass, dude?" Shego hollers over Dementor's yelps of protest.

"He doesn't have one!" he yells back, which is hard to do with his lower lip inflating by the second. "He was trying to steal the Immobilizer 2000!"

"And he broke it?" Shego asks.

"No!" He'd shake his head, but it really hurts right now. "I did that - to keep him from getting his hands on it!"

"Underhand me this instant!" Dementor squalls.

Shego zaps him - not too hard, but hard enough, he knows from experience. "Shut up, Demented," she mutters, pinning his arms firmly to the ground. "You're in deep doo-doo."

She jerks her head at him. "Come give me a hand, will you, Dr. Bushroot?"

Head still spinning, he swipes his mouth on his sleeve and tiptoes across the room. Excuse me, Flower, he begins softly.

Yes, master? it answers.

That feels really good on his popped pride. Tie up the yellow guy, please.

Absolutely.

The vine sprouts, tingling his neck, wraps Dementor up, holds him tight. Shego hesitantly climbs off him, and the cute little purple flower stands at attention. I won't let him escape, master. You can count on me.

He chuckles affectionately; they're so loyal. I know you won't. You're a hard worker.

Sheer happiness radiates from the flower, and he understands. That's exactly how he felt when Dr. Director said those same words to him.

Speaking of Dr. Director, she bursts in the door, the one eye that's not patched wide with questions. Dash, Crash, and Burn are right behind her. "What in the world is going on here?" she demands.

Dash's eyes go straight to the remains of his masterpiece, and his own eyes well up. Doing the right thing can be so very hard. "He's destroyed the Immobilizer 2000!"

"Yeah, uh-huh." Shego turns an unamused expression on him. "If he hadn't, Professor Dementor here would be runnin' around with it. And that's kind of a bad thing."

He hides a snicker behind his hand. Good ol' Shego and her good ol' sarcasm.

Dr. Director steps toward him, over the broken pieces, and he peers cautiously at her. She's a little bit shorter than him, but right now she looms large. At least she doesn't have that angry look on her face anymore.

"Dr. Drakken?" she asks softly. "You destroyed a machine you spent hours of work on?"

Oooh. She's rubbing it in, and it prickles his shoulder blades. "Yes," he mutters.

She points at his face, stopping just short of touching. "You're bleeding."

Huh. He forgot about the pain until that very moment. "He hit me right in the chin - Dementor did," he replies, hurt tongue inspecting his damaged lip. "I just bit my tongue is all."

"That's not the only place," Dr. Director says. Her voice is still soft, but it's tight with fury - and he doesn't think it's at him. "That eye is going to be a beautiful shade of black and. . . "

She trails off, and he doesn't want to let her look stupid (he hates it when that happens to him). "Purple," he supplies helpfully. "I bruise purple."

"Yeah, and you're sure gonna." Shego glares at Dementor until he half expects plasma to shoot out of her eyes. "Anyone want to call 911 on this guy before I decide to punish him myself?"

"Dr. Director!" the black Dash-Crash-Burn snaps from across the room. "If I may remind you, Drakken is still under strict surveillance for suspected treason!"

He says his name like he's talking about the devil himself. (At least it's in English.) He shudders closer to Dr. Director, whose eye trusts him again.

"I only left," he explains around his rubbery fat lip, "because I was in dire thirst! When I went to talk to Professor Ricardo, he was doing this - " He drops to the ground, hangs his tongue out of his mouth, and throws every limb in a different direction.

"Attractive." He can hear the chuckle in Shego's voice.

" - so I went to tell someone else he was asleep," he continues, opening his eyes and pulling his tongue back in. "Only everyone in Lab 591 was like that, and then Dementor started saying I needed to give him the Immobilizer 2000 or he'd, like, kill me or something." He scrambles to his feet and nods three times to give his words the needed importance. "He knockout-gassed all the guards."

"And you destroyed that machine you adored rather than let him use it for evil?" Dr. Director sounds like she's so amazingly happy she can't believe it. He knows that feeling. He gets it a lot lately.

He nods and swallows the lump in his throat. Poor Immobilizer 2000. . . his baby. . .

His employer turns around and gives Team Impossible a Look that should send them all crying for their mommies. "Dr. Drakken is no longer under suspicion," she says sternly.

YES! He pumps his fist in the air. He's safe! He's not going back to jail! Life is right-side-up again!

"Why?" the redheaded Dash-Crash-Burn whines.

"That kind of sacrifice is completely at odds with anything he would need to help him accomplish the goals on that list," she answers. Her eye flashes at them. "He has just shown more heroic qualities today than you three have in all the years you've worked here."

Oooh. He grins to himself and lets that sink in. He's not just a reformed villain (who saved the world once) now; he's a full-fledged hero. His heart is so full it almost hurts.

"But that list was right in his backpack. How are we supposed to believe someone else wrote it?" the black Dash-Crash-Burn protests.

Something's wrong with what he just said. The clear place churns and groans and clanks and tries to figure it out -

It was found on Dr. Drakken's person.

"How did you know it was in my backpack?" he bursts out.

The instant the words are out of his mouth, his cheeks heat up. He waits for Dr. Director to shake her head and say that she told them once he left the room, and he'll look like a dumbkopf.

