*pretends I know what I'm saying*

19. Welfare Check – 1

With a little luck, some hobbyist with a destructive streak would make the incinerator cannon project pay for itself, assuming he didn't keep it for his own arsenal. Bugs had been worked out in prototypes months ago, but something had come up and it was put on the back burner like everything else, shoved aside into one of the storage rooms until now. Now Drakken was left with finalizing it, piecing together framework that would support the internal components stored in a nearby crate, just waiting to be assembled.

It would have been nice to have a henchman to lend a hand in hoisting hefty core elements into place in a skeletal cradle affixed to the tripod, but after some straining and grunting against a throbbing headache, Drakken managed it on his own. Without anyone to snap at to hold it steady for him, the thick steel barrel rested heavily on his shoulder as he fastened it in place as well.

He backed away slowly and breathed a sigh of relief when his project didn't teeter and topple over.

He'd always been fine working on his own, even if doing so made it harder on himself, but he was really beginning to wish there was someone close at hand to fetch the equipment he needed next along with the crate of custom-ordered pieces of the hull he was left to weld and bolt together. Someone to grab him some aspirin would have been nice too.

Headache aside, keeping busy kept his mind off a particular assistant. Moping over the uncertainty of when he'd next see her wouldn't do him any good anyway – and spacing out over it only resulted in dropping a heavy ratchet on his toe.

Under normal circumstances, it really shouldn't have taken him several hours to construct a carapace around the otherwise-prebuilt-but-considerably-disassembled cannon. It especially shouldn't have begun looking like a Picasso, a far cry still from the menacing weapon of destruction he'd envisioned.

Grumbling, he inspected the plans he'd neglected to follow – plans he'd drawn up, damn it – but his memory served him right. All the buttons and knobs were where they were meant to be, all the wiring and critical inner mechanisms too, and slowly but surely, the jigsaw carapace was coming together as planned.

He crumpled the diagrams and cast the wadded paper aside. He was just impatient. It would look better once it was finished and sporting a shiny coat of paint.

It was in the midst of welding yet more steel slabs together, puzzling together the hull around the deadly weapon piece by piece, when something began to tick at his subconscious. Something was out of place.

Drakken eventually flicked off the welder and pulled off his gloves and mask to thoroughly double-check the components of the seven-foot cannon standing at three-quarters completion, but he couldn't place what was jarring his nerves. He was overlooking something, but for the life of him, he couldn't pinpoint it.

Vexed, he reached up to run his fingers through his hair and scratch his head, but paused as his hand grazed over the nape of his neck. The elastic band that had been snuck into his hair yesterday was still there. If he still had the headache, he might have been apt to blame it on the ponytail. He ought to have done away with it when he'd showered last night, but must have overlooked it in his haze. It explained why his neck felt a little colder and why he'd yet to have to tuck his hair back out of the way of sparks today.

The band had begun slipping down, so he pulled it out and shook his hair free with a contented sigh. He nearly shot the lousy band to some dark corner of the lab, but stopped himself. Letting his hair grow out wasn't so much a conscious choice as it was due to neglect, not that he minded it for the sake of hiding behind as much of it as possible now that he was blue. A ponytail might defeat the purpose, but he wasn't particularly fond of the smell of burnt hair or in the mood for an impromptu haircut, and a hair tie was effective in keeping it safely pulled back.

Drakken scowled at the green elastic band in his palm, and reprimanded himself before he could overthink it. His appearance was judged enough on a regular day. Wearing something which served a function couldn't possibly hurt his villain image any more – not like there was anyone around to judge him in his own lab, anyway.

Fingers fumbling behind his head, he tried to tie his tangled hair back again, redoing it several times because it sat weird or felt like an uncomfortable knot at the back of his head or made him wince when it pulled painfully. By the fifth attempt, he grunted his frustration and was about to give up and flick the band – and suddenly fine hands were batting his away, and before he could startle and whip around, the invading fingers had expertly fixed the ponytail.

