Uberlate update because I got uberdistracted. *BIG SHRUG*
20. Welfare Check – 2
When Drakken returned to his kitchen once his company left, he found the sack of cash from the Vegas exchange on the counter, the very sack he'd forgotten in her backpack. He was almost as pleased to find not a single bill was missing as he was to find a sticky-note with her number stuck to the top of one bundle.
He had it memorized at the first glance, but he still pinned the note to the wall by the telephone for safe keeping.
The very telephone he couldn't seem to take his eyes off for the rest of the night. He was on his toes, eager for a call to tell him how it went. Not that she'd ever suggested she might give him a review, but he still hoped for one. He began to dread a mishap – what if the malodorous bomb had backfired? She'd be livid. She'd definitely let him know. When he'd received no praise or derision by midnight, he rang her instead, and was disappointed that she didn't answer. He swallowed dryly and hung up before the beep.
It must have been courtesy of Shego that a henchman marched into Drakken's lab first thing Sunday morning, just as he was psyching himself out to return to work on the cannon. The henchman's red jumpsuit was filthy and he tracked sand in as he came to personally report that the van had been recovered.
Curiosity was enough to tempt Drakken to the garage.
On the way, he tore out the elastic band from his hair, although he slipped it onto his wrist rather than discarding it entirely. One henchman catching him wearing a "cute" ponytail, as Shego called it, was one too many. Putting his hair back this morning in the first place had been silly.
As Drakken skulked out into the garage, he had decidedly bigger things to worry about than his hairdo. Like repairing the van. He took one look at it and groaned, shoving up his glasses to rub his eyes and growl out a curse into his hands. He had to pull his glasses back on eventually to face the damages.
At a glance, the van didn't look totaled, but it still wasn't a pretty sight. Not that it ever had been – not since he'd owned it, anyway. It would take a lot more than some elbow grease to buff out the wall of dents and gouged metal on the driver's side. How Shego had come away with little more than a cut or two was a wonder in itself.
He hoped the TLC and repairs the van needed wouldn't cut far into his profit margin. It was undoubtedly uglier and in need of new windows, but he was relieved to hear no one had scavenged it for parts and it hadn't needed to be towed.
The filthy henchmen who had ventured out to scour the desert for the van and bring it home were dispersing now, though one particularly bold goon thought it wise to hover nearby and wonder, "What did we miss, anyway?"
Drakken set a foot on the gnarled bumper and eyed a smashed headlight. "Wish I could tell you," he answered flippantly. Honestly though, it was a tad hazy. There'd been gambling and vandalism, he remembered that well enough, and then he'd smuggled his partner in crime into a villain-exclusive pub for bite to eat before they hit the road, and he'd gauged her response to such unscrupulous company while he was at it, and things had gotten a little carried away from there. Next thing he knew, he was living in the moment and having the time of his life when suddenly the little thrill ride Shego had them on took an unexpected turn, and the world had continued to spin for a while after that. He had the evidence of a carjacking parked nearby, and had watched the news intently again this morning, waiting for his or his accomplice's names to be broadcast as the suspects in a supposed "hit and run" that had left an officer hospitalized yesterday morning. So far, it appeared they were getting off scot-free.
Just thinking about it was enough to make his head spin all over again. He reached for his temple and bit back a groan.
That was when the henchman added to his headache by grunting, "Not the kiss and tell type. Got it." Before Drakken could whirl to snap at the hired muscle to mind his own business, the fellow had already flipped on a shop-vac to begin cleaning up the mess of glass and rock littering the van.
Another henchman was there to quickly distract him anyway, going over a list of problems and repairs that needed to be made, assuming Drakken still wanted to keep the sorry tin can given the shape it was in. He sighed and gave the order to do whatever it took to restore the rig and get it presentable and roadworthy again, and to give the stolen station wagon similar treatment.
Overseeing repairs was as good a distraction as any to keep him from waiting out by the phone on the off chance his unruly accomplice called. She was probably just busy with her alone time or off stirring trouble and getting into the spirit of the season, he told himself. If she popped back in on her day off to report the results in person, that would be lovely, but he didn't hold his breath.
Loitering in the garage, Drakken perched up in the jet left half-gutted, smiling contentedly at the machine with the knowledge it had been stolen right out from under the noses of superheroes. He wondered briefly if his accomplice could teach him to fly it, but halted the train of thought once he realized it was back on her.
