"I'm weak on the whole dating thing. Seriously, that whole Drakken business didn't leave a lot of time for socializing."
Gee! I wonder, why was she so quick to blame Drakken? ;D
Also, song in mind for Drakken is Thunderstruck...which will come back next chapter in a really corny way because I love bad puns.
Anywho, R&R if you'd be so inclined~

30. Aura of Others – 4

Angel boy greeted her with a handshake, which she declined. Her palms were sweaty but that wasn't their worst offense. She kept them hidden behind her back, too struck by the spike of nerves stinging her palms that she almost didn't catch his name. Thomas Thompson. His friends called him Tom, Tom Tom, or Tommy. She decided on Tom.

She forgot her own name, and her condition was worsened when she realized the rockhound was waiting for it in turn. Torn between spitting up an alias and her real name, she nearly blurted the wrong answer, barely managing to stutter out, "She—Shilo. It's Shilo."

Angel boy – Tom – let his outstretched hand fall. He gave a small awkward laugh and got the door, gesturing her in. "Hope you weren't waiting long," he apologized. It sounded strangely sincere. She almost believed it was.

Shilo took a deep breath and willed the heat away from her skin, wishing it could just stay locked away burning in the pit of her stomach. "Just a couple minutes," she fibbed with a meek shrug. It had been more like twenty, but at least half of that was on her for showing up early.

She lingered at an awkward distance as she faced the cause of the hellfire threatening to burn her alive. Tom threw glances over his shoulder at her, flashing wavering smiles, until she was forced to face him head-on once seated at a table for two. Directly beside the stage, no less. She tried to find her voice and suggest elsewhere, but options were limited as the place was packed tonight.

She gathered the extra bustle was due to a portion of the town's power grid going down due to the weather. Her part, by the sound of things. Something about a downed tree taking power poles with it. She was too caught up in eavesdropping on the table over and avoiding eye contact to immediately notice Tom was fishing for her attention until he fanned his menu at her.

Going rigid at the breeze, she snuck a glance at the aquamarine eyes sparkling at her. She barely heard him inquire on her age. She barely remembered what it even was with him looking at her – but the age he gave her in turn sent a strange swell of nerves mixing around in her stomach. He was twenty. Less than a year older than her – that was perfectly acceptable, perfectly normal, she assured herself inwardly. He only asked because he was curious if she drank. As Shilo's eyes strayed across the establishment to locate a familiar mullet at the bar, she lied and said she didn't. It was a poorly executed joke, as it turned out, and Tom ordered her a diet soft drink before she could order a coke for herself.

She tried to ignore the technical difficulties occurring on stage as she skimmed over the menu, and tried not to peek over the top of it toward Tom or the rogue doctor who'd resigned to slumping at the bar a ways behind him. She saw Drakken knock back at least two shots, and there was no telling how much he'd downed when she wasn't looking.

Too unfocused to give the menu any real consideration, she ordered something she knew they had and she liked – chicken strips with a side of jojos. And a salad, she added under Tom's studying stare. He'd been vegetarian for nine months, she learned. She couldn't care less about his grilled eggplant.

Participants began taking the stage again. As each sang their number and moved along, she dreaded whoever might come next. She nibbled uneasily on her jojos, only half-listening to Tom's criticisms of the wannabes. He boasted about being a soprano in choir. She'd heard Drakken sing at quite a high pitch too, and she wasn't eager to hear Tom anytime soon – but unfortunately, Tom had other plans. He'd signed up and was patiently waiting his turn.

"You should try it," he suggested. "It's fun," he promised.

She almost bought it. Wouldn't that get under Drakken's skin, to take the stage just because some angel boy urged her to? She had to shake her head. "I'll pass," she said. "I can't sing." According to the curious blue man now eyeballing her from the bar, that was a lie. She kept her head down, wishing she hadn't worn her hair up so she could at least hide her flushed cheeks a little behind it.

Tom went on to make a meager attempt to egg her on but got a clue quick that it was futile. "Maybe next time we can try the bowling alley," he said sheepishly.