As silently as she'd come, Shego sauntered away without ever looking him in the eye, returning to an open magazine and sitting sidelong in his computer chair. It was then that Drakken understood with queasy humiliation why things may have been feeling off for a while now.

There was no telling how long she'd been there, potentially watching him given the chair had been turned away from the desk to face him. He wondered with a hot face if she'd seen him burn his thumb with a soldering iron, or drop the ratchet on his foot, or how long she might have delighted in watching him fumble with tasks which would have benefited from the aid of extra hands.

He doubted she was back to return the sweater she'd borrowed earlier, as she was still in it. In the spirit of the season, she'd added a little bat brooch too.

Drakken pulled his gloves and mask back on for a minute more, hastily finishing up the section of welding he'd paused in the midst of. Although he could hardly see her through the tinted window, he was positive she was indeed watching over the top of her magazine. Soon enough, he discarded his gear once and for all along with the tools on the nearby workbench.

He had half a mind to snip and ask what she was doing back at the lair so soon after making him risk driving her into town in a stolen vehicle, but he was still too flustered to speak. He checked his watch – it was almost six in the evening, late enough to call it dinnertime – so he skulked away without even extending a greeting, retreating to his personal quarters instead.

A peanut butter and jelly sandwich was wolfed down in the time it took him to throw himself down onto the couch and fish out the pocket notebook from the jacket he'd thrown over the back.

Not a minute later, he heard the door creak open, but he didn't look up. His computer chair must not have been so comfortable after all, because Shego migrated to the other end of the couch, sliding over the spine and dropping into the cushions with a big huff to resume flipping through her magazine there, one leg still hooked over the back of the couch.

Drakken doubted it was an unintentional bump when the toe of a sneaker nudged his hip, but he refused to look up. He focused on the notepad to ignore her, thinking up a more aesthetically pleasing design for the incinerator cannon, writing off the failed Picasso shell he'd abandoned in the lab. It would look better when it was completed and polished up, he still told himself. He just didn't need to be working under anyone's critical stare right now.

There was no mistaking it when Shego lit up a cigarette. She was fishing for attention, or a reaction, or something – only Drakken was too stubborn to yield. She flicked her ashes in a green ashtray that had taken residence on his coffee table just for her, and if polluting the stagnant air of his living room with smoke wasn't aggravating, having her hog the couch and rest her heels on his knee certainly was.

He refused to give her the satisfaction of a glare or a sneer or any other indication she was on the verge of getting his goat, but how long he could keep that up was anyone's guess. She was getting closer to it when she snuffed out the cigarette and took her goading a step further, sitting up and scooting over to Drakken's side of the couch. She went as far as to prop an arm up over his shoulder as she leaned decidedly too far into his personal space.

It was hard to argue with the proximity, even if it felt of a teasing nature, like pigtail pulling. If making him lose focus on the new concept design he was sketching out was her goal, she was on the right track, twirling his new ponytail around a finger for good measure. He steeled himself against her tactics. So close to his ear, her grunt of irritation had a rather disagreeable effect on his nervous system, but he kept his eyes fixed on the page and didn't bolt even as the sketch lost shape. He was only going through the motions now. He had been for a while, really.

Leaning against him didn't do the trick, nor did the hair-pulling or breathing on him – which must have left her desperate to make him crack first, because she undoubtedly crossed the line next.

She was quick about it, but he might have been somewhat to blame for falling for it by lifting his arm at the slight tug of his elbow, inadvertently giving her an opening to slip in. Breathing down his neck would have been preferable to her rear landing where it didn't certainly belong. Pretending she wasn't there was impossible, but it didn't mean he couldn't stubbornly try as she leaned back against him, giving him hardly any room at all to peer over her shoulder until he parted his knees to drop her between them. That wasn't much better – not when his notebook was still spread on her lap.

His train of thought was broken after all. There was no more ignoring the nuisance.

Frozen to the spot, Drakken was torn between gasping for air and holding his breath, but he had to breathe eventually and her hair smelled nice even if weirdly of cucumbers. Barely masked by the fragrance of her shampoo, he picked up traces of a particular odor, and had to wonder if she was high. She was acting strange enough, the odds were probably pretty good, he decided.