He tried to contemplate instead how he might use the stolen tech he now had at his disposal. Notebook nowhere to be found, he resorted to a clipboard and scrap printer paper to make a few notes and jot a few ideas. He'd still yet to fully understand all the ins-and-outs of the craft, so he had a lot of familiarizing to do.
Meanwhile, the garage door remained open, and for the life of him he couldn't keep his eyes on the jet where they belonged.
It was autumn, and it was getting colder as autumn should. The subterranean lair was almost as cool on any given day in summer, so Drakken was indifferent to the chill until it began sinking into his bones as the temperature dropped with the overcast and setting sun. A henchman with a truck had returned a while ago from the big city with the new panes of glass and some extra odds and ends to give the van and wagon tune-ups, and the crew was busy installing and repairing, chattering and laughing and making a commotion, oblivious to the nippiness or the gloom settling outside.
Drakken gave the distant front gate one last disappointed look before hitting the button on the wall to shut the garage door so he wouldn't have to see it anymore.
He meant to return to supervising the henchmen and studying the jet, but instead he found himself back in his kitchen, back at the phone, listening to instructions to leave a message at the beep, which he didn't follow. Then he was rummaging through a storage room, hoping an unexpected raven-haired guest would pop up to give him a heart attack and make his ill-conceived endeavor pointless, but she never did.
Several minutes later, he was back in the garage, just passing through. The henchmen acting as grease monkeys didn't even look up as he cut through their midst on the way to the side exit.
He wished he'd thought to grab a flashlight as he climbed the hillside in the dark, a secure case tucked safely under on arm as he tripped over roots and obstacles on the path. His accomplice was lucky to have the superpower of giving herself a little light whenever it was needed. It would have been nice if she were with him now, so he could ask her to spare some, but then again, he probably wouldn't be stumbling his way up the hill now if she was with him.
The trees opened up to a small recreation area sporting a fire pit and a picnic table he rarely used himself, but he made use of it now. High-powered binoculars he'd cobbled together himself some years ago were propped up on a tripod and set on the table where he settled in.
Some adjustments and muttered curses and more adjustments, and he managed to focus the crude homemade device on the little oasis in the valley, straining his eyes as he did. Town wasn't terribly far away, but it was far enough not to get his hopes up to see anything in great detail. The glittering pool of colorful lights was lively though, and even more so through the binoculars. It would have been easy to get distracted by all the amusing decorations strewn through town, but if he wanted to sightsee, he could just take a stroll through town tomorrow himself when the festivities peaked.
It took some time, and it was thoroughly dark when Drakken finally pinpointed the neighborhood he sought. A few more adjustments and he had a fleeting swell of bigheaded triumph when he found the apartments – and better yet, her window.
And then he leaned back from the binoculars, suddenly not so sure if he could now be classified as a peeping tom. He groaned and scratched at his scalp as he skewed his eyes shut, swearing he could hear her chewing him out for having the audacity to look through her windows from miles away.
But he didn't mean anything bad by it! And even if he did, he was a villain, wasn't he? At least he was trying to be. She should expect something thoughtlessly crude like spying. It wasn't like his intent was to snoop into anything private for any seedy purposes. He was only curious why she hadn't returned his call. And he was worried, and his rig was currently up on jacks so it wasn't like he could just drive over to see for himself. She hadn't been caught and arrested for anything, had she?
Hazarding another peek, Drakken determined that her lights were off but the television was on, judging by the flickers through the blinds. He sat back again and rubbed his eyes, pushing the binoculars aside to make it harder to steal another glance without spending another five minutes refocusing them. She was home, watching TV, keeping out of trouble. Good. That was enough for him – that was all he needed to know.
He still wondered, when he returned to his kitchen and glanced toward the phone, if he ought to try calling again. But he stuck his nose up and set his resolve that he wasn't that desperate for feedback.
Or maybe he was.
Left hanging, he spent half the night again dreading the bomb had backfired. She was probably plotting his demise by now, if it had.
By morning, the station wagon was just shy of good as new. The van meanwhile still had dents and dings to work out, though it was perfectly operational by now as well, but he still opted for the stolen wheels. According to the weather report that greeted him, the oasis was due for some morning showers. He hadn't needed much more convincing than that to grab his keys and head out so early.
