Because going on a lark sounds more evil than going on a date. ;B

15. The Nature Of – part3

During the noon exchange, Drakken's partner in crime stood composed at his side as a particularly stern and ominous presence he might have found more unsettling if she hadn't been grinning excitedly five minutes earlier. The woman's uniform was rightfully aposematic, and the prudish client was rightfully wary of what purpose she served. Maybe the rising bigwig recognized her and knew of her talents, or maybe he decided it was safer not to test the suspicious bodyguard standing at attention. Drakken liked to think his own confidence, despite being outnumbered and outmuscled, was a contributing factor.

The escape route Shego had secured for them in case the deal went south wasn't needed after all as the trade for the made-to-order torture chair went off without a hitch.

The unceremonious paper sack of cash Drakken walked away with was just barely worth the time and labor put into building the villainous contraption, but there'd been a generous tip for having it completed ahead of schedule, so he couldn't complain. He wondered inwardly if he'd be walking away with the payment at all if he had any ordinary budget henchman for backup.

As they retreated to the van and the buyer and his thugs went on their way, Shego leaned over to Drakken and whispered her disappointment in not being double-crossed. Unlike him, she'd been hoping for action. She whined about wanting a fight, even tugging his sleeve and asking if she could go mug one of the wannabe's bouncers for the hell of it. It was then that Drakken saw it best to distract her. She might not have any qualms with it, but he really didn't need to make enemies with powerful people so early in the game. Not if he could help it, anyway.

Hitting up the first Smarty Mart they crossed earned a displeased raspberry from Shego, but he promised it would be worth it and pulled her inside. She saw where he was leading her soon enough, and she grinned and shook her head and shoved him when he gestured with a flourish to the aisle of canisters.

He should have expected her to go straight for the green. He also should have expected her to give the first can she grabbed a good shake and to pop the lid to aim it at him. Barely dodging the aerosol, he leapt back and threw a nervous glance about for witnesses before stalking up to her, popping the lid back on the can, and dropping it in the basket.

She swore not to do it again, but something about the way she rolled her eyes and the shift of her stance urged Drakken to sidestep around her, catching her crossing her fingers behind her back. She dropped two more cans of green in his hand basket before he could make a remark. He added his own shades of blue before declaring that five cans of paint was more than enough.

A quiet alleyway was the next stop.

Graffiti in broad daylight from the roof of the van was efficient in giving the thrill-seeker her kicks, for a little while anyway. The sleeve of her sweater served as an improvised mask against the fumes, hiding her smirk as she worked. Drakken could only shake his head at the thick overlapping letters larger than her forming SG.

He returned to the van to wait for her to finish up, claiming his spot behind the wheel in case they needed to leave in a hurry.

After a while, he noticed a lengthy pause, followed soon by the footsteps as she strode across the roof and the thump when she dropped down to hang her head over the edge to peer in at him upside-down through the driver's side window. Her raven hair hung like a curtain outside, and he had to ball his fists in his lap not to reach out and touch it.

"Grab the blue and get up here," she said.

"Thank you, no," answered Drakken, his stomach twisting at the very idea of climbing onto the roof of the rust bucket. Joining her up top would delay escape if they had to make one. He did hand her the extra cans, but she glared at him as she set them aside.

"Oh, grow a pair, would you?" she retorted, reaching down to stretch her fingers for the handle, only to curse that her arm wasn't long enough. "I need your help up here." Since she couldn't reach the handle, she reached in through the window instead to filch the glasses right off his face to serve as a bargaining chip.

He barked her name indignantly as he all but climbed out his window after her, grappling at the roof for purchase. He glared up at the figure in the green sweater above him. "Give them back!" he ordered, but it came out more like a whine. His face heated.

"Come and get 'em," she suggested, kneeling just out of reach. She extended a hand, but it wasn't to return his eyeglasses.

Grunting, he batted away her assistance. Against his better judgment screaming at him to get back in his seat, he carefully climbed the rest of the way out of the window, hefting himself up and getting his feet beneath him on the ledge. Blind as bat, he managed to wriggle his way up and rolled onto a roof he feared would collapse under his weight if he dared to stand.

"See? Was that so bad?" jeered Shego as she returned the glasses to his face before he could risk sitting up.