Notebook snapped shut and pen clipped to the cover, his idle hands nearly hovered over her hips – but then he balled them into fists and drove them into the cushion on either side of him to keep his paws to himself. If he could, he would have leaned even further back to put distance between his face and her hair, although having her disengaged from him entirely would have been preferable. He didn't need to be treated like an armchair, for crying out loud.

Words failed him for a moment until he cleared his throat and tried again, "Don't you have something better to do?" He tried to muster up some resent for the disrespect, but wasn't sure how good a job he did at masking his nerves.

"Not yet," she answered nonchalantly as she reclined back. He was effectively trapped. "Just killing time." Devoid of guilt, it might as well have been a confession of fishing for a reaction for no other purpose than to entertain herself. He couldn't be sure he wanted to be included in whatever game she was playing.

Drakken raised his brow at her as she innocently fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, coaxing his hand from the cushion and uncurling his white-knuckled fist. He couldn't block her smooth fingertips from his senses even if he'd wanted to. His other hand found its way to her hip after all, although he had half a mind to shove her off. "You came all the way out of town and up the mountain to kill time?" he said, and scoffed. "I find that hard to believe."

"I know of a party tonight," Shego began to explain. Her soft hand over his suddenly felt like pins-and-needles and was almost painfully warm, a little like plunging icy hands under hot water.

Drakken had enough sense to heed an alarm bell tolling in his skull, and jerk his hand away from her hazardous touch.

With a yelp of indignation, Shego was abruptly deposited on the floor in the most ungraceful manner. She was blushing furiously as she scrambled to pick herself up, and Drakken swore he felt her eyes burning into his back as he strode away to the kitchen.

"That's nice," he called back dismissively. He rummaged in the fridge for the jelly to fix himself another sandwich, keeping his back to her as Shego followed hot on his tail.

Her mood had soured, but rebuffs had a way of doing that to a person he supposed, so Drakken didn't hold the attitude against her. Shego leaned against the counter next to him as he glopped jelly on white bread, forcing herself into his peripheral. She crossed her arms and glared. "Yeah. There's supposed to be booze and a heated pool and hot dudes and chicks," she said dryly. "It's gonna be real great."

Drakken nodded, mumbling, "Mm-hm." Why was she telling him this? When had he ever given the impression he was a partygoer? "Sounds lovely. Have fun, stay safe, arrange for a designated driver," he advised with disinterest – but then a zap on his hip made him shoot daggers over to the slightly-maybe-possibly-high woman in his kitchen.

Feigning innocence, she rested an elbow in her palm and twirled a lock of raven hair around a finger.

He narrowed his eyes at her. "What do you want from me, Shego?" he finally griped. He didn't mean for it to come out so pathetic. Her smirk nearly melted the resolve he had to give her a cold shoulder. He'd fall under her spell with that look alone if he was any weaker.

"A favor," she said smoothly. "Nothing much. Just hoped you could whip something up for me." She nodded to the door to the lab.

He raised a brow. He wasn't sure he liked the sound of that, but it explained her behavior – although ulterior motives didn't make him feel any better. He squared his shoulders, reluctant to let her wrap him around her finger so easily – even if she slipped behind him, twirling his hair around one such dainty finger before giving his tense shoulders a squeeze, kneading him as part of some blatant manipulation ploy. It was working.

His legs felt weak.

The thought of adding a clause in the contract to strictly forbid such manipulative conduct crossed his mind but was dismissed just as quickly.

Grunting, Drakken slapped the poorly-spread PB&J together and took an aggressive bite of the sandwich. She could remove her weird warm tingly hands any time now – he was already bending to her will – but he was greedily hesitant to snip at her to back off. A mouthful of peanut butter was partly to blame as well.

"Like?" he prompted mid-chew. He nearly choked on it when he gulped down that first bite.

She let go. He breathed easy, but she wasn't done with her persuasive tactics yet, as she fetched a quart of milk from the fridge to pass to him. He drank from it shamelessly – it was his milk, he could drink from the carton if he wanted – but was aware of her lazy gaze on him all the while.

