This arc is for introducing some faces around them.
Everyone's got their problems to contend with~

28. Aura of Others – 2

She knew the morning was off to a good start when a scream followed the frantic beeping of an unfamiliar alarm clock, and she cracked her eyes open in time to see a familiar blue someone flail and tumble out of bed. She was glad the lamp was on so she could catch the spectacular fall from grace.

She barely kept the laugh to herself as the startled man picked himself up, staring at her wide-eyed over the edge of the bed. Panic-stricken and stammering, he welcomed her to sleep in for another half hour, or an hour, or all day if she pleased, but she had to decline no matter how tempting. She had places to be, unfortunately.

The second Drakken excused himself hastily to his own private bathroom, she threw back the sheets to check for any sign of burnt fiber. She was pleasantly surprised and gave herself a pat on the back for making it through the night without incident, even as her face burned as she quickly dressed. She hoped the gambler wouldn't push his luck next time either – and then banished the thought from her mind. There wouldn't be a next time. This was a one-time occurrence. A simple test of will.

She had the feeling she was lying to herself as she wore another of Drakken's sweaters to Buckley's to hide the fact she hadn't exactly changed out of yesterday's outfit. And she knew she wasn't fooling anyone else either when he was the first customer of the day, smiling pleasantly as she served him joe to go. When he turned to leave, Shilo had to tear her stare away from the green elastic band holding the ponytail he'd taken the time to neatly put up himself.

Eyes of future-henchgirls drove daggers into her back. She heard the low voice of Buckley in the kitchen muttering to Chester, but couldn't make out what she rumbled. No doubt something displeased, and Shilo was sure it was about her. If it weren't for the generous tip Drakken slipped into the jar, the baker might have said – or done – something to him to chase him off.

As it were, Drakken was in no hurry to leave, courteously holding a door open for a blithe young man with a pep in his step that made Shilo's blood run cold before inciting the dreaded fire once again.

She felt suddenly far too small for the sweater hung around her. If only she could disappear into it. If only it wouldn't be so childish to duck behind the counter to make Gail take the order. It was too late for hiding now anyway.

Ignoring Drakken lingering at the open door was just as hard as looking up at the next customer. She forced a smile for the increasingly familiar boy beaming back at her, and she warmed over as if standing in a sunray from heaven. She couldn't say she liked it, but she couldn't say she didn't either.

"I, um. H-hey—," she clamped her mouth shut and gave a small cough to clear her throat. She tried again before Abigail could shove her aside to take over, and managed to utter a coherent greeting the second time. "What can I get you, angel boy?"

Angel boy smothered his grin and glanced to the case. "Caramel latte and a cinnamon roll to go today, please," he answered promptly as if he'd rehearsed it. If he was uneasy, he disguised it well.

It would have been an easy enough task if she weren't aware of Drakken still standing in the doorway, watching with unnerving interest. She almost spilled the latte when she handed it over. As she fumbled with the register, she caught a glimpse of the felon pointing at the angel boy, almost as if aiming a finger-gun at his back.

Drakken's raised brow and inquiring gesture didn't help the heat spreading across her face or building in her chest. She was eager to get them both out of the shop. She even considered calling for Buckley to scare the rogue doctor away, at the very least.

For as much as he stared and beamed at her, angel boy didn't seem to notice the peeks she shot past him, or the dismissive flick of her wrist in a vain attempt to shoo Drakken off. She didn't need to squirm under the analytical stare of a rogue scientist when she was already caught in the radiance of an angel boy, and she was all the more convinced she needed to get a grip on herself and Lady Fate's gift.

"Hope to see you soon," said angel boy warmly as he left, but Shilo could only spare the tiniest wave in goodbye before hiding her hands behind the counter once more.

Dr. Drakken was still rooted in place, continuing to hold the door open and let the heat out. The young man cast a perturbed glance up at him and another glance over his shoulder to Shilo before going on his merry way. It took Drakken another moment of standing there, watching the blond depart, before he turned his eyes back to Shilo. She tried to ignore the arch of his brow or the smile that split across his face.

"Interesting," he piped, grinning smugly her way. Her face burned and she had to wring her hands under the counter to snuff out the heat in her palms. "I didn't take you for a nervous Nellie."