But his employer's lips are pressed together so hard they're turning white. And Dash, Crash, and Burn all freeze like six-and-a-half-foot tall Popsicles.

"Well - " says the black guy.

"I - " adds the brown-haired guy.

"Um - " is the redhead's contribution.

He's never seen Dr. Director look so sad and so angry at the same time, and it matches the weird sensation in his own chest. "You guys!" he hisses between his teeth. He lowers his voice and savors its boom. "You wrote that list! You put it in my backpack! You tried to ruin my life!"

They stare at him like they've never heard him speak before. "Why?" Dr. Director asks, voice low and tight. "Why in the world would you do that to a fellow agent?"

"He is not a fellow agent!" the black guy thunders back. "He is a threat to global security! We were just doing our job to keep the world safe!"

That hurts worse than his jaw or his eye. "Dr. Director gave me a second chance," he says, trying not to whimper. "Why can't you?"

"And - " Dr. Director puts her hands on her hips - "if he had truly not changed, don't you think it would be only a matter of time before we found actual evidence of it? We are not a shoddily run organization."

A shrill snort reminds him that Dementor's still tied up on the floor. "You were not that hard to break into."

"Shut your strudel hole," Shego mutters.

Dr. Director keeps glaring at Team Impossible. "Mr. DeMine, Mr. Cranston, Mr. Burnum. Report to my office at once and do not leave under any circumstances. We have some questions for you."

Victory whips through him as the three of them slink off. Their heads are down, but their backs are stiff enough to show they're not ashamed. "Are you going to arrest them?" he asks Dr. Director.

She purses her lips again. "I can't say for sure right now, Dr. Drakken. I need to get their side of the story - not that I doubt you - "

Ohhh, that feels great. He wants to bottle this moment and keep it forever.

"- but it's important to hear them out, too." She pats his hand, and he doesn't even feel the need to panic. "They need help, just like you did."

Huh. That's hard to imagine.

Things kind of speed up into a blur then - one of the huge agents grabs Dementor. He retracts his vine. The big guy and Dr. Director get into this big legal talk about what to do with Dementor while he turns around and sees Shego standing there, turning her glowiness on and off boredly.

"Hi," he says, unable to think of anything else. "Sorry I couldn't make my plants - do their - thing - right away -"

Shego smirks and pats his shoulder, which he shakes off out of habit. "Don't sweat it. It usually takes a few years to get your powers completely under control."

Hmmm. Coming from her, that's comforting.

"Though -" Her eyes dance in that way that tells him she's teasing - "I did save you again. You so owe me one."

He gives her his blue crayon.

Shego's lips twitch. "I'll treasure it always."

A stream of angry German makes him turn to the door, where Dementor's being led away by a couple of guys who are three times his size. "Do not think you have seen the last of Professor Dementor!" he cries. "My henchpeople will come break me out, and then I will -"

- keep trying to take over the world, over and over and over and over and never be happy. He knows how that feels - angry and frustrated and annoyed and hopeless and a little bit scared that you try to push to the bottom of yourself and ignore.

He can see everything he used to be in his rival's eyes, and for a moment, he doesn't hate Dementor anymore. He just feels sort of sorry for him.

Huh. Who would have ever thought?

Once Dementor's out the door, though, he remembers what he meant to do before all this trouble started. He turns to Dr. Director and grabs her hand. "Come on," he says, tugging her toward the Interrogation Room. "I have something for you!"

Professor Ricardo sits in the chair in front of the Interrogation Room, looking incredibly confused. "Dr. Director? Dr. . . Drakken? What happened?" he asks.

"Oh, good!" he squeals happily. "You're alive!"

Professor Ricardo blinks. "Dr. Director?" he repeats.

"It's a rather long story," Dr. Director sighs. "But, rest assured, everything is under control."

"Can you explain after I give you my card?" he begs. He's waited so long, five more minutes will surely kill him.

She says yes, so he digs it out of his backpack and hands it to her and dances around in place while she reads it. That uneasy feeling is back in his gut. What if she doesn't like it? What if it's too sappy for a professional relationship? What if he misspelled all the important words?

The "what if"s disappear when Dr. Director looks back up with the biggest smile he's ever seen on her face. Her eye is shining like she's about to cry. She's not the crying kind.

"Is it - okay?" he asks stupidly.

Dr. Director nods, closing the card carefully. "It's much better than okay. Do you mind if I keep this on my desk?" She raises one eyebrow. "It's inspiring."

He's an inspiring hero! "Yes!" he yelps joyfully. Everything is so wonderful he has to jump up and down and fling his arms around. "Of course you can!"

Someone snickers from the doorway, and he looks up to see Shego walking away. "Wait!" he cries as an idea strikes him. This has been a day of Very Good Ideas, and this might just be the best one yet.

Shego turns around, skin pinched between her eyebrows as he takes the distance between them in three big leaps. He lands right next to her, skidding a little on the slippery linoleum, and holds up his pinky finger. "BFF, Shego?" he asks hopefully.

She just stares at him for a long time without saying anything. But eventually she half-grins. Lifts her pinkie. Curls it around his.

And holds on.