Shego was fidgeting with her own hair again, leaning against the counter. "Well, you want me to keep a low profile, so physical and property damage are out if I can help it," she went on carefully.

He eyed her curiously, unsure what she was getting at. "I'm confused. I thought you were going to a party?" he uttered dumbly.

"Oh, I wasn't invited," she clarified, dripping with resent. He had the sense some of it was aimed at him. "I'm going to crash it. Nate's going to be there, and I figured you could give me a hand since you're the crazy inventor that got me dumped." She had to be sober, with a glare like that.

Drakken nearly choked on peanut butter again. "Why are you blaming me?" he spat defensively.

"Uh, hello?" Shego snapped back, and poked him in the chest to drive her point. "Random weird dude shows up in the middle of the night to whisk me off and I can't explain why? You're dumber than I thought if you don't think there's something fishy about that. Now this loser's calling me a tramp and thinks I'm in a gang or something, and—argh!" She heaved a huge groan of aggravation, hands waving in exasperation with green sparks jumping from them.

Drakken tore his eyes away from the glittering release. Rallying his own irritation to hide his unease at the implications, he gave a contemptuous snort. "That boyfriend of yours didn't make any calls thinking I abducted you, did he?" he asked, and tasted bile. He checked the expiration date on the milk and ruled it out.

"Nah, you're good," Shego dismissed, but by the flick of her eyes, he had a suspicion she wasn't so sure. "And he's not my boyfriend. He just wishes."

"Then why—?"

"Anyway, I want payback," she interjected. "You game? Or am I wasting my time?"

Aggravation subsiding somewhat, he gave it a moment of consideration, chewing slow and setting his half-eaten sandwich aside. Whether he liked it or not, she had him wrapped around her finger and under her spell. He might have been a little too keen on giving the dog boy a bad day as well, but he kept the impulse subdued. Or at least he made an effort to.

Drakken shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Remind me, how vengeful are we talking?" he asked wryly. Shego smirked up at him as a devious grin stretched across his face. Without a doubt, she had him bent to her will, and he couldn't say he didn't like it. He was in over his head.

He was still delighted to have her following on his heels back to his lab though, the opportunity to show off almost intoxicating. She reiterated her limits – she was restricted to ultimately harmless chaos – and in ten minutes flat, Dr. Drakken had constructed for her a time bomb of sorts, loaded with the ingredients to produce a foul stench promised to clear the block. Hence the necessity for a countdown, so the prankster herself could make her getaway when the time came.

A cliché alarm clock strapped to a small metal box to protect the delicate inner workings of a malicious stink bomb was his gift to her, along with a warning not to jostle it. As he handed it over, he suggested impishly, "Hide it in a vent. The smell will linger for days and they'll never know what hit them." He knew that from experience. He'd used such a device once or twice himself, resulting in the evacuation of a college dormitory.

Barely heeding Drakken's warning, Shego elbowed him in good humor and gave him her thanks. She invited him once more to come crash the party with her, but he respectfully declined, using the excuse he had an incinerator cannon to finish. He wasn't sure if she was merely playing or serious, but his chest still bled warmth as she batted her eyes up at him and promised to make it worth his time. At which point he plucked her hand from his necktie and brusquely turned her to the door, refusing to let the same brand of devious trickery work twice to swindle anything else out of him. She'd tested him enough for one day anyway.

Shego shot him an annoyed frown over her shoulder as she left to stir mayhem with his creation.

Just as soon as she was out the door and out of sight, Drakken ran a hand down his face with a stern scolding to banish the cursed warmth dancing around inside of him. He was just happy to make a device for mischief and took pleasure in knowing the misery it would cause – that was all. That was what he tried to convince himself. It absolutely couldn't be giddiness trying to bubble up at the idea his partner in crime might have cut it off with that short-lived getaway driver of hers and was out to enact revenge, and that maybe it might potentially free up time for him soon so that maybe she might even spend her downtime lazing about the lair like she had in the first few weeks of her stay.

It was wishful thinking.