"Yes," he grumbled, propping up on his elbows to peer over the edge. He wasn't afraid of heights, but he certainly had a disagreement with the unreliable sense of bowing of the roof beneath him. It didn't help when she shifted to kneel even closer, making the roof buckle with a plunk he felt reverberate through his spine. He sat up a little too fast, feeling another pop of metal under his tailbone, and immediately looked over the edge again to wonder silently how he'd get down without falling and looking like an even bigger fool.

Shego's hands pulled him to his feet, and for some reason he allowed it. Her luring smile was effective in chasing away voice of reason screaming at him to stay down for safety's sake, but as long as she didn't let go of his arm, it might be alright. She gestured proudly to her insignia.

"Lovely," he sighed, squeezing her shoulder just a little too tightly for support. "I could have seen this from the ground, you know."

"Not so fast," she snipped, grabbing at him when he made a move to step away. She tugged him back toward the wall, just about shoving him against it like an officer about to frisk him. "Stand here. Feet apart, yeah. And, uh, put your hands here," she instructed with nudges and prods, and before Drakken could twist around to object to the manual manipulation, she was pressing down on his shoulders.

"What are you—?"

"Just hold still," Shego ordered, her patience almost as thin as the paint. "Ready?"

"For what?"

The metal underfoot buckled again and his knees almost did as well as he felt her push down against his shoulders with twice the force as a moment ago. He almost jerked away, but he was effectively pinned against the wall, and instinct had him frozen in place. He grit his teeth as her full weight came down on him, and stared wide-eyed at the knees now on either side of his face. A trivial fear of losing his footing wasn't the sole cause for the thrum of his heartbeat anymore.

Standing on the roof was bad enough. Standing on the roof with another person on his shoulders bearing down on him was enough to make him sweat and pray the metal would hold up. Nevermind that he had to forcibly banish the entire thought of his head presently between a pair of thighs. He stood rigid, hands splayed firm against the brick wall ahead of him and tried not to think of her as anything other than a very inconvenient and heavy backpack.

He didn't want to open his eyes to acknowledge her when she rapped her knuckles on the top of his head, but Drakken reluctantly cracked them open and grunted in answer.

"DL or DD?" asked Shego.

"For what?" he all but spat, fixing his glare dead ahead at the mortar.

"Your initials, genius," Shego sighed in exasperation, and tousled his hair. The movement, however slight, struck fear into his heart and he braced for the roof or his knees to give way.

He had zero control of his mouth. "No – I'm not – I don't think—"

Shego flicked the top of his head. "You're part of this."

"DD!" he blurted as if crying uncle. He swallowed as he looked up to watch her set to work, but he quickly looked back down upon the inadvertent discovery she wore nothing beneath her sweater. His face heated and he ignored the strain on his back and the burn in his limbs. "Please make this quick," he whined out under his breath.

She took her time anyway, and the fumes falling on him made the lightheadedness that much worse. Before he could collapse, she slid back down his back, and he breathed easier, but still found himself frozen to the spot.

Shego took a couple ambling steps away, spinning around and grinning up at her work while Drakken slowly relaxed and took a look for himself. Sure enough, D.D was scrawled above in the same sharp crystalline fashion as her SG. The roof popping under his feet had nothing to do with the lurch in his gut as he gawped up at their combined initials.

Rendered mute, he took a deep breath to clear his lungs of the fumes messing with his head. The fumes were absolutely to blame for the trifling idea of their names being known in conjunction across the globe one day. It would be a big step up from a mere pair of ambiguous initials graffitied out of sight in some dark lonely alley. The thought was dizzying.

Or maybe he was just dizzy. He could blame the fumes for that too.

Arms caught him as he stumbled backwards, the laughter behind him doing nothing to help him get his head back on right. "What do you think?" she wondered as she pushed him upright and held him steady with a hand squeezing his arm.

"Uhm," was all he could make out as he glanced between her inquiring raised brow and the drying mural. He was cottonmouthed, but managed to swallow and make an attempt. "It's. Lovely." They weren't exactly the right words, but they'd have to suffice.

