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I am a bashful mouse with little to say!
I hope y'all enjoy this chapter as much as I do.

13. The Nature Of – part1

No arrangements had been made, so Dr. Drakken didn't count on a visit over the weekend, much less hope for one. Not after the cold shoulder he'd given when he'd locked her out of his quarters while he stopped a bloody nose, and later grunting in wordless dismissal when she popped into his office to inform him she was borrowing Lux and his Beetle for burgers and a ride home.

She'd given him a fleeting opportunity to take her instead, jokily recommending a liquor store and movie rental, and like a fool he turned her down with a scoff that he was in no mood to abet in her underage drinking. His face was still sore from the wrench, and he didn't need her finding a way to bruise his ego further.

He went to town that Friday evening anyway, long after dark, to do his shopping for fresh ingredients as the phantom voice of his mother insisted. A balanced meal for a change didn't lift his spirits as long as he was slumped alone at the kitchen island though. His appetite was too far gone to finish his plate. The extra serving was wrapped up in foil, bound to be forgotten at the back of the fridge until he threw it out next week.

Given he'd braced himself to spend his weekend in his usual solitude, Drakken was in for a surprise Saturday morning. Whether it was a pleasant surprise was debatable.

Slumping out of his bedroom, bundled up in a soft navy blue robe, he paused on his way to the kitchen and snapped his head toward the living room instead. The television was on. He just barely recognized the blurry colors and shapes of Scamper and Bitey on mute. He never tuned into that channel, and he was certain he hadn't left the TV on.

He blinked blearily to a figure clad in all black on his couch, fetched his glasses he'd forgotten on the kitchen counter last night, and crept over to take a better look.

It was Shego, of course, so not a total surprise. She was roughed up. Dirt on her cheeks and clothes, autumn leaves in her hair. One pant leg was rolled up to just below the knee, soiled paper towels wrapped around a bloodied ankle which left a stain on the corduroy couch cushion he might never get out. A paper sack of cash and coins had been dumped out on his coffee table, some of it counted and stacked, but most of it in a loose pile and spilling onto the floor.

He had half a mind to shove her awake and demand answers.

He made coffee instead.

A few minutes later, he was given a start, as he hadn't heard her get up. She brushed by behind him as she sidled into the kitchen, and popped up onto the counter nearby to put her dirty foot in the sink, hissing as she peeled away crusted paper towels that had dried to her ankle. From his spot by the stove, Drakken cast a wary glance back at her rinsing away dried blood and stuck tissue.

Watching her tend to the injury wasn't conducive to making breakfast, and it sure didn't help his appetite. It was the ingrained voice of his mother compelling him to cook at all, and if he didn't have company, he likely would have skipped the most important meal of the day entirely.

He wanted to snap at her to take care of herself in the bathroom – he put eating utensils in that sink, for crying out loud – but she spoke before he could find the nerve to tell her off.

"Smells good," she said blithely without looking back at him, as if she weren't picking at scabs. "Whatcha cookin'?"

"Omelets."

"Can I get extra cheese?"

"I didn't say I was cooking any for you," he bluffed, and flinched as cold water was flicked at his cheek, some of it sizzling in the pan. Cross-contamination crossed his mind and he grimaced, giving her a curt, "Fine," in the hope she wouldn't do it again.

"And extra mushroom."

"Only if you tell me what you got up to last night."

"I dunno. I got high," she answered airily. Her tone was hard to read and he saw her shrug in his peripheral.

Drakken turned to her now to study her drying off with yet more paper towels, but, "High on what?" somehow took precedence over his uneasy curiosity of how severe the lacerations were even as his eyes darted down to her ankle. He could think of only one medical clinic in this town, and it wasn't open on weekends. Otherwise, it was a forty-five minute drive to the nearest hospital if she needed stitches from a licensed professional.

"Don't worry about it," she said.

But he did. He even screened his henchmen every so often. Thoughts of the newspaper clippings came back to him, the nasty rumors of meth use and other dubious substances in particular. He narrowed his eyes at her. "If you don't remember what you did last night, then I feel I should worry about it," he retorted as he stepped over to inspect her ankle for himself. "It's not going to get in the way of—?"

"Chill out, dude. It was just weed," she swore irritably, and it was a wonder she didn't kick him for grabbing her leg to take a look. He swore he caught a trace of the odor on her then, and crinkled his nose. She shot him a dirty look in return and yanked herself free. "It's not a big deal."

