*quietly raises from the dead, posts this, crawls back into my coffin*

22. Welfare Check – 4

Maybe he should have followed Team Go's example and left. It was in his best interest to honor his accomplice's wishes after all, and maybe that was Drakken's first impulse when he reached for the key in the ignition. So why he didn't listen to the voice of reason was anyone's guess.

He was really pushing his luck by being perhaps the first customer of the day to set foot in Buckley's Brew. As the door swung shut behind him, he began to question the severity of his recent gambling habit.

A stocky henchwoman-to-be in a witch costume was hissing something unfriendly to Shilo, who looked close to socking the fellow barista for whatever snide things that fell out of her mouth. The witchy blonde's eyes cut to Drakken, and she curled her lip and turned away to tend to an espresso machine or some such. Through the window to the kitchen, Drakken could see Buckley at work preparing more confections, blessedly indifferent to his entry. Shilo, however, was not.

Her glare seared through him as she planted her palms on the countertop.

The little shop was decorated for the holiday with paper garlands of bats and ghosts and tiny pumpkins at the center of each table. On the counter stood a figurine of an ugly little green witch hunched over a little cauldron of Halloween candy. Drakken helped himself to a chocolate drop, popping it in his mouth as he feigned interest in the chalkboard of specialty coffee, seasonal delights, and made-to-order dishes. He refused to search for strudels in the display case.

His accomplice did not offer a greeting. If this was how she treated the average customer, he wouldn't feel too bad if she was soon sacked, but he knew he was just a special case.

Her scowl didn't relent even when her fellow barista swept by behind her, depositing a witch hat adorned with long sickle feathers atop her head. Somehow Drakken doubted mentioning her hair had the same uncanny iridescent sheen as rooster's back end would come off as a compliment, so he kept the thought to himself.

The jingle of the bell behind him urged him to hurry up, and Shilo grinding out, "What do you want?" helped him decide.

"Waffles and a mocha, please," Drakken answered politely. He'd never gotten a chance to have his breakfast earlier as he'd forgotten it to get cold in the wagon. She didn't budge when he pulled out his wallet and held out a note. He raised his brow at her, wondering quietly, "Am I banned?" He should hope not.

"No, but you aren't welcomed," she grumbled. She snatched the cash from him. "It's your head." She nodded curtly toward the table in the furthest corner where they'd sat the day he'd introduced her to Buckley a month ago. It was a good spot, Drakken decided. Just out of sight of the window to the back, therefore out of sight of the owner.

He'd hoped it would be his accomplice to serve him, but he didn't complain out loud when it was the blonde witch. At least he had something hot to eat and something sweet to sip. He watched the storefront for good measure, ready to jump up and hide in the restroom should Team Go reappear with reinforcements.

Another customer came and went, ordering joe to go and a devil's food muffin that made Drakken seethe, but he kept his mouth shut and ate his breakfast.

A sudden grip on his shoulder startled him, but he whipped his head around to see raven hair and jaded eyes and he breathed a sigh of relief that it wasn't Buckley. "What did I tell you?" Shilo scolded under her breath. "You're going to get yourself caught."

"Oh, you know me," Drakken tried to chuckle as he sat back to peer innocently up at her. "I'm not very good at following rules."

"Well, work on it."

He winced back from the bite in her voice and the weight of her glare. Villains broke rules – didn't she know that? He eyed her, and the hand still gripping his shoulder in particular, and decided that maybe her rules were best not broken if he could help it. "I just want to make sure you're—," he began, but she cut him off with a snort.

"I can handle myself," she reminded, and let go of his shoulder with a small shove. "You need to stay out of my way. Worry about yourself, will ya? Honestly – you've got a lot of nerve to get on my case and then do something this stupid. I thought you were supposed to be a genius?"

Drakken shrank a little more. "I know you're capable," he muttered, poking at his half-eaten breakfast. He grunted crossly and stabbed at a side of sausage. "What do they want with you anyway?" That was a dumb question to ask. Maybe he wasn't such a genius after all.

"They're not taking me back," grumbled his partner in crime, crossing her arms.

"Not without a fight," he agreed, and her frown lightened just a little while.

She glanced toward the door before plopping herself down in the seat across from him, yanking off the ridiculous feathered witch hat and slumping over the table with her face buried in her arms. He almost called her name after a minute, but she heaved a weary sigh and pulled her head up a little to glower over to the other barista before glaring back up at him. "I blame you."