While glowering out at the fog and drizzle, he managed to convince himself he wasn't taking a drive to town at five in the morning for a damn pat on the back. He was just going for coffee and breakfast from the Cow-n-Chow drive-thru. That he picked up a second order just in case he got hungry again later and passed by his accomplice's residence too was just a coincidence, but since he was there, he might as well see if the civilian Shilo would like a lift to Buckley's Brew.
He set his resolve to wait at the curb before he'd even parked, but something unusual about the apartment caught his eye as he cut the engine, tempting him to change his mind.
Sipping his steaming coffee weakened with cream and sugar, Drakken peered up at the dingy building, somewhat foreboding so early in the morning with all but a couple porch lights still off. He wondered if he ought to wait for inevitable sunrise to leach away the twilight before venturing out to even see if she was home, but that notion was dismissed just as soon as freezing fog began to frost over his windshield within a minute or so of parking.
He'd gathered already that 5:20 AM was much too early for her to consider morning, so why her door was wide open was anyone's guess.
Someone may have broken in, he considered as he climbed the slippery concrete staircase. The iron railing wasn't much good when it was just as slick and cold. Intruder or otherwise, someone was inside – he could smell cigarette smoke drifting out as he reached the top of the stairs, along with an overlaying odor that had nothing to do with his bomb. Various fragrances too, which did a poor job of covering it up and only served to make him scrunch his nose.
When Drakken peered through the open door into the dark studio apartment, he found his accomplice perfectly awake and puffing at a cigarette.
His brow furrowed the scene lain out before him, and at her in particular. She had some nerve to complain he didn't take care of himself.
A sway away from falling out the second-story window, Shego – rather, Shilo was precariously balanced on the windowsill, legs drawn up to support a small leather-bound notebook on her knees, reading it by the dim green glow at her fingertips, dangerously close to lighting the pages on fire. It took Drakken only a second to recognize it was his. It was only a pad to jot down ideas on the go, but it was an invasion of privacy nonetheless. Try as he might to rack his brains, he couldn't recall her swiping it from him – although he'd certainly allowed her to get close enough to do so a good handful of times.
Before Drakken could remember what he'd come here for, a loud snore startled him and his gaze darted from the woman in the window to a body wrapped up in a blanket on the floor beneath her. If it weren't for a leash tied to the foot of the bed with an empty collar attached at the end of it, Drakken might not have recognized her guest. Unlike Shilo, who had the decency to wear a full set of pajamas – more conservative than anything he knew she even owned – what's-his-face the dog boy was only half-dressed at best, blanket covering him from the torso down. Beer cans littered the floor around the guest, along with other paraphernalia that explained the smell in the air which most certainly didn't come from the numerous candles burning.
It was a struggle to ignore the mess and fix his eyes back on the superhuman in the window as Drakken took a cautious step in. "Stinkinator didn't go as planned, hm?" he whispered, crossing his fingers in his pocket that he didn't sound too disheartened.
"It detonated," Shilo answered calmly, just as quietly. She didn't spare him a glance in greeting as she flipped a page in his notebook and flicked her ashes out the window. "Worked like a charm. Only problem was dipshit followed me back. Kinda why I tried getting you to come with me, but you couldn't take a hint."
Drakken shied back from the bite in her tone, and narrowed his eyes spitefully at the sleeping body on the floor instead. He supposed the arrangement could be worse, but it was still displeasing to find dog boy had eluded the blast and stuck around after all. "I find it hard to believe you couldn't fend him off yourself," he whispered skeptically. He wasn't sure what good he'd have been by joining her anyway. She could tie the boy in a pretzel if she wanted. She didn't need help shaking the dirtbag.
Shilo leveled her glare on Drakken for a moment before snorting her frustration. "You shouldn't be here. What do you want?" she asked coldly, going back to reading his entries.
"I thought I might give you a ride to the café," he fibbed as he scanned the dim apartment for the dog. He'd really have a beef with the punk if he were bitten by the animal. He wasn't going to ask about the dog lest he let his apprehension be known, but he had a growing suspicion Shilo had left the door open despite the autumn chill for the specific cruel purpose of letting her guest's pet run away.
"That's nice of you," she said dismissively. "But I'll have to pass."