Next time? She almost laughed but the incredulous noise that escaped her in its place was laced with nerves. "Y-yeah," she stuttered. "Maybe. Where's that at?"

Angel boy arched an eyebrow at her. "You're kidding me?" he said, blinking incredulously at her. Shilo's smile was strained. "Everyone knows about the bowling alley. It's practically a historical building around here." She really wasn't thrilled to have ignorance rubbed in, but kept her mouth shut. The talkative boy wove his hands under his chin and leaned over the table toward her, a dazzling smile scorching through her. "You're really not from around here, are you?"

"Is it my accent?" she guessed awkwardly. She wouldn't even say she had one – but maybe a Nevadan local might notice she was from out of the area.

"No," said Tom, lowering his voice. "You were on TV. You're—," he shut his mouth, eyes flicking around the crowded room. A wise move – now if only he'd shut up completely. Shilo sat rigid, none too eager to hear her alias from his mouth. He bit back a nervous chuckle and sat back, fighting off the grin. "I think it's amazing what you do."

Discerning what she was being praised for wasn't exactly rocket science. Whether he was amazed by the heroic acts of her former life or the misdeeds she'd indulged in since arriving in this oasis town, she forced on a smile and turned her nervous eyes down to poke at her salad. "What gave it away?" she wondered uneasily, though she really didn't want to continue the subject. Maybe he'd spell it out for her what aspect appealed to him – though she already had a pretty good idea which side of her some religious vegetarian with a stance against alcohol would fancy.

"Lucky guess," he whispered above the ending wails of a karaoke participant, and Shilo decided trick-or-treating in uniform had definitely been a foolhardy thing to do. "Um…We shouldn't talk about this here, huh?"

She narrowed her eyes on him, a little more hostile than she meant to be. "Take a guess," she suggested. She cleared her throat then, trying with difficulty to reclaim some of the fluster that had dissipated. His charm was wearing off fast. "Um. I mean, yeah. I've, um. Come out west to take a break. Get some me-time in," she fibbed. "It was pretty demanding work."

"So you've given it up?"

Her eyes flicked up to the almost crestfallen young man. "Classified," she said shortly and stuffed tasteless salad in her mouth. As he watched her, she realized that she really should have denied everything from the get-go.

She should have known better, but disappointment still got the best of her. So that was it. Thomas Thompson's interest in her wasn't in her – it was in a superheroine who went by a stage name. It had to be. A chill sank into her bones, smothering the inferno that had been straining to flare and flow freely until now. So what? So what if he liked some nonexistent supergirl? She was Shilo tonight and Shego wasn't the superhuman she used to be, and she wasn't going to go out of her way to clean up the town no matter what sad look he gave her. And if he dared to blow her cover, then she'd just have to find something even worse to do to him than steal some stupid valuable rocks.

Another thought crept over her, churning her stomach and obliterating her appetite completely. If he'd figured it out, some small-town nobody, who else had? The damn Team Go jet had been parked out on the front lawn all day, for crying out loud. It was a dead giveaway. It had even made local news! Hugo couldn't learn the meaning of subtle if it was engraved on a brick and chucked at his head. How he ever went so long with a secret identity was a mystery.

"Nothing wrong with time away to find yourself," said Tom eventually, sounding awfully disenchanted. Good. "Have you thought of finding—?"

"Thomas Thompson, if you say Jesus, I swear to God," Shilo hissed, pointing a lettuce-laden fork at him. The young man looked taken aback. Remembering why she was wasting her time on this absurd date in the first place, she forced another smile and a small laugh. "I'm kidding. It was a joke."

"Hah," he said in lieu of a real laugh, still visibly unsettled. He shifted in his seat. "I'd still like to get to know you better. If that's cool with you."

Movement behind him caught her eye, and whatever he was spieling about movie tickets went in one ear and out the other now. She tried not to look straight at Drakken swaggering across the room, weaving between tables and nearly knocking into a busboy. Shilo realized he was heading for the stage – but first, the tipsy man took a few paces past the steps to make an odd gesture behind Thomas. Her eyes narrowed on the smirking rogue doctor fluttering his hands behind the angel boy like a pair of little wings.

