War is hell, peace might be worse.

Ron stares across the table, eyes like planets. This moment has been bearing down on him for months and it feels like he's played it out a thousand times in his head when it's late and everybody is asleep. Right now though, she's glaring at him and he can't even stitch together two syllables. His throat feels dry and his tongue sticks to the top of his mouth, even once her eyes drift in another direction.

He procrastinates by focusing his attention on a troop of agents that marches past their table. Will Du is at the core of the group, likely propelling them all along through his delusions of grandeur alone, if what Ron's hearing is any indication. He snorts when the agent says something particularly audacious. This is clearly a mistake. Shego's eyes dart back to him, intense as ever. Then in a low voice, she speaks. "You don't have to stay here, buffoon. This is more your scene than mine. Go find one of your do-gooder friends."

Ron's eyes slink away from the agents. He just watches Shego, gnawing at the inside of his cheek. What he's doing, lingering around when she's given him a clear escape route, it's dangerous business, so he treads carefully when he speaks. "I would rather wait here for Kim. Even if – uh, even if there is a minor risk of you barbequing me."

Shego's eyes narrow and the delicate wrinkle of confusion appears between her eyebrows is disarmingly cute. Ron had expected to be ducking a flare of green plasma by now, so this interaction is somewhat unexpected. To make his intentions slightly less obtuse for her, he clarifies. "You've met Will Du, right?" Shego nods, eyes narrowing further still. "Look around us, Global Justice sponsored events are basically Du family reunions. Why would I want to deal with that?"

The last part is said in a hushed tone, so none of the people milling around will hear it. Shego's lips crease, a smile ghosting across them. It's unexpectedly gratifying that she's heard him and is amused by the comment. He's floated a similar joke between Kim and himself in the past. She'd been markedly less amused.

While Ron is wading around in his own thoughts, the mirth on Shego's expression vanishes. "I wish Doctor D and the Princess would hurry up and get back here." She announces, folding her arms with great annoyance. They fall across her chest, heavy like concrete. Ron takes this to mean that in spite of his wit, Shego is still fairly underwhelmed by her current predicament.

"Yeah, I mean who'd want to meet the president. Lame." Ron says, bold in a way that he's never been when addressing Shego. Maybe it's that the alternative is initiating a conversation with one of the Will Du facsimiles surrounding them, but it might also be the minute smirk her lips had toyed with.

"I'd want to meet the president." Shego grumbles, smothering another of those little smiles. Ron gets the impression that she's being contrary just for the sake of it. "But no, apparently it was all the work of Kim Possible that saved the world." She drawls, waving a hand in the air carelessly.

Nothing a slightly bitter timber of her voice, and having felt some of that particular emotion himself, Ron nods along. "Drakken's shrieking was especially helpful."

"Drew, these days." Shego corrects absently. "He doesn't think Drakken is especially marketable."

Ron snorts at that, Shego laughs. Whether it's the ungraceful noise he's just made, or that Drakken is thinking in terms of marketing and public profiles, he can't say for sure. After that, they sit in companionable silence. Kim and Dra – Drew turn up shortly after, the President's stamp of approval glowing brightly against their skin. Shego's disposition darkens once more. Maybe his continence does as well. Kim asks if he's okay four times before he puts the right combination of words together and she's satisfied enough to stop asking.

After that night, things change drastically.

Ron's phone starts to dance with increasing regularity, generally late into the night. Far from getting used to it, Ron thinks each passing call is stressing him out even further. By the end of the month, Ron thinks that his heart might work up enough velocity to crack a rib.

Nevertheless, he forces himself to pick up the phone. Mostly the voice at the other end of the line is simply Kim or somebody else from High School. Occasionally the voice at the other end of the line belongs to Drew Lipsky. Those calls are often in regards to Ron's plans for the coming Friday and whether or not he'd like to go bowling. Sometimes the formerly mad doctor makes additional enquiries as to Kim's availabilities. It's after those calls that Ron finds himself picking up the receiver again and calling his best friend to invite her. Apparently Drew's rehabilitation has only extended as far as being able to remember Ron's name and number. After dozens of thrashings and numerous arrests at her hands, Ron thinks Drew – and it's still bizarre calling him that – is a little bit terrified of calling Kim.