Drakken scoffed. "For?"

Her jaded eyes narrowed on him, and she shook her head, refusing to explain with more than a simple, "Everything." She reached across to steal a sip of his mocha then, and he kept his complaint trapped behind zipped lips. She could probably use the caffeine more than him – but for heaven's sake – she could go get her own.

"They do want me to come back," she confirmed. "But if they were going to force me to go, they wouldn't be wasting time seeing how I'm doing. I must be up to snuff so far. They haven't drugged or cuffed me yet. Anyway." She took another sip and surrendered his mug. "If they planned on taking me, they wouldn't have brought Dad. All the seats are taken. I guess this was my last chance to change my mind before big brother wraps it up on damage control and sweeps me under the rug to pretend I was never their mistake."

"What?" Drakken uttered around a mouthful, tilting his head. There was something sad in her eyes, and he pulled his stare away to frown at the smudge of black lipstick on his mug. He turned it away from him to sip from a clean edge.

"Big brother doesn't want a bad apple like me spoiling their reputation," she explained. "Big brother…you know. Glo—I'm not gonna say it." She shook her head and sighed grimly. "They'll probably keep an eye on me through my brothers for a bit, but if I can fool them too that I'm just… this. Some ordinary girl in a small town. Then they might let their guard down and take their eyes off me. We might be okay."

We. He liked the sound of that more than he ought to. "You sound optimistic," Drakken noted.

"They have bigger fish to fry than lil ol' me," she assured.

"That's a relief." He watched the swirling remains of his mocha before knocking it back.

"They'll never know what hit them," she agreed with a smile. A genuine smile, one that met her eyes and lifted some of the bleak exhaustion there, if only for a moment. She stood then, making a motion for him to pass her the mug. As she was offering to fetch him a refill, he shook his head and stood as well.

"I think I've pushed my luck enough for one morning," he sighed and looked out toward the storefront. There were still no superheroes in sight, but he wasn't so gullible as to believe they had given up so easily. They'd be back. It was only a matter of time. "When does your family leave?"

"Dunno," she admitted. "I guess the twins wanted me to take them trick-or-treating tonight, so they're bound to turn up eventually to make me spend quality time with the family." She shrugged and rolled her eyes.

"Try the north end of town," advised Drakken offhandedly. "It's the rich neighborhood." He didn't know why he bothered sparing that information. Let the little brats get paperclips and tasteless candy – what did he care?

A new early-bird customer was just coming in then. Shilo's idle time was up. Drakken sidestepped out of her way as his accomplice donned her witch hat and cleared the table.

"Thanks for the tip," she chirped flippantly, and as Drakken turned back to utter something confused in reflex, she smirked and pushed his wallet into his chest while pocketing a bill from it. "See ya around, hon."

The last bit didn't sit well with him, but Drakken let it slide before it could trip him up. She was smiling and bubbly and sweet now despite her exhaustion and bottled bitterness. It wasn't a show of endearment – it was all just a show she put on for customers, right down to the smile she flashed him as he took his leave.

Drakken grit his teeth and forced himself to return to the lair, despite how compelled he was to keep a watchful eye out for the superheroes, anxious his irreplaceable accomplice might be taken away at any moment, against her will or otherwise.

He tried to bear in mind there was certain protocol he ought to be following anyway. He had more important things to do than loiter around town, trying to stalk agents of Global Justice decked out in outlandish harlequin suits – things like barking orders at the henchmen to put the lair under lockdown starting with the garage, and ordering the whole lot of them into the depths of the subterranean hideaway and out of sight from probing spies, and to be on guard for a raid just in case. If Global Justice by any chance had followed Team Go to the oasis, there was the risk he'd caught their eye. Peculiar complexions like his had a way of acting as a red flag for illicit activities gone awry, after all.

But as Drakken sat down in front of the CCTV system, hands folded under his chin as he vigilantly watched the perimeter in grainy black and white feed, an inkling of doubt trickled in, watering a wry seed as he stewed. After some time, his nerves began to settle, and he sat back, weighing the likelihood of Global Justice considering a blue individual a threat or even a suspicious character on Halloween of all days.

He shook his head. He had too much idle time to think.

So he summoned a henchman to the chair to watch the security feed and left to occupy his buzzing mind with something more productive than staring at bulbous screens which only served to make his eyes burn. Let them be the watchdogs and watch the monotonous feedback – what else was he paying them for?