"Aw, shucks, pardner," said Shego with a sarcastic southern drawl, and let go to elbow him and hook her thumbs in her belt loops. She laughed feebly, her smile barely meeting her eyes, and he tore his stare away as she licked her lips and brushed hair behind her ear to look up at the initials again. She cleared her throat and added in a more serious manner, "Let it be known, if you amount to anything, chief, give credit where credit is due. Got it?"

Joint initials were a testimony of partnership, but the nature of which, Drakken couldn't pin down. He wasn't sure he wanted to anyway, and he didn't quite have the nerve to question it. He settled for smiling to his accomplice and giving an agreeable nod. "Yes, ma'am."

Shego tugged his sleeve then. "Come on. We should book it before we're busted."

He had to admit, blemishing some unsuspecting business with a few more poorly-conceived and crude murals elsewhere until the paint ran out was enjoyable. Although becoming the canvas with the last bit of green paint was less so. Drakken discarded his ruined jacket in the back of the van along with the empty spray cans he'd confiscated from a chortling sidekick. She apologized, but it wasn't very heartfelt. He had half a mind to turn a spent can on her, but remembered she wore only one layer just as he uncapped to return the favor. He grudgingly put the can away.

Little more than two hours had been spent on the endeavor, most of the time spent driving around scoping out locations. But the evening was still young – sunset wasn't until six – and if his company wasn't ready to retire, then neither was Drakken.

She had a suggestion a little more challenging than vandalism in dark alleyways.

Against his warning, she was insistent on getting her way. And against his better judgment, he let her have it.

Hitting up a casino was a risk, but she assured him that if she'd pulled it off once, she could do it again. He sighed and gave in to her demands, splitting up to let her to find her own way around the security checkpoint. He waited in anticipation inside the colorful noisy joint, keeping a sharp eye out for her, and all the while he tried not to dwell on the fact that if she weren't underage, she wouldn't have to be sneaking around at all. Luckily she blended in well with the younger patrons, and he spotted her skirting around some chatty college-age jock on her way through the crowd.

When she reached him, she took his arm and towed him off for roulette. As adamant as she'd been to visit the casino, she opted not to partake in any of the games this time. When he questioned it, she laughed that she'd rather watch him blow his dough than waste her own. He grunted indignantly in reply, but it was hard to argue with her lingering so close, frequently with a hand on his shoulder, or leaned against him, offering words of encouragement to egg him on and make his bets.

She was a bad influence and he had cash burning a hole in his pocket. It was a wonder she didn't sucker him into losing anything substantial.

It was an hour or two later that her light touches to remind him she was close at hand turned into squeezes and tugs at his shoulders, but he ignored her pressure even when she pinched him. He was ready for another game of poker when she draped her arms over his shoulders suddenly to slump forward, and he got a strong whiff of her odd cucumber shampoo as she leaned terrifyingly close to his ear to hiss a warning through her teeth that they were being watched by the client's thugs from earlier.

Heeding Shego's warning at last, Drakken agreed to leave while he was ahead. It was hard not to cast a glance round to check for himself, but he took her word for it as they casually made their way through the casino, Shego splitting off towards the restrooms.

He couldn't be happier that he'd turned a small profit from the torture-chair tip, and passed Shego her fair share of the winnings when she met him around back. She didn't seem particularly happy about having to leave so soon, the cash she stuffed in her pocket doing little to take the grimace off her face.

With evening, the crowd of foot-traffic had swelled. It was perhaps the reason she stayed exceptionally close as she walked beside him down the sidewalk to find the parked getaway van. It made it that much harder not to glance over to her somber face as she followed. Her jaded eyes glanced up at him, and he darted his attention up and away.

Looking elsewhere, he spotted a familiar landmark in the form of an unassuming palm tree by an equally unassuming bench on the corner across the street. He glanced back to his companion trudging along next to him then.

"Are you hungry?"

++X++

Shego shrugged meekly before giving a nod in reply. The sun was setting, the dusky sky indicating it was nearing dinnertime. It had been several hours since the muffin she'd had for breakfast, and she could go for a bite to eat about now anyway. It might help stave off the dull headache dragging her down.

Drakken grabbed her by the arm then, pulling her off course and assuring her that he knew a guy. She quirked her brow, but humored him.