Terror stemming from females and phones, Ron can empathize with that. Drew and himself probably share the same jackhammer heartbeat sometimes, the difference being Drew fears making a call, Ron fears the one he's yet to receive. Drew fears calling Kim and Ron lives with a constant anxiety that Shego is going to call him.

Abrupt and out of the blue, Shego's calls number less than once a week. They most often come to Ron like nightmares, finding him deep in the night, long after he's gone to bed. Until recently, his overly amicable break up with Kim had been the most confounding issue in Ron's life. Lately those warring emotions of relief and disappointment have become secondary to Shego suddenly insinuating herself into his life.

Ron can vividly recall the first time she had called him. It had been just after 1am when the phone had started. He'd just remained in his bed, limbs stuck to his sides. Assuming it had just been Drew wanting tips at beating Initial Imagination VII again, he'd sealed his eyes shut and just tried to wait out the call. That assumption had bled away when the phone had continued it's tinny chiming through three attempts by his phone to send the caller to voice message. Drew, if it had been him, would have left an overly long one. This caller, not so much.

With great reluctance, Ron had heaved his arm up, pushed the covers away, and groggily answered. When Shego's voice had filtered through the speaker, Ron's eyebrows had threatened to fly into orbit.

"Hey there, Stoppable." Shego had drawled, laughing shortly at something amongst the dull roar surrounding her voice. Untethered by her usual misplaced anger and free of her usual malice, Ron had thought the sound to be quite a pretty one.

The rest of their conversation had been easy. Her words had been somewhat slurred together, but the former villainess had been so disarmingly chipper that Ron hadn't thought to ask why. When this Shego – the one not surging with irritation at his breathing being too loud – had asked him for a ride, he'd already been thoughtlessly tossing a coat on. She'd even said please at the end of it all.

The whole thing had only started to seem strange when he'd sat in the driver's seat of his car.

Since that first night, Shego has called nine times. He's given her nine rides to her apartment. They're yet to really acknowledge each other in person, but Ron's noticed their calls begin to stretch longer with each passing time. Shego starts to wander through her sentences, rather than cutting to the point. His dopey heart begins to beat with anticipation rather than apprehension, which might be the most confusing thing of all.

The morning after the ninth call, this one longer than the first, second and third calls combined, Ron calls in reinforcements.

"Drew, it's Ron. I really, really need your help." Ron blurts out, several tons of pressure coming off his shoulders with the admission. "It's something only you can help me with."

"Well, naturally. I'm probably overqualified for whatever it is you want, but you know, what are friends for?" The sudden burst of confidence catches Ron off guard even more than Drew proclamation of their friendship. Wondering where the stuttering man he's grown accustomed to has vanished, Ron briefly stares incredulously at the phone in his hand.

"I have – I'm having … uh, issues with Shego and I need your help." Ron splutters, cradling the receiver closer to his ear in rabid anticipation. If it's possible to hear the colour draining from somebody's face, Ron swears in that moment he hears it from Drew's end of the line.

"S-Shego?" Drew mutters, but it's mostly to himself. He sounds as unsure of her as Ron does. "Well, I will do my best. That woman is a mystery to me though."

Ron deflates, shoulders going limp. He supposes he shouldn't be surprised. Drew Lipsky, in his experience, is not so much a ladies man. "So the thing is, she keeps calling me for rides. Rides when it's late. Like, like rides when it's late and she is drunk." Ron says, not entirely articulately.

The line is silent for a time after that and Ron anxiously drums his fingers against the seat beside him. As he waits, Ron is sure that Drew's – and now that the man isn't trying to take over the world, he can admit this – brilliant mind is forming an insightful hypothesis.