A small hand curled around Shilo's shoulder. Abigail was a fraction of Buckley's size, but with a little genetic manipulation and training, she could one day compare to the role model. She'd taken lessons from her, and must have been able to replicate the baker's sneer perfectly because Drakken took a step back out the door when Gail curtly snapped at him, "There something wrong with your order, sir? No? Then get outta here. No loitering."

Effectively told off, Drakken left with haste.

Later that day, when Shilo was at last relieved of duty for the afternoon, she almost made a beeline for the lair, compelled to chew out the man for stirring trouble with her at Buckley's Brew, which had lived up more to its unscrupulous underground name of Jackass Joe's on this fine day. Between customers, she'd suffered critical glares, poking, prodding, elbowing, and snide comments like two-timer and skank. On an average day, she could take every name in the book in stride, but it hadn't made getting through this day easier when she was already fighting to put out the hellfire stoked by an angel.

She hadn't made it far before the chill in the air wicked away the heat, and she breathed easier than she had all day. A misty drizzle fell, and she was convinced to go home instead when she missed the bus. She had better things to do than get herself worked up over a smug man who found her plight interesting.

Better things, such as going home and sweeping up the glass she'd left scattered across her bathroom floor.

When Shilo entered her dingy apartment, she jumped, spying a large rat dart behind the fridge. Swearing aloud, she raised a hand, drawing up energy into her palm, and readied a blast fit for a rodent as she shoved the fridge back. The vermin disappeared through a hole chewed in the drywall before she could take the shot.

The ball of plasma still crackled in her palm, bubbling and dripping, and Shilo found herself unable to recall the glow still desperate for an exit. It was abnormal, but not the first time she'd been faced with the predicament, and it was an unwelcome reminder she didn't have as much control of it as she wished she did.

She realized as she washed the sizzling alien fire down the sink that she hadn't done much to relieve herself of the bottled energy lately. She stared into the sink, hoping that washing plasma down it wouldn't make the pipes any leakier, and optimistically added to herself that maybe it would unclog the drain.

She mulled it over while cleaning the neglected bathroom. With no glass door to hide behind anymore, the special prescription stared her down from its perch on the shelf in the medicine cabinet. She considered, between the lack of suppressant and lack of an outlet, maybe she was spilling over. Could she overflow? She knew she could get riled up and overcharge – there was even emergency protocol for that – but she couldn't recall a time she'd ever gone more than a week without throwing a few plasma balls for target practice at the very least.

Rubbing her throbbing head, she tried to recall the last time she'd let loose at all. She'd used her glow as a light source a few nights ago on the way home from Vegas, but that was a low-level energy release with hardly any power behind it and no heat to the flame. She'd worked on hand-to-hand combat with the henchmen, but she'd played fair. The last time she could remember really giving her glow the slightest workout was the day Drakken gave her the new gloves. That had been weeks ago.

Bathroom clean enough to stand barefoot in again, she was dressing down to settle in for the evening when she emptied the pockets of her jeans out of habit. The bracelet and note she pulled out nearly caught fire – and she once again found herself unable to extinguish it without a little help.

This time she was rinsing the plasma down the bathroom sink though, and this time the suppressant was staring her in the face. She'd circumvent it if she could. And she would. She had to – because relying on the medication would only hamper her, and that just wasn't happening anymore. It would only put her under GJ's thumb and at their mercy.

Shilo forgot about her PJ's waiting for her on the bathroom counter and dressed into a new pair of jeans, one of her own sweaters, and the slicker jacket, and headed out the door into the rainy evening.

She had energy to burn off.

It was only a hunch, but it was worth a shot. Besides, she had to try, or she might never make it through a date with an angel boy capable of thwarting her self-control and setting her on fire with a single look.

So she skulked through the rain as the twilight fell, her feet carrying her to a bridge over the river that ebbed and flowed like the tide. She cast a look around before stepping over the guardrail into a prohibited area of the canal, pushing her way through branches and bushes on her descent down the muddy slope to find flat ground beneath the bridge.