His secret mocking didn't help the warmth creeping back to the surface.

Tom turned to glance back and Shilo snapped her eyes back to her half-cleared plate. Drakken was already marching up onto the stage.

The screen to feed him the lines was snubbed with a haughty laugh and he cleared his throat, or maybe he was just choking on spit. She knew the boozy rogue doctor was going to go all out when he scooped up the microphone. He gave a thumbs up to whoever was in charge of the system, and the track started. Shilo leaned forward on her elbows and squeezed her eyes shut as the man on stage took the moment to exercise his vocal cords, rocking on his heels and nodding along as he fell into the rhythm before stomping to a thunderous rock beat, effectively earning attention of diners. It wasn't as good as the original, and he'd had a bit too much to drink to perform at his best, but no one could say he wasn't enthusiastic.

If her eyes were open, she would have rolled them at the blatant attention-seeking, but she was bound and determined not to give him the time of day.

"This guy," huffed Tom. There was something less than holy in angel boy's tone as the current drunk participant began wholeheartedly reciting verses by heart while Shilo's stomach knotted up.

She risked cracking her eyes open, raising her brow at Tom. "You know him?" she wondered as the volume rose.

"No, it's just!" Tom waved off toward the stage, though Drakken was all but jigging directly above them now. He spoke behind his hand then. "Every time he's here, he totally hogs the mic." She could picture that.

She tried not to glance toward the oxfords skittering nearby. "You come here often?"

Tom shrugged one shoulder in an ambiguous answer and sat back to sip his diet soda and watch the soloist rocking out. As Shilo was gauging him, his critical eyes turned curious and back on her, flicking upward and back. "Do you know this guy?"

"Nope," she said with a pop, fidgeting with her straw to swirl the ice in her glass.

"He's sure looking at you a lot."

She didn't need to look up to see for herself. She could feel it. Playing it off, she shook her ponytail from side to side. "What can I say? I'm hot stuff," she quipped as cooly as possible.

Tom stared at her for a long moment before a genuine grin cracked across his face and a chortle broke out. "Is that because – because of—?" He held his hand up and wiggled his fingers as if to imitate her fire. Her face heated, and if the angelic moron wasn't careful, he'd soon be treating burns. So he got the joke. It wasn't that funny. He could quit giggling about it any time now.

He reined it in, wiping the smile off his face. "Why don't we get out of here?" he suggested. "This guy's creeping me out. He's kind of a freak."

While Dr. Drakken was rightfully off-putting, boozy and jamming out on stage mere feet away, thoroughly humiliating her, she still shook her head. She let the freak comment slide – this time. "We can leave after I see what you can do," she said.

Drakken's number ended. He put the microphone back on the stand and left the stage without making a scene. Some applause followed him, but if Shilo was being honest, he was a pretty far off his game tonight. It had to be the shots he'd been knocking back.

Once Drakken had disappeared, angel boy excused himself, eager to jump up and hurry across the restaurant to have a little chat with a young friend who seemed to be in charge of karaoke tonight.

Shilo jumped when a hand brushed her shoulder, whipping her head one way and then the other to face Drakken as he leaned down on her other side. "How's the, uh, heh. Date? Going?" he chuckled, speech slurred and broken, leaning heavily against the table on one elbow. He pointed to her unfinished plate. "Are you going to eat that?"

She snatched the chicken strip he was eyeballing and stuffed it in his mouth. "Here. Choke on it, will you?" she hissed.

"Mmph—thank ya, ma'am." He drug himself away from her, taking his musky tobacco and alcohol scents with him. "He ain't got nothin' on me, you know. You really should bail while you have the chance." He gave an awkward wink that looked more like he was trying to blink an eyelash out of his eye.

She'd love to punch him, or at least shove his face away. She had to squeeze her untrustworthy hands between her knees instead. "Drakken—"

"I'm just saying," he grumbled. "I'm sorry I don't have earplugs for you." He tossed the last bite of chicken in his mouth as he backed away and saluted her. "I'm out."