Whether she meant the lacerations or the dope, he wasn't sure if he completely believed her. As he glowered at the sheepish girl slipping down from the counter beside him, favoring one foot, he had the sneaking suspicion what half of her too-high-to-remember claim had been a lie. "How did that happen anyway?"

"You really need to give me a key to the gate," she grumbled.

"You tried climbing the fence, didn't you?" he guessed, and took it as a yes when she quickly shoved away from the counter to keep her back to him while she got into the fridge. He shuddered to think of her getting snagged in the barbed wire topping the fence, but it didn't explain the leaves in her hair or why she was barefoot with dirty feet. He sighed and unthinkingly picked out some debris from the snarls of hair as she set about slicing creminis, at least until she shot him a testy sidelong glance that reminded him to keep his hands to himself.

Shego came clean on her own as he went back to tending to the stove, though Drakken had the sense she wasn't telling the whole truth. She regaled getting high with her new posse from the café, eager to explain how they'd dressed up in black, complete with balaclavas, and worked as a team to rob a convenience store. She only came away with a couple hundred dollars, but she was content with it, while her friends had been high enough to be content with armloads of snacks they'd looted. Following the heist, she'd lost her shoes in the dark and fell in the woods while avoiding the road. When Drakken tried to scold her for making trouble, she cut him off, quickly blaming him for putting the idea in her head the first place and justifying the mischief by accusing the 24-Seven clerk of being a creep and a pig. Then she chastised him for not being there for her when she needed a getaway driver.

The account didn't ease his worries much.

Nonetheless, Drakken fetched her the first-aid kit from his bathroom after breakfast and left her to tend to herself properly and crash on his couch again as he started his day in the tech lab.

Just having her asleep a room away on his couch was enough to ease the loneliness somehow. It was better when she woke up and migrated to the chair behind him as he worked.

It was a shame it only lasted for the day.

Setting her up outside the lair was feeling like a mistake, Drakken decided as he took her home that evening. He reminded himself like a mantra that it was for the best. He had to protect himself, although chaperoning her so often was bound to be counterproductive. Her do-gooder superhuman family was bound to show up sooner or later, and it was best he kept them as far as possible. Which meant her too, as much as he coming to hate the very thought.

When it came time to drop her off in front of the apartments, she offhandedly promised to see him Monday, but Drakken involuntarily let yesterday's soreness show in his tone as he asked if she'd be waiting for him behind Buckley's. He knew he'd made a mistake when she narrowed her eyes at him before giving an ambiguous shrug and jumping out.

Keeping her at a distance may have been his idea – but all reason and logic aside, he was certainly regretting it as he was left by his lonesome once again. He had to pull off a glove to be sure he hadn't turned a shade bluer.

Technically, he did see her Monday – just not at the usual meeting place. She was already walking down the sidewalk a block away from Buckley's Brew, walking a happy-go-lucky brown dog all but dragging her along and chatting with a scrappy young fellow with bad teeth and patchy stubble. Drakken tried coasting slowly as he passed, but the civilian Shilo shot him a dirty look and a rude hand gesture. Grudgingly, he took the hint to bug off. She didn't turn up later, much to his disappointment.

The next day, he debated even bothering to make the trip to pick her up, as per their agreement. But he was glad he did, because she was waiting for him this time. She was with one of her café girlfriends again. It was decidedly a better sight than yesterday's, and he was rewarded for his effort this time when she climbed in, though she didn't bother to put out her cigarette this time, choosing instead to wryly hold it out his way as if to offer him a drag. He glared and shoved her outstretched arm back to the passenger side.

Back at the lair, she performed the task she was given of honing his henchmen's skills and keeping them sharp, although not very professionally today. Drakken was working on plans in his office when he glanced up to the CCTV across the room for the umpteenth time, spotting a commotion on the screen dedicated to the gym. He was surprised it took her this long to give one of his henchmen a black eye and a knee to the groin.

Before he could consider going to the gym to break it up, the video feed informed him she was already making a hasty departure. So he sat back down and scooted up to his desk to resume working on the blueprint for his latest pet project – or at least pretending to do so. His feigned focus didn't last long.