Though he was on the verge of scrapping it for parts in his frustration, Drakken returned to the cannon. It didn't distract him for long, but it kept him busy long enough to finish it. He got as far as pulling on a mask and giving it a quick coat of spraypaint to emulate the warning stripes of a yellowjacket.

The mask didn't do him a whole lot of good when the ventilation system in the lair left a lot to be desired, and he abandoned the project before the paint could finish dripping.

Dizzy from fumes, Drakken quickly retreated to his personal quarters and tugged off the mask, gasping for a breath of air yet to be polluted by the aerosol, though it still lingered on his clothes. He tossed his coat over the back of the couch to shed some of it, turning his attention to the kitchen next as he staved off the phantom sensation of standing on the roof of the van with a heavy weight on his shoulders—

It was only noon, he noticed. That was fine. Enough time had elapsed and there'd yet to be an alarm tripped. It was safe to relax a little and call it lunchtime, though his stomach was still knotted up with nerves. He made himself a grilled cheese sandwich, reminding himself he lived alone. Mostly alone. He only unthinkingly made a second because he was hungry, even if it was cold by the time he forced it down.

Neither were satisfying. No amount of butter or cheese could fix that.

He sat hunched over his kitchen island, frowning into a new cookbook that had yet to offer anything that tickled his fancy. Chocolate was an infallible go-to, but chocolate alone wasn't festive enough. Devil's food still left a sour taste in his mouth anyway. Pumpkin pie, maybe? No. While he could bake a mean pumpkin pie, the art passed down to him from his grandmother, it was too mundane. It wasn't like he had anyone to impress – it was just that he must have made a hundred in his twenty-odd years of baking them.

He flicked on the television and melted into the couch, hopeful the leading cooking channel would inspire him, but it was droning on and on about decorative icing on sugar cookies in the shapes of bats and witches and pumpkins. Bored to sleep, he nodded off until a change of pace signified the start of some competitive whimsical cakes designed like graveyards or brains.

Drakken sat up with a groan at the sight of strawberry glaze drizzled over the brain-cake and flicked off the television. It was just a touch too realistic for his taste. He wasn't in the mood to see desserts disguised as organs.

Pieces floated together as he watched the stars behind his lids as he rubbed his stinging eyes. A moment later, he dove across the couch to fish his notebook from his jacket to jot down three words most certain to be delectable, just in case something came up and he got complacent. It sounded good in his head. It was certain to be leagues better than any revolting red velvet cerebrum.

He didn't need the worthless cookbook. The itch to toss it in the garbage didn't feel too unlike disregarding a map on a road trip, but he couldn't pry his fingers from the spine to drop it. He knew exactly how to make what he craved though – he didn't need someone else's instructions to guide him. Still, he grudgingly returned it to the shelf with half a dozen other useless cookbooks like it. His thoughtful mother had bought it for him anyway. He couldn't just throw out a gift.

As deliberately as he tried to keep his eyes down, he still caught a glimpse of the clock on the wall. It was half-past two.

If they weren't already, those rotten superheroes were bound to be on her any moment now. The lair was in lockdown – but he needed ingredients if he was going to concoct anything to cure a sweet tooth.

He felt his breath leave him and with it his resolve to stay safely holed up in his hideout.

Drakken shrugged on his coat – it had aired out enough – and stuffed his notebook back in the pocket. He knew exactly what he needed. He didn't need to make a list.

He still stood before the mainframe in the lab to write it out anyway, giving himself an extra minute to change his mind before lowering the lair's defenses and ordering the henchman at the surveillance desk to keep a sharp eye out or he'd have his head served on a platter.

Drakken was soon coasting through town yet again in the restored station wagon, as the van was still too eye-catching with its damaged side – not to mention it was suspicious enough to the average civilian on a good day. He was minding his own business anyway – just popping into the Smarty Mart. He didn't need to be secretive.

How he found himself on the wrong side of town – well. He couldn't play stupid. He was compulsive. He could hardly help that. It was a villain thing.

Knowing he was playing with fire, Drakken kept his eye out as he cruised down Main Street, spotting his lone accomplice soon enough. Given the direction she was heading, she wasn't heading home. He had to guess she was on her way to the library, her usual respite from the weather, only this time she was likely avoiding the family he happened to know still had a jet parked on the front lawn at her address.