The river was a safe enough target. It swallowed each blast, the green blobs of molten plasma gulped up by the muddy water. Steam rose, and not just from the water, but from herself as well. She soon shed her slicker and her sweater, and she briefly considered that she might have been better off wearing her gear out here, but it was a little late in the evening to go back for it now.

She only stopped when she heard a vehicle stop on the bridge above. She realized, with a sudden frigid wave of dread, that a fogbank was flowing out from the downstream end of the bridge. It was sure to have caught some eyes.

Heaving for breath, she held her fire – and was glad she could finally recall it – as she pressed to the wall and waited for the curious witness to leave. When they didn't move along, she held her breath and listened for a car door. Something. Anything.

The warmth burned down her arms again, and she was second-guessing if she really had her alien fire back under control after all – when finally she heard wet tires rolling. But the vehicle didn't go far. She heard the engine cut, a door, and soon heard the squelching of footsteps coming down the muddy bank.

If it was an officer coming to investigate, her things were simply too far away to risk diving forward and grabbing. She'd be seen for sure. So she bolted the other direction, hooking around the wall and glancing back under the bridge before staring miserably up the embankment thick with vegetation above her.

Passing through it silently was hopeless, but she did her best, glad the recent rains had at least saturated the sticks and leaves enough to soften the sound of her slippery passage.

She ducked as she reached the top, fully expecting an officer or two, or at least a police cruiser – and felt her face heat when she saw the furthest thing from it.

An old brown station wagon with a taped-up back window was parked on the side of the road.

And behind her down the hill, someone was clearing his throat.

"You know there's a flash flood advisory, don't you?" Dr. Drakken called up at her, although he was the one presently standing in the danger zone by the water's edge. He held her abandoned sweater and slicker draped over an arm. He nodded to the fogbank rolling slowly downriver and added, "Lovely work, by the way."

"What are you doing here?" she snipped down at him as he began the awkward climb up the overgrown slope after her.

"Errands," he answered curtly. That was hard to believe when he had henchmen to run errands for him.

"What kind of errands?"

Drakken shook his head in exasperation and snorted. "Must I tell you everything?"

"Yes."

Halfway up the slope, he paused and looked up from watching his footing. Shilo didn't like his silence, and she had the feeling the awkward reply, "Post office," was little more than a bluff if not a total lie.

"Have you been spying on me again?" she pressed when he reached her at the top.

"Wh—nngg! No!" he sputtered, his face turning a funny shade she knew wasn't from the nippy weather. She might have liked to see him flustered and choking on words if she weren't still skeptical he wasn't lying to her face. He shoved her things at her to free his hands for flailing. "I was just – I was – I heard it was supposed to rain. I was going to give you a ride from Buckley's, but then I got distracted and ran a little late and—"

"Try four hours late," Shilo snorted.

His lips pressed into a flat line and he grunted and glared away toward the car. "Better late than never though, right?" He skulked off for the vehicle.

Shilo was hesitant to follow, but the rain was coming down heavier by the moment. "I'll forgive you for being creepy and stalking me – on one condition," she haggled.

"Which is…?" he wearily prompted with a roll of his wrist.

"Cow-n-Chow drive-thru and swing by the movie shack," she said as she came around to the passenger side. "Those are my demands." She should have asked for a target range, but she didn't consider it in time. At least she was good and cool now. Burning off some energy might have done her a fair bit of good after all.

"A small price to pay," sighed Drakken. Meeting her inside the car, he added, "And I wasn't stalking you. I was on my way to knock on your door like any respectable – uhm – to ask you—nngh!" He curled his lip and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes.

"Any respectable what to ask me what?"

"Nothing."

A few minutes later, the cross man was eating fries from a bag between his knees, and the sloshing windshield wipers couldn't keep up with the downpour. They hadn't spoken outside of placing an order at the window and were now cutting through town to find the rental shack before closing. She hadn't expected Drakken to strike up conversation – or if she had, she'd expected some jeering about angel boy – but instead, he gave a morose hum and looked over at her.

"What was that about anyway? Under the bridge?"

"Nothing."

"Don't give me that. You want me to be honest with you. And I told you, so it's your turn."

"No, you didn't. You didn't give me a full answer," Shilo retorted, hopeful to divert the subject away from poorly-managed alien fire she couldn't keep contained.