Drakken didn't hear her enter, but remaining oblivious to Shego's presence beside him was impossible when she grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him out of his seat at the risk of stretching his sleeve.

"Come on. I wanna get out of here," she said coldly as she all but drug him from his office.

It didn't sound like he had a say in the matter. He pried her fingers from his arm to give himself a little more dignity as he strode along behind her. "Did something happen?" he pressed, throwing a glance back down the stairwell. Reviewing security footage for misbehavior wasn't an option right now.

"No," Shego scoffed. "I've just got somewhere to be."

"But—"

It came out whinier than he'd meant, and she shot him a glare over her shoulder, interrupting, "But what?"

Drakken cleared his throat and slipped around her to the step above. "It's not time for you to go," he said, straining to keep his voice level.

Shego offered a mere shrug as she pushed him aside to pass. "The boys and I came to an agreement to take a break for a few days," she explained. "They're sore, and I've got better things to do than spend my afternoons beating them up."

"Like what?" slipped out in a scoff.

"Like hanging out my friends in the park and being a hoodlum," she offered as if it was the obvious answer. "You never want to do anything fun, Doc. It's boring here. Call me when you've actually got something for me to do."

Recoiling from the sharp sting of her words, Drakken shied back as she finished her ascent up the stairs ahead of him. He wasn't boring – he was blue for Pete's sake – and – and he squeezed his eyes shut, recalling the amount of time she spent idle and lounging around. He supposed he really hadn't given her much fulfillment lately.

Treading slowly after her, he scratched the nape of his neck with a frown as he considered viable avenues to appease her.

Shego was quiet on the ride into town, and he himself was a little too sore and deep in thought to be much for conversation either. An autumn thunderstorm loomed, owing to the thick humidity, which didn't make the silence any less suffocating. As the first raindrops hit the windshield, Drakken was momentarily glad he hadn't been so cross as to tell her to walk, though he was still inclined to give her a cold shoulder for the earlier insult.

He doubted the cold shoulder was all that effective though when he was the one feeling snubbed and chilled.

When the civilian Shilo finally piped up, waving a hand out toward him to signal him, it was to tell him to stop the van – and then she was shouldering her go-bag and hopping out, something down the street ultimately more important than a courteous goodbye or thank you for the ride. As the door slammed behind her, thunder cracked with a dazzling flicker of light, and Drakken had half a mind to order her to get back in the van as the blinked away the spots.

It was just his luck she was jogging down a one-way street in a direction he couldn't follow. He idled a moment too long, watching her go, and the honk of a horn behind him alerted him he was holding up traffic. He just barely caught a last glimpse of her ducking into an alley as he drove on.

Back at the lair, he got back to business, a new determination fueled by her insult urging him to work overtime. He impatiently ordered his scant crew of henchmen to do the same, visiting the workshop in the basement himself to hand over documents detailing precisely the parts he needed to complete an order.

The behemoth Lars overseeing the shop was none too impressed by Drakken's deadline. He turned away with a howl of laughter that reverberated through the room and gave him a dismissive answer, "You'll get 'em when you get 'em."

As the head honcho, it wasn't the treatment he was used to. He left with his face hot and hands balled into fists, and with the creeping suspicion that his closest subordinate's presence of late had been gradually undermining his own authority worse than he could have anticipated. It was high time he quit letting her push him around and regain some control around the place. Keeping her at a distance was all-around for the better.

Regardless of whatever pep talk he gave himself as he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders to assume a respectable stature, he still found himself out of the lair first thing the next morning. He'd thought it through. It had been hard to sleep with the storm outside raging, the thunderclaps heard all the way in his bedroom in the lair. The resonating booms had echoed through the ventilation system all night, a good portion of which he'd spent in the lab plucking away at the latest ridiculous order that ought to earn him a small fortune.

Though the thunder had moved on, the rain illuminated in his headlights came down in sheets, quenching the parched landscape. By the flow of water on the road, washing away mud and debris, Drakken didn't doubt the flashflood warnings broadcast on the radio. He was surprised the ceiling back at the lair hadn't begun to drip yet, and could only cross his fingers for another year that the architect's guarantee was worth anything. He hoped to be out of the hole soon, and idly contemplated the sort of lair he might invest in next. He wasn't much of a beachgoer, but an island in the tropics sounded awful nice about now.