He was bound to be on edge for as long as Team Go was still in town. Paranoia grew by the second as he waited for the dreaded heroes to jump her. She wasn't far from Buckley's yet. Her brothers could be lurking anywhere, lying in wait.

She was confronted, but it wasn't by lousy do-gooders.

Drakken recognized the brown dog from a block away, and he pulled to the curb as Shilo was cut off by the traitorous deadbeat with the leash. He narrowed his eyes and drummed his fingers on the wheel, muttering under his breath his hopes for karma to catch the dog boy once and for all, especially once the steaming punk advanced on her. Granted, the temper might have been justified if Shilo had in fact let his dog out to run away, plus she'd nearly pushed him from the second story earlier.

It didn't change the fact that Dr. Drakken rooted for her at a distance.

Ignoring the urge to intervene against his better judgment, he watched a dispute unfold. It started with some indiscernible shouting and flailing arms, the boy shaking the leash at her. And then Shego – Shilo – was shoved. She pushed back with twice the force, the boy stumbling over his own shoelaces, which lead to the dog being hastily tied to a tree as Shego goaded him on. To Drakken's disappointment, the sucker was lead around the nearest building, out of sight.

He almost envied the canine's front-row seat. The dog barked furiously, lunging and straining at the stifling leash tethering it to the tree. A minute or so passed, and Drakken almost put the car back on the road to go investigate for himself.

A weight lifted from his chest then and he exhaled his relief as Shilo strolled out unscathed, her hair only slightly out of place. She chucked something into the air – a pair of shoes – and smoothed out her hair as the sneakers swung on the powerline above. She rubbed her knuckles, patted the mutt happily wagging its tail, and continued on her way.

The backstabber limped into sight toward his dog a moment later, his arm hanging limp and possibly dislocated. If he wasn't too caught up grieving over it, he might have continued shouting at Shilo's back.

Drakken couldn't help smirking. "Attagirl," he muttered, giddily pleased she'd served payback herself. Proud as he was, the mugging reinforced a healthy respect. His own combat skill wasn't his sharpest asset – she'd proved that to him not long ago in an enlightening lesson he wouldn't soon forget – and he knew she could easily do just the same to him.

Hell, she could do worse to Drakken than dislocate an arm or steal his shoes if she wished. He put a lot on the line, trusting the bad apple as he did. She could rob him blind, turn everything of his for her own profit, bend him to her will for her own gain – well, maybe she was already doing that.

He grimaced and tried not to consider he was being taken for a fool, even as he felt incredibly foolish heading for Smarty Mart with the idle curiosity if she fancied cheesecake. He shook his head. So what if she didn't? He baked for himself. He wasn't obligated to share his personal provisions, and he didn't have to impress her with desserts that put Buckley's to shame either.

It was a good thing he'd made a list, because he found himself distracted with each new aisle. He tried contemplating a meal plan, but his attention was stolen time and time again by enticing arrangements of candy and decorations. He grit his teeth and tried his damndest to turn a blind eye to the festive merchandise, but his willpower caved eventually, and he was soon perusing holiday goods while staving off the fear of his accomplice alone at the mercy of her brothers.

Before he knew where his feet were taking him, he stood in the costume aisle. This late in the game, pickings were slim. It had to be luck he even found a cape.

He didn't mean to inspect the silky black garment lined in red, and he especially didn't mean to drop it in the handbasket – though he justified it knowing someone was bound to come up behind him and pluck it from the rack for themselves if he didn't. He wondered, as he tossed a pair of overpriced fangs in the basket as well, if he could pull off a satin cape on a regular basis, but he halted the thought in its tracks before he could contemplate how many caped villains had been made a laughingstock. A cape was a ridiculous addition to his wardrobe – he was only wearing it for tonight, and then it was going in the office fireplace.

Thanks to his dillydallying and candy inspection in Smarty Mart, what should have taken him no more than twenty minutes from entry to checkout had taken him an hour or more. Still, he was compelled to blame a heavy overcast for the gloomy evening.

He was out of his mind, Drakken soon concluded as he made a beeline for his accomplice's neighborhood. He couldn't convince himself he was only passing through on the way out of town, not when he had to drive so far out of the way to do so. He didn't even make it to her street before spotting Shego in her gear along with the whole gaggle of harlequin-clad boys.

Gripping the wheel, Drakken fixed his glare dead ahead, away from the superheroes toting bags and buckets like all the other kids swarming the streets. He made for home, back to his lair.

He had sightseeing to do tonight, but first he had to get changed.