"Good," she spat after him. He'd embarrassed her enough. She didn't need him going the extra mile to tempt her fire to the surface. She glared as he disappeared through the restaurant, and cast a nervous glance across toward Tom, who was still unaware "the freak" had been all but draped over her seconds ago.

She shouldn't have taken Drakken's warning with a grain of salt. She should have questioned her decision to stay when Thomas had been boasting about being a soprano. The notes he hit could have hurt dog ears, and like his jokes, his number was poorly executed. The deity worship she could take, but if he sang any louder, glasses would be the next thing to start cracking, after his voice.

She had half a mind to dine and dash. She even grabbed her purse off the floor from between her ankles and began looking for an escape route. But Tom was right above her, watching her with a gaze more unnerving than Drakken's, and sneaking out was sure to ruin any hope of a second date.

As she suffered through the insufferable performance, she weighed how badly she needed a straight-laced young man any father would approve of. Not that she needed her father's approval. What she needed was for her brothers to turn a blind eye to Drakken and assume him gone from the picture.

"Do it for Drakken," she mouthed to herself dryly as Thomas Thompson finished his indiscernible gospel spiel and received undue applause. She glanced toward the exit Drakken had departed from. She wished she could walk out that easy. He didn't seem happy with her arrangement with Tom tonight, but big deal. He had nothing to worry about, as far as being shown up went. And it wasn't just for his sake anyway. She was scoping out valuables. She closed her eyes and tried to replace the aquamarine eyes seared into her brain with a wealth of gems in any color but blue.

She'd endured the heat boiling below the surface this long. When Thomas kindly covered the bill and brought up movie tickets again, she smiled and nodded. A movie. How bad could that be?

As soon as he surmised it, she realized she didn't want to find out. She would have expected some romantic comedy with religious undertones from the young man walking her out of Westinger Grill, but a sci-fi shouldn't have been surprising either. Something about it twisted in her stomach though. Aliens and space travel didn't set great with her on a regular day – not since Lady Fate anyway – but the description the overeager boy beside her gave sounded right up Drakken's alley.

Leaving the juniper-lined walkway, she caught sight of the brown station wagon still sitting off in the dark parking lot, a window now down despite the chill, and a wispy cloud rising from it drawing her eye like a smoke signal.

"Actually, I should really head home," she said suddenly, interrupting the boy she'd tuned out several seconds ago. "I have a busy day tomorrow."

"Oh," Tom uttered, stopping to stare at her. "I can give you a ride—?"

"Um. No thanks." She tucked her hands behind her back and backed away quickly. "You'll be late for that movie. It sounds like you've been looking forward to it for a while, so. I'd hate to make you miss it."

Perched on his little white moped, Thomas scuffed his sneaker on the blacktop. "Can I get your number?" he inquired hopefully.

Her gut twisted. No, she wanted to say. She'd really rather not hand that out. Yet somehow, "You got a pen?" made it out of her mouth instead. His crystal eyes lit up, and he patted himself down to find a ballpoint in one of his pockets. How convenient.

She didn't expect it to be handed to her. Her mouth was cotton, and her hands were instantly hot enough she could feel the plastic start to squish between her fingers. To make matters worse, Thomas offered his palm, utterly oblivious to the alien fire building beneath her skin. Her stomach lurched as she reached out with trembling fingers to hold his hand steady and scrawl the string of numbers across his palm.

"I can give you mine?" he offered when she passed the pen back.

"Not a good idea," she blurted, wringing her hands behind her again and taking a quick step back once more. She didn't need Drakken finding it that much easier, for one. Second, she didn't need to burn ink into her skin for a temporary tattoo. She'd done that before by mistake.

"Okay…see you around, Shilo," said Tom, offering her a warm smile. "Maybe next time I'll get you up there with the mic. Or bowling. Or whatever." He shrugged awkwardly and smiled again. "We'll figure something out. Is next Friday good for—?"

"Can't," she said shortly. She combed her fingers through the ponytail flopped over her shoulder. "I mean I have – uhm. I'm busy Friday." She didn't know what she'd be busy with, but she'd figure something out.