It was still dark out – especially dark given the unyielding cloud cover – which made the single front window of Shego's studio apartment in the upper right corner easy to spot despite the distortion of the rain streaming down his windows. The light was on, which he hoped meant she was home and awake.

He weighed the options of waiting for her and going up to fetch her. He supposed he should have called, but if she had phone service yet, she'd yet to give him her number, he realized.

A minute later, he was ringing her doorbell. He really hadn't thought it through. He'd taken a leap out of the van and made a mad dash through the driving rain, soaked through by the time he reached the staircase. The breezeway roof above offered no protection from the rain blowing in sideways, and for a second he was relieved his accomplice answered the door so quickly.

She was buttoning up a clear plastic raincoat, uttering, "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming," when she suddenly leapt back and stared at him as if she'd seen a ghost. "What are you doing here?"

What was he doing here? He stood staring at her slack-jawed for a moment too long, a cold gust of rain striking his back making him jump forward. Civilian Shilo stepped aside to let him take shelter in her doorway, but waited for an answer. He cleared his throat to kick-start intelligent thought again. "I thought I'd give you a ride to Jackass – I mean, to Buckley's," he said, and tacked on the excuse, "I was in town anyway for, uhm. Some parts."

"That's…nice," she said warily, and flipped up her hood. She peeked past him into the dreary morning. "But I already have a ride, so…"

Drakken glanced back. The only vehicle in sight was his old white cargo van. "Really? Because I don't see it."

"Well, yeah. He's not supposed be here for another five—"

Suddenly he was very cold, and sodden clothes weren't to blame. "He?" slipped from his mouth before he could think to respectfully excuse himself for impeding. "Who's he?"

"My getaway driver," she answered curtly a roll of her eyes. Her hand clasped around his wrist then, and he was being towed back out into the rain.

"I thought I was your getaway driver?" he uttered stupidly as she turned to lock the door.

"Only when you need me to be your errand girl," she reminded with a note of resent, voice rising above the clamor of the heavy rainfall.

"Oh." Drakken blinked at the blurry shape of the girl in the clear slicker ahead of him as she let go of his wrist so they could both safely descend the slick staircase. He couldn't accurately recall the number of times she'd tried coercing him out to do something, particularly activities that could get them into trouble. The image of her lying across his couch last weekend came to mind, her ankle torn up but the thrill involved in obtaining the meager sack of cash evidently worth it.

Whoever this getaway driver of hers was, it was evident to Drakken he'd need to step up his game if he wanted to compete.

He couldn't shut down the anxious tumult at the thought any easier than he could the stir of warmth nearly blotting out the cold rain chilling him to the bone as he watched her take shotgun of his van. He told himself hypothermia was to blame for the odd sensation, but his companion negated the thought just as quickly.

As he climbed in behind the wheel, she plucked the glasses from his face and wiped them dry with a rag from the console before he could fuss with his own impaired vision himself. He thought his, "Thank you," came off polite and genuine, but he might as well have insulted her by the way she crossed her arms and huffed.

It could still be hypothermia, he decided with a nod to himself.

Before turning a corner ahead, he couldn't help noticing a pair of headlights stop where he'd been parked moments ago. He cast a glance to Shego – she was watching the side mirror, her mouth quirked into a wry smile, and he swallowed bile and kept his mouth shut to keep curiosity to himself. Even if he did feel entitled to know what game she was playing with him.

"Shall I pick you up today?" he wondered as he pulled up to the curb in front of the corner shop café. The windows of Buckley's Brew were already lit up as the large baker and a couple of girls moved about inside, setting up shop.

Shego hummed, but then she shook her head dismissively. "Not unless—"

"Unless I have a job for you," he predicted, and gave a nod. "Roger that."

"I will literally take anything," she practically groaned. "Even sneaking into a movie or spray-painting the welcome sign into town."

"That's too juvenile," Drakken whined back at her. "It's not even that evil—"

"Fine!" she said, throwing her hands up. "Be a stick in the mud."

"I'll have something for you!" he blurted out just as she popped her door open. She glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow, and it took all his resolve at that moment not to shrink back under the weight of her inquiring stare. "I'll have it finished – you'll – look, you'll just have to wait, okay? That whole downsizing thing really set me back. So just be patient, Shego."

She stared for another moment as if sizing him up before giving an indignant huff. "Well, you know where to find me. I'll be waiting."