"I was coming to see you," Drakken shot back at her. "I thought – geez, Shego! I thought that was clear already."

"Why?" Better yet, why was she raising her voice?

"Because I – I don't know. Hoping I can change your mind about – what was it you called him? Angel boy?"

Shilo pressed against the door. "What?"

"I was just hopeful we'd get out Friday, alright?" Drakken grouched. "Just us. Maybe a henchman. Or not. I thought we'd go do something thrilling and dangerous, like crossing state lines in this piece of crap. Because you're right! You're absolutely right. I need to get out sometimes. And it turns out, I do enjoy getting out with you."

She watched him swallow and his brow knit into deep creases. And she gave a frustrated sigh, deciding not to fault him. At least he was being honest. Or at least she had to trust he was. She hugged herself. "Next Friday night. I promise," she said. "But you're gonna let me do this with – with what's his face, and you're not gonna stop me. You got that?"

Drakken was quiet. She didn't miss his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. "Loud and clear," he grunted.

"Don't be such a sore loser, Doc," she grumbled, reaching into her own bag to pull out a pinch of overly-salted fries. "It's not what you think."

He scoffed. "Then what is it?"

She slumped back and kicked her muddy heels up on the dash. "I have a score to settle." She couldn't give him any more detail than that. She'd figure it out when she crossed that bridge. She knew only one thing – she'd make angel boy pay retribution, one way or another.

Drakken was quiet for a moment before he grumbled, "I am not a sore loser. I didn't lose anything." Shilo couldn't help laughing a little at his frown. "I'm just – it's nothing crucial – I'm just a little pissed off to have Friday plans pushed off the table, that's all."

"Live and learn," she said around a mouthful, and shrugged. "Don't set your heart on anything involving an us without consulting me first. 'Kay?"

She had to take his harumph as a grunt of agreement.

There was no reason to nod up to her darkened apartment and suggest he come upstairs. It wasn't a feeble attempt to butter him up – because there was no reason to be apologetic for the clash of plans, much less apologetic for the existence of a boy who could stir something wretched in her. She had a movie, and movies were better with company. That was why Drakken followed her up the stairs.

The heater was kicked into operation and shoes were kicked off. Drakken's jacket hung next to her slicker on the rack. He grudgingly agreed to the chore of popping the tape in while Shilo made the popcorn as the previews played.

She couldn't help stealing a peek over her shoulder at the man kneeling before her television balanced on a small shelf. He was a decidedly better sight on her shaggy rug than the hoodlum with the mutt. And unlike the hoodlum, she might have been at least a little compelled to be a good host to the rogue doctor presently threatening to disassemble her malfunctioning remote from his spot on the floor.

No sooner had the stray thought of inviting the man onto her bed – to make up for lack of a couch – crossed her mind did she come to the jarring realization that she had in fact not burned herself out. A soft popping sound wasn't coming from the microwave – but rather the bubble and ooze of her glow escaping her palms.

A small gasp slipped out, and Drakken's tired stare turning back at her didn't ease the flush of heat. She hid her hands behind her back and slunk off to the bathroom.

There, she locked the door and wrung her hands.

She still felt watched, but she knew it was only her imagination. She found herself facing the sink. She squeezed her eyes shut and doused the licks of plasmic flame crawling over her hands and up her wrists under a stream of icy water, and all the while the orange bottle stared down at her.

There was no reason for her nerves to spike now. She wanted to blame it on the medication's side-effects, or withdrawals, or something. Because it couldn't be Drakken sitting in the other room, ready to watch a movie with her. That would complicate things.

Fire barely subdued for the moment, Shilo gripped the edge of the counter, telling herself she wouldn't – yet one hand pried away, and the other had a pill in the palm a moment later. She drew a shaky breath, broke it in half, and nipped a piece off that, just like she used to on the average rough day in between classes. It was only a fraction of a dose. Unless big brother had upped the potency, it should be just enough to take the edge off without the risk of knocking her out cold. She'd get a little drowsy at the very most, she assured herself.

Just as bitter as she remembered, the crumb dissolved on her tongue before she could swallow. She resisted the urge to retch.