Drakken quirked his brow at her and crept a little closer. He wrung his hands. "I didn't get you in trouble with Buckley over the whole Friday thing, did I?" There'd be hell to pay if he'd surrendered another recipe for nothing.
Shilo shook her head. "What are you really doing here, Doc?" she sighed. "It better be important. Here to whisk me away again?" She almost sounded hopeful, but maybe he was imagining it.
"You never called to fill me in," he admitted, mustering up some irritation for the fact.
She snorted lightly and took a drag. "I'm not contractually obligated to," she chirped.
"Right," Drakken muttered. He stood in silence for a moment more, rubbing his neck in discomfort and feeling worse the longer he stayed. Her guest was sure to wake if they kept chatting like this. "I'll just get out of your hair then," he mumbled. A call had been too much to hope for. That was just a little bit crushing. And finding an unsavory fellow here was an unprecedented blow which inspired a sense of loathing. Unwarranted inferiority crept up on him as he made for the door.
"Hey, Doc," his accomplice called softly, and as much as he wanted to keep walking, he rolled his eyes and peered over his shoulder. She held up his notebook as if she were about to play fetch with a dog. "Forgetting something?"
She didn't throw it though, instead making Drakken stalk across the studio to her, meticulously picking his way around the sleeping body and beer cans. As he made a grab for it, she held it out into the open air, out of reach. By the dim glow of the scattered scented candles, he could see the mischievous spark in her eyes.
"How did you get that?" he hissed demandingly. He shouldn't be surprised. Discreet thievery was one of her selling points.
"You left it on the couch," she informed, a wry little smirk quirking her lips. She gave the notebook a taunting wiggle, still held out the window. "I was hoping you'd come after me for it. Better late than never."
Drakken fixed his scowl on her face at it went solemn, and reached for her shoulder to pull her out of the window by force if he had to, ready to wrestle her for his notebook if that's what it took.
She wasted no time reminding him she was undoubtedly the stronger of the two when she gripped him by the collar of his jacket and yanked him down closer. He planted his hands on the frame so as not to fall into her or out the second-story window. A yelp of surprise lodged in his throat and he went stock-still at her smoky breath tickling his ear.
"I can't come around for a while," she whispered quickly, gravely. "Don't try to be sneaky and spy on me either. You'll get yourself caught."
Bewilderment gave way to a fleeting moment of fear – but there was no way she could have known about him up on the hill last night. His eyes darted in the direction he guessed was home, but it was too foggy and dark out to even make out the mountain the lair was dug into.
"I'll be in touch when the coast is clear," she added as she released him, yet he remained frozen to the spot. He didn't have time to wonder what she could possibly mean by that when the phone on the kitchen counter went off. She handed him his notebook then and gave him a rough shove, nearly sending him tripping back over the guest asleep on the rug behind him.
He kicked a couple of cans as he backed away, wincing at the jarring sound adding to the trill of the telephone, though Shilo didn't budge from her spot on the windowsill. He glanced to the phone ringing persistently, and cocked his brow back at the young woman he knew was not that hard of hearing. How the guest didn't wake up was a wonder, which made whispering the whole time feel rather pointless.
Out of curiosity, Drakken retreated to the kitchen to check the caller ID. The area code was as unfamiliar as the rest of the number. Nonetheless, he tentatively wondered aloud, "Should I…?"
"No," Shilo answered curtly, her voice suddenly right behind him, making him jump. She cut in front of him to bar him from the phone, arms crossed as she glared past him. Drakken glanced back, following her line of sight to the dirtbag asleep on her floor. When he raised his brow back at her, her eyes were downcast. She looked almost guilty when she grumbled, "It's them."
Them could mean anyone, but he wasn't that dumb.
It took but a moment to comprehend what her statement entailed, and Drakken stared at her wide-eyed. Dread – and maybe even fear – prickled at his nerves. They'd talked about this, prepared for this. Granted, not a whole lot – but it was the whole reason she was living here in a shabby little studio now rather than with him, resigned to the status of barista in some small-town café. If she didn't give a good impression for a family reluctant to let her go, a family which had the resources to drag her back, then things could take an unfavorable turn for them both. There were many "worst case scenarios," such as incarceration, his accomplice returning to Go City, even Team Go relocating to their little Nevada oasis—
"They found you," he uttered. He really didn't need to ask. He really didn't need her confirming his fears.