She breathed easy again when Thomas Thompson gave an awkward goodbye and rode off. She hadn't been keen to climb onto the back of a puttering moped anyway, let alone hold onto him. Not yet anyway. "Dodged that bullet," she muttered to herself, relieved for now. She wondered if she could keep up the charade though. She'd probably have to ride the stupid little thing eventually, even if she couldn't say she was eager to see the angel boy again. "Do it for Drakken," she repeated silently to herself like a mantra as she retreated.

A weirdly off-tune and sluggish wolf-whistle acted as a summons, though not one she particularly appreciated.

With Tom out of sight, she was safe to storm up to the station wagon. Slumped behind the wheel in the dark was Drakken, a cigarette between his lips, cherry burning bright like a beacon.

"What is wrong with you?" she hissed at him, leaning in through the window. Her eyes darted down to the fidgeting in his lap, and she would have reeled if freezing weren't her second instinct.

Drakken held the revolver he'd pulled on her weeks ago in Go City. He was idly popping out the cylinder, giving it a spin, and popping it back in. The chambers were empty. He seemed disappointed by that. She relaxed a little and held out her hand. He sighed and surrendered the firearm.

"Doc—"

"Don't worry about it," grumbled Drakken, cigarette bobbing as he spoke. "I'll feel better after…I dunno. It'll pass." He shrugged miserably.

"You're sure this isn't about Tom?" she pressed skeptically. She really hoped not. If it was – he was being a huge baby for no reason. She'd have to address it eventually, but preferably not right now when she was at risk of burning up.

Drakken snorted. "That's his name?"

"You're one to talk, Drew," she retorted.

He gave a withering sigh and answered her question, admitting, "Not at all, but it doesn't help."

"Then what is it?" Shego groused and plucked the half-spent cigarette from his lips to flick it out on the wet pavement and take a drag herself.

Drakken pouted at her, but shook his head and crossed his arms. "Let's just say, my mother is not happy with me," he grumbled.

"Your mama?" She was surprised until she recalled last night and the invitation to a family reunion for Thanksgiving from his mother. "What's wrong. Is she disowning you?" Maybe she came off just a little too cold because the frightened look the glum man shot her burrowed through her skin to make her wince a little and regret the remark. Bitter resent for her own deadbeat mother was no reason to wish anyone else to be on bad terms with theirs.

"Don't even kid like that!" Drakken blurted, looking on the verge of tears. "That's – that's – that's evil, Shego. Low blow." He pawed his eyes, and she passed the smoke back. Maybe he needed it more than her.

She tossed the revolver into the back and opened the door. "Move over, baby. I'm driving."

"No," he grunted, too stubborn to move his butt. "You don't even know how to drive stick."

"Shit," she hissed under her breath. He had a point.

"Shego, please, there's a restroom inside," grumbled the man. Now wasn't the best time for witticism, but the miserable man got a giggle out of his own immature quip nonetheless. She'd heard enough bad jokes tonight, but kept her complaint on his bathroom humor to herself and shoved him aside.

Shego climbed in, taking his warm place on the bench behind the wheel. "Guess it's about time I learn, right?" she huffed. "Too drunk to mentor me?"

As she cast a glance across to him, he was already raising a bottle of something to his lips. She wondered if he'd stolen it from the bar. Thinking twice, he screwed the lid back down and lowered the bottle to the floorboard. "Uhm…"

"Of course you are," she sighed.

Drakken objected to that statement and followed it up asking if she had a doggie bag. She sighed and forked it over, the boozy man happy to snack on greasy potato wedges and the remaining chicken strip.

Sitting quietly in the chill, she finished off his cigarette as he finished off her leftovers. Just as it had earlier, Drakken's mood seemed to improve the longer she sat beside him, and he was humming almost happily as he licked his gloved fingers and finally wiped his hands on his jeans.

"Up for California?" he wondered, almost blithe.

Shego sighed. "With you drunk? Don't think so. Besides, I'm tired. It's been a crappy day. I wanna go veg out and crash, dude."

"Can we at least push the car off a cliff first before you call it a night?"

Shego looked across at the hopeful blue man staring back at her. A small smile weaseled onto her lips, mirrored tenfold on his. "I thought you'd never ask."