The smell of burnt popcorn all but yanked her from the bathroom then. She swore as she burst out the door, and startled to find Drakken dumping the remainder of blackened kernels into the trash. Her face heated, but no more than it should have.

"Most of it survived," Drakken informed with a nod back to a bowl on the counter.

"Sorry," she mumbled, and ducked back into the bathroom for another moment to change. She returned once and for all a minute later, dressed in full cotton PJs of a dingy shade of green, feeling just a little overdressed after last night and twice as flustered to consider it now. She almost wished she'd been under the influence, just for something to blame the rash decision on.

She tugged at the hems of her sleeves as she passed the man sitting on her floor again, and took up a spot at the head of her bed. He made no comment on her jammies. Good. She'd thwack him if he did.

As the movie opened up to the sound of sirens, Shilo shifted in place where she sat on the edge of the mattress, just close enough for her company to hand the bowl of popcorn up to her. She nibbled for a few minutes before shifting slightly again and stopping herself from patting the spot next to her. "Why don't you sit up here?" she blurted anyway.

Drakken slouched, his legs kicked out and crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his chest. "Thank you, no," he said stubbornly. "I'm good."

Her eyebrows knit together at the blatant rebuff. Without pausing to think, she reached down to grab him by the hair at the top of his head, giving it a small tug as she crossly ordered, "Get your stupid ass off the floor." At the first tingle, she snapped her hand away in time for sparks to glint at her fingertips. She wiped her hand on her shirt as if to erase the sensation.

Grunting, Drakken hefted himself up to slouch on the edge next to her, and he only sat straighter to accommodate the bowl relocated to his lap. Shilo migrated away to the corner, a pillow behind her and another to hug. As the new release rolled on, the unhappy blue man relaxed, inching backward until his feet were off the floor and his back was against the wall. He made headway on the popcorn, but she didn't complain. She didn't have much of an appetite at the moment anyway with arcs of blood spraying onscreen. Not that she could trust herself to reach for any popcorn with her hands still threatening to bloom with green embers.

In vain hope of resisting the siren call of the suppressant, she worked up the nerve to lean over and reach under her bed, fishing out the stylized glass water pipe. She cleared her throat, and just barely saw dark eyes flick her way past the massacre reflecting off his lenses. "You wanna break this in with me?" she quipped as nonchalantly as she could.

Drakken didn't seem particularly alarmed or impressed by the paraphernalia she presented, but he'd seen it before. His only reply was a withering look.

Indulging anyway with or without him crossed her mind, but Shilo sheepishly tucked it back beneath the bed instead. "I'll take that as a no," she mumbled, and scoffed. "Pssh. You're no fun."

Drakken opened his mouth to argue, but a scream from the television cut him off. He didn't look like he was enjoying the movie, but he'd yet to leave or suggest any other tape in her meager collection.

Sighing, Shilo relaxed into her bed and wriggled a bit to get comfortable, trying and failing to make the best of her limited space with her guest in the way. Uncomfortable or not, the weight of the day settled over her, weighing her eyelids down soon enough. Or maybe it was the fraction of a pill doing her in. She wondered if the supposed villain would be courteous enough turn off the TV and lock the door on his way out when the movie was over, but she didn't let herself count on it.

After a while of watching the blurry shapes through her lashes, movement in the dark from the corner of her eye drew her sluggish attention.

She almost lifted her head to ask if he was leaving, but kept her silence as she watched him pull a square of paper from a back pocket. Her drowsiness slowly lifted as he unfolded the slip and frowned miserably. He chewed his lip and cast a fleeting glance her way, only to jump when she croaked, "What?"

He blinked back to the television, paper crumpled and hidden between his knees. "It's nothing – ow!" he yelped when she drove her heel hard into his hip. "For fuck's sake, Shego. It's personal."

"Whatever," she mumbled, relaxing back into the pillow she hugged beneath her. Feigning acceptance or disinterest didn't last long. Soon she was sitting up again, making a snappy grab for the wadded note he couldn't hold out of reach in time.

He barked her alias again in annoyance as she scooted back to her corner to unfold the slip. She stuck a heel out again to keep him at a distance. "That is none of your business!" he spat at her.