"Bingo," was her grim answer.
When she stepped around behind him, he almost turned with her, but then he went rigid at the brush of cold fingers at the nape of his neck and let her fix the ponytail once again. It didn't feel like he had much choice anyway when she gave it a yank to make him tip his head back to grant her better access. He made a mental note to perfect the art of ponytails – if not to give her one less reason to touch him, then to at least retain some dignity in being competent enough to groom himself to her liking.
Drakken squeezed his eyes shut as if that would help blot out the warm breath on the back of his neck as his partner in crime grumbled, "There. That was bugging me." He hadn't been that bad at it, had he? He made another mental note to look in a mirror next time. If she was finished, then why were her fingers still fidgeting around back there? There was a rhythm to her fidgeting. If he had to guess, she was braiding. Could he rock a braid? He had bigger things to worry about than silly braids.
He wanted to snip at her and jump away and take his leave, but his shoes were full of lead.
She was whispering behind him again anyway. "Sorry, Doc," she murmured dismally, and the dread settled in the pit of his stomach. "Dipshit over there figured it out and turned me in. Guess he's still pissy with me about Friday." She groaned miserably, her head thumping into Drakken's back. "They'll be here soon. You should really get going."
Right. If they'd found her, there was no way they wouldn't rush over as soon as possible.
The reminder was enough motivation to move his feet, but Drakken only whirled on his accomplice to gesture wildly toward the punk crashed on her floor surrounded by beer cans, at least one of which was bent out of shape for an improvised pipe. "Not to criticize," he hissed, "but don't boys, booze, and dope defeat the purpose of going through the effort to make you look respectable?" He was supposed to be leaving. He didn't need to be standing around chiding her, but the words flew out of his mouth before he could stop them.
"Nate's just a prop," she dismissed sheepishly as she crossed the room to push the cans under the bed. So hiding the evidence was her plan. Out of sight, out of mind. Now if she'd just kick the sleeping dirtbag under there too.
"What do you mean a prop? Who even is this scrub?" Drakken hissed, his temper starting to climb. He was on the verge of frantic, yet she was calm as could be. She was probably high. That might explain how she could be so mellow about the whole thing.
"Does it matter?"
"He sold you out, so I should think so."
"Don't sound so ungrateful," Shego – Shilo – his accomplice snipped over her shoulder. "I'm only keeping him around to keep suspicion off you."
That gave Drakken pause. He opened his mouth before he had anything to say, but didn't have time to compose his argument, let alone ask how harboring a scrappy homeless boy would benefit him at all.
Shego was dumping an ashtray when a muffled rumble made her freeze – then she dropped the whole thing in the trash bin and whisked past Drakken to slam the front door shut, locking it. Her eyes were wide as she turned to look about her studio apartment poorly lit by candles, and then she was hurriedly blowing them out and gathering laundry off the floor in the dark to throw in a hamper in the bathroom.
Worry curdling in his stomach, Drakken realized the roar was the sound of a jet doing a fly-by, far too close for comfort and getting closer again already. When she'd said they'd be here soon, he didn't think that soon, and it was clear she'd mistakenly made the same assumption. For Pete's sake, it wasn't even daybreak! Maybe on the east coast it was, but in Nevada, the average citizen was probably still sound asleep.
"You knew they were coming and you didn't clean the place up?" he rasped, trying hard not to yell and get caught by the comatose rat still snoring away. "It's a pigsty in here! And is that a bong? It's like you want them to drag you back!" Nerves clutched his chest at the very thought.
The rumble of jet engines were already dying to an idle just outside. Dogs everywhere could be heard barking along with the chorus of tripped car alarms.
The lecture was brief because just as soon as she'd pushed the paraphernalia out of sight under the bed, Shego was whirling on him, stalking up to him to jab a finger sharply at his chest. "You listen here," she hissed threateningly, "if you keep bitching, I'll ditch you too – don't think I won't! I can have your blue ass thrown in prison in a hot second if I wanted to, so zip it."
Drakken didn't know what hit him when she grabbed fistfuls of his jacket and promptly shoved him back into a cramped coat closet, the door all but slammed in his face. He had no choice but to silence his complaints as a knock at the front door made his blood run cold.