Apparently the guy was a former henchman of Dr. Drakken's. Shego didn't recognize the brutish bouncer in black, but that was probably for the best. He seemed to be on good terms with Drakken. Good enough anyway to give her a once-over after Drakken offered a cash bribe and asked him to look the other way. The thug took the money and made a sly dog comment, pushing open the door to allow them to descend into the underground establishment without a fuss and without checking ID.

The Hellhole was a seedy little pub and poorly lit inside. A weathered animatronic of a small red devil hung by a noose in the entryway, welcoming sinners with its worn-out voice box and a jerky wave of a pitchfork that struck Shego's escort on the back of the head as they passed.

Drakken kept a hand on her elbow to keep her close, whispering a brief explanation, "This is a popular chain among ne'er-do-well villains, so try not to start any fights or look at anyone the wrong way."

Villain culture was certainly turning out to have a bigger underworld than she expected. If she was a double agent, the knowledge of hidden locations such as this would be valuable. She had to wonder what kind of rabbit hole she was following this man down, but a fascination kept her on his heels.

"Ne'er-do-well villains, huh, Doc?" Shego scoffed. "What's that say about you?"

Even in the dim red glow of the entryway, she saw his face flush. "I – it – I've had to come here from time to time for information, I'll have you know," he sputtered. "The food here isn't half-bad either."

She couldn't help smirking and shaking her head as he lead her onto the floor, weaving between tables as he made a beeline for a booth in the back. He threw a few glances over his shoulder at her, as if worried he'd lose her despite the fact he was still holding her by the arm.

Despite his warning, she was looking at patrons the wrong way. It was a little hard not to. Not unlike a villain convention she'd busted two years ago, the Hellhole was a freakshow. Her blue escort was just an average Joe suddenly. The multicolor lighting made it hard to tell who was of an unnatural hue, but several guests certainly had peculiar skin texture, and they came in all shapes and sizes. She had a feeling the folks here weren't dressed up for early Halloween festivities. She was pretty sure there was a reptilian hybrid monstrosity dining with a misplaced dapper fellow with a capuchin monkey on his shoulder. At the bar sat a gnarly woman with a parasitic twin on her side, which was decorated in beads and sipping a Bloody Mary with its single spindly malformed arm. Another fellow in a skirt stroked his beard as he eyed Shego's backside in passing, muttered something in an indiscernible Scottish accent, though she was certain she caught arse.

If Drakken wasn't dragging her down into a booth, she might have gone back to make the Scotsman repeat himself to her fist.

Her companion threw himself down comfortably across from her on the cushy bench and sighed contentedly. "Nice turnout tonight," he quipped as Shego tore her eyes away from the bizarre array of patrons, though he himself continued to stare almost dolefully across the pub. She tried following his line of sight, and just as she spotted a platform across the room, he heaved a sigh and slumped forward over the table. "I used to come here for the karaoke," he admitted, shamefaced. "Well, technically I still do. Sort of. I've been here probably five times." He laughed uneasily under her stare, and swallowed, and sat back.

"So, if you try to pressure me on stage again, no one here will bat an eye if I plasma-blast you, right?" she asked dryly.

He seemed to shrink under her questioning glare. "We're just here for the food," he mumbled.

Shego quickly came to doubt that when he knocked back a shot while waiting on two orders of chicken strips. She was really beginning to question what they were here for when he pushed the second shot across the table toward her. She hadn't forgotten about the unsavory beer she'd sipped back on karaoke night in Go City, a little too distrusting now to take his offering so readily. She politely declined, but bit her lip as he gave her time to reconsider.

"You wanted to go on a lark, didn't you?" he goaded, nudging the glass back her way. "Now's your chance." He had a very good point there.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, but for the sake of solidarity, she willingly accepted. A lark. That had a certain appeal.

Drakken chuckled impishly as she gulped it down, and she soon found herself sipping on a strawberry cocktail he swore she'd like or she could hit him. Shego kicked him under the table anyway, stubbornly denying a bloom of warmth as she ate her chicken strips and fries while he lost his reservations and forgot whose turn it was to drive. Although she was just as much to blame for not reminding him.