"RSVP! You're invited," she began aloud with flair, and settled to mumbling along, one hand precariously lit to read the hand-written invitation on floral-print notepaper smelling of powder and flowers of a variety she couldn't place. A polite invitation to thanksgiving dinner at Mrs. Lipsky's home in Middleton, California, finished with a guilt-tripping dig, P.S. We miss you.

Her eyes glanced over the plus-one invitation once more before she arched an eyebrow at the purple-faced man resigned to sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping his head.

"Mrs. Lipsky? I didn't know you were married—"

"That's my mother," he spat venomously.

Shilo almost winced, but instead she nodded. "Ah. That makes more sense, I guess. Um. Here." She passed the invitation back. He snatched it and stuffed the crumpled paper back into a pocket, and she stared for a second too long before sitting back against the wall. "So. You gonna go?"

"No," he grunted, barely audible. He'd gone back to clutching his head.

"Is the cooking that bad?" Shilo quipped in a meek attempt to make light of his disturbance.

Drakken's nostrils flared and his glare bore down at her, and she had to take a wild guess he was deeply offended on his mother's behalf. She made a mental note not to insult the woman she knew nothing about, or her cooking. He didn't bite back at her for the comment though, and instead grumbled, "I can't go."

"Why not?" she pressed coolly. She relaxed back down on her side, pillows bundled under her.

"I haven't seen Mother since—," he groaned and deflated. By the light of a stormy night scene glowing from the television, he looked bluer than she'd ever seen him before.

"Since?"

He heaved a defeated sigh, and she barely heard him mumble, "Since before the incident." A small gesture to himself sufficed. It shed a little light on why he was having such a bad day.

"Oh." She quirked her mouth and shrank down a little. She had nothing to be guilty for. The chain of events wasn't her fault. "How'd you get mixed up with Gemini anyway?" she blurted, and immediately considered that maybe she should have kept her lips zipped.

"I don't want to dredge up – alright! Stop kicking me," he groused, shoving her heel roughly away. "I suppose it all began in a Hellhole I bussed when I stole the game plan from one of his agents. And then after you – after I let you go." He glowered and chewed on something bitter for a moment before spitting it out with some more frustrated gestures thrown in. "Right after. They tried to intercept but got me instead. I was interrogated, and he was about to off me himself until I pled for my life and offered my services and allegiance. It was not my proudest moment. Are you satisfied?"

She knew Gemini. She knew he could be cruel and merciless, holding little regard for human life. Drew Lipsky of four years ago must have shown promise, whatever he'd done to sway the head of the criminal spy organization. She tried to imagine her bumbling rogue doctor, still pasty-skinned and stinking of pickles, walking on eggshells around the leader of the pack. How he'd survived more than a day without being dropped down a chute to be fed to piranhas or crocodiles was a wonder. It had to be a sore spot.

A mousy little, "Sorry," was the only thing Shilo could think to say.

"For what?" he grumped.

She shrugged halfheartedly. "For getting you mixed up with villainy?"

Suddenly the dismal man's shoulders shook, but before she could suspect a sob, he threw his head back and a bitter chortle erupted from him. He was well on his way to maniacal laughter, and Shilo was taken aback as he laughed in the face of her sentiment. She wished she could take it back as he shot a nasty sneer over at her. For a fleeting moment, there was something sinister behind his eyes to remind her there may have very well been something to his self-proclaimed villain title after all.

"Sister, I was born twisted. You and Gemini were just the breakthrough I needed," he stated with a growl like corrosive acid, maybe the same acid burning a hole through his soul. She'd like to believe he was more resilient than that – but that wouldn't make him very evil, would it? That was what she was with him for, wasn't it?

She felt rather foolish now for lying down so comfortably. For being comfortable in his presence at all. Too stubborn and jaded to let him know he was capable of worrying her though, she kept herself in check and maintained a deadpan stare on him until the darkness behind his eyes lightened up a little.

"Twisted, huh?" she jibbed with a small chuckle. "You seem like just a big softy to me."

There was a hint of something genuine in the smile he cracked. "Oh, I've got skeletons," he assured. "You should see my basement."

She rolled her eyes at his misuse of the expression.