The grub was good, as promised, but eventually she saw it fit to urge Drakken to his feet before he could drink himself completely silly, though he was certainly on his way to tipsy town. She wanted to believe she wasn't, that it was just his weight against her making her sway as terrible standup comedy drove them out of the aptly-named Hellhole.

Neither could recall precisely where they'd left the van, but it was found eventually. Within an hour or so of nightfall anyway, and not before Drakken disappeared for a good ten minutes and left Shego confused and alone on a bench until he reappeared, proudly brandishing a bottle of liquor swaddled in a paper sack. She confiscated the bottle first for safe keeping before giving him an unappreciative shove.

Once he was back on his feet, she passed it back, and he wasted no time in cracking it open to take a pull. He ambled along beside her until she was pushing him into the passenger seat of the van. If his indulgences at the pub hadn't gotten him drunk, then nursing a bottle of rum was sure to do the trick.

She wanted to be annoyed with her intoxicated passenger, but instead she leaned through the door and over his lap to reach for the bottle he held away from her, until he yielded and let her take a curious sip. She stayed here leaned over his lap and contemplating taking another for a minute too long, because he cleared his throat and pushed her back by the shoulder, reminding her they ought to be going.

Shego climbed over him and into the driver's seat and patted her cheeks as if it would clear her head of any wooziness, exhaustion- or alcohol-induced.

As she wearily took it upon herself to carefully navigate them out of the grand city of Las Vegas, she contemplated how difficult it would be to book a lavish hotel room – make that two – on such short notice. Catching a magic show would have been nice, but there was always next time. The temptation of shopping crossed her mind as well as she stared longingly out at illuminated storefronts, but she sighed heavily, a little louder than necessary, and decided to save tonight's earnings for a later date when she needed a pick-me-up or bail money.

She realized Drakken was talking, and almost ran a stoplight when she glanced over at him. No, he wasn't talking – he was singing. To himself no less, to some tune in his head.

Shego waited until they'd left the congested traffic and night-life behind and were on the highway home – or so she hoped – before even considering turning on the radio. The plum-faced man sipping booze next to her killed time by howling to the tunes on the radio and strumming an air guitar, or otherwise beating the dash in an ill-timed drum solo.

It took a few songs, and a tiny sip or two as she warmed up to the liquor, before Shego was coaxed into joining in. His grin stretched from ear to ear when she finally quit merely bopping her head to the beat and raised her voice in duet, swerving carelessly as she playfully grooved along with him to Michael Jackson's Bad. Her clumsy and slurred rendition would score her no record deals, but it earned a round of applause from Drakken anyway.

One nice part of having the good Dr. Drakken drunk in the passenger seat was that in the midst of singing his depressed little heart out to the top 40, she got to floor it down the vacant highway. With his attention on her and the music, he didn't even notice she was pushing the poor van to its limits.

Eventually her blue songbird tired of singing, but his voice wasn't so tired that he couldn't dissolve into conversation. It was mostly one-sided as he divulged details of shady deals of late that all-too-frequently involved him being swindled, usually because his clients had bigger and badder henchmen than his own. "I haven't had it go that smoothly in a while," he noted contently. "You're something different. Unexpected. Those buffoons didn't know what to make of you." After a moment, he added in a mumble, "Like a poison dart frog."

Shego snorted and shook off the frog bit. She wasn't altogether sure if he was paying her a compliment, but she decided to count it as an attempt made. "You know, Dr. D, I could back you up full-time if you didn't have me doing some stupid goodie-two-shoes act for my brothers," she hinted.

"I do enjoy having someone around the lair," Drakken muttered thoughtfully, but shook his head before she could get her hopes up. He sniffed and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "No, it's better this way. For now."

"You just don't wanna pay me for full time," she scoffed, mostly lightheartedly. The pay had been generous so far. Especially tonight.

"Hey, now, I gave you three grand in cash earlier for this," Drakken defended, wagging a finger at her. "Three thousand six hundred and twenty. Twenty Five. I know – I counted. The henchmen work for pennies."

"That wasn't even a ten-percent cut."

"Much more than that, and you'd be cutting into my profit margin, so zip it. I have bills to pay."

That, she could accept. Not so much the zip it comment – she still reached over and shoved his stupid head for that – but she didn't complain anymore.

Soon enough, her companion shifted the subject, launching back into the saga of his history with inept henchmen over the past year and a half or so since leaving Gemini's research team as a lowly lab hand to strike out on his own. Eventually his complaints about his troubles with them died down to grumbles and finally dwindled into silence.

Shego was just starting to feel the effects of fatigue catching up to her when suddenly Drakken piped up again.

"I have to take a leak. Pull over."

Biting her tongue on a retort to use a bottle, as she'd advise her brothers, Shego rolled her eyes and complied. The desert highway was, well, deserted, and she didn't have to pull off the road. Coasting to the shoulder and down a slight embankment was just an accident. Dust and debris drifted in the headlights as she ran over a couple of bushes until finally sliding to a stop.

Drakken forgot to unbuckle himself when he tried to climb out. She didn't mean anything by it when she reached over to press the release, but she laughed hysterically when he fell out with a yelp. He shouted something indignant about almost pissing himself as he stood back up, and then disappeared around the side of the van, grumbling and kicking pebbles.

She tried to keep her eyes off that side to spare some privacy, but left alone with the idling engine and a foot tapping to the beat thrumming from the crackling radio, a mean impulse played through her head, and she acted on it before she could think twice.

It was a dirty prank.

The tires spun out in the sand and she heard him yelling behind her as she floored it. She didn't have it in her to leave him stranded in the desert though, and she didn't want to either, but she did make him run a good ways down the road and tapped on the gas pedal each time he neared the passenger door.

She cackled when she finally let him dive in after his fifth attempt to board. In the overhead light, she saw his face flushed purple, and it wasn't so much the alcohol doing it this time.

"Shego! That wasn't funny," he complained, slamming the door a little too roughly.

"XYZ," she replied.

"What?"

"Examine your zipper," she reiterated. Honestly, if he didn't have a belt on, he would have lost his pants. Drakken grunted and she only glanced back at him again after she heard him zip up. She reached over to shove the pouting man's shoulder. "Alright, I'm sorry," she said, not especially genuine, but it was the thought that counted, right?

"Neh," he grunted, crossing his arms, only to uncross them and yank the bottle from the consol. She snatched it from him before he could raise it to his lips, and downed a swig for herself. "You're driving," he complained, reaching out for the bottle.

"Yeah, like I'm gonna be pulled over out here," she scoffed, gesturing with the rum to the vacant road disappearing into the dark ahead. Getting back on the straight highway suddenly wasn't so appealing with a vast expanse of desert on either side of it. She hummed as she looked out into the darkness off-road, just beyond the glow of the headlights.

Drakken uttered something in confused questioning as she steered the van away from the pavement.

"I know what'll cheer you up, grumpy pants," she said as the van picked up speed and gained traction on the grit. "You like donuts?"

"Eugh – yes? But – Shego – Shego, this is bumpy."

"Yeah, I know," she answered. She flicked a grin towards him but didn't take her eyes off swerving between bushels of parched desert flora in the headlights.

"Shego!" he all but screamed as she cut the wheel.

A stark contrast to Drakken, who let out a terrified scream, Shego shouted in exuberance as the van skid in a loop. She let it idle for a minute once she completed the circuit, letting the dust settle and watching him gripping the handle above his head in one hand and the bottle in the other. His chest heaved, and he stared bug-eyed at the cloud of debris for a long moment.

And then he was hastily rolling up his window before yet more dust could waft in. Shego took the cue to roll up her own. His rising chuckle made the mischief worth it. He burst out in laughter a moment later and chortled, "Again!" like a kid begging for another go on a roller coaster.

"You're the boss," she laughed amicably.

It was too dark to see, but she wanted to believe he was looking a little less blue beside her, even if she was sure his condition didn't work that way. It would seem that the prankster offense from minutes ago had been forgiven anyway, because he was smiling and laughing now, goading her on to go faster.

She obliged to his demands, finding she had no objections.

At least until a combination of factors sabotaged their fun. A sudden change in the turf gave her better traction, she cut the wheel too hard, maybe it was a rut – but whatever happened, she felt her stomach drop as two wheels lifted off the ground.

A/N: This night goes on for a while... ;3