"That's weird." Drew says wonderingly.

Or not.

"Well," Ron pauses, carefully rearranging his words to be less biting. "This has been – I'll see you around Drew."

Ron is already easing the receiver away from his ear when a frantic eruption through the speaker stalls the movement. "Wait, wait." Drew says hurriedly. "This – the issue you are having with Shego, that is – happens to be rather unprecedented, hence my loss of words." He continues, sounding the slightest bit put out at having been discarded so quickly as a resource of valuable insight.

"Sorry, sorry Doctor." Ron's mind is catlike in coming up with a way of placating Drew, the lure of figuring out whether Shego plans on eventually slaughtering him kicking it into action. "I've just been really freaked out."

"As well you should be." Ron props himself up on one palm and strangles his phone with the other. If it weren't wireless, the thought of asphyxiating himself with the cord would have crossed his mind.

"Whu – why do you say that?" Ron squeaks, all of the bass having dropped out of his voice.

There's a chortle at the other end of the line, but Drew composes himself in short order. A reflex honed through years of working alongside a woman whose disposition was quick to spike toward murderous rage, no doubt.

"Calm yourself, Stoppable." Drew says, tone belonging to a parent. "You're not in any danger, no more than the rest of us at least, when it comes to Shego. This new development, shall we call it, simply means that in Shego's mind you have been upgraded from utter Buffoon to transportation." Drakken pauses, and from what he says next, Ron can imagine the man's pale blue lips curling in amusement. "I do so hope you have fun with that."

Ron blinks once, then twice, his eyes roaming around in their sockets and scanning the room for – for something. Whether it's an attempt to wake himself from a living nightmare, or shock that Shego isn't planning to murder him, he isn't sure. "Uh, thanks Doc." He says hollowly. Drew's sounds of delight at having been given a nickname fade away as he puts the phone down.

Shego calls again two days after Ron has spoken to Drew.

That she's calling isn't the thing that catches off guard. It's Thursday, the day she usually wants a ride home, so he's been half expecting her call all day. What does manage to catch him off guard is Shego's name flashing across his phone a little after 9pm. He's thrown off even further at the hollow nature of Shego's greeting.

"Stoppable. Usual place. Can you come and get me?"

She doesn't sound happy or angry or even like she's a part of the crowd that's so obviously behind her. The question bleeds through the speaker, stark and cold. It's unlike anything Ron's ever heard from her in month. He pulls on a pair of sneakers and says he's on his way.

He stabs the keys into the ignition and flies out of the driveway. One of the things he's come to learn about Shego is that she's a creature of habit. Each time Ron takes the winding road into Middleton and then the three lefts leading to the Neon Python, Shego is sitting in front of the same diner. Ordinarily, she doesn't say anything about it to him. She doesn't need to. He knows she'll be there, sitting on a bench and illuminated by flickering incandescent lights.

When he pulls up, there are no surprises from Shego's end. She's sitting in the same place as ever, eyes affixed to something on her phone. The crowds are endless motion, floating past her or trickling across the street. Shego stands out though, a strapless emerald dress and a mane of raven waves crashing onto her shoulders. While Shego's more a pinup than a villainess in recovery against this scene, the look of a displaced model does little to hide the pained look in her eyes.

That woeful expression pulls Ron from his car. It's a departure from their usual routine of exchanging text messages in a twenty-first century version of Marco Polo. Ron's not entirely sure what compels him to break with tradition. Maybe it's the same thing in the universe that's compelled Shego to call him when there are swarms of cabs clogging the street. He doesn't dwell on the though, he doesn't get a chance because -

"I see you're braving the atmosphere these days, Stoppable." With that greeting, Shego looks up at Ron through the spidery legs of her eyelashes. He just stares back at her, eyes huge. Ordinarily he'd be suffering from some sort of coronary episode by this point, but there's no menace in Shego's voice. There's nothing. There's a pitiful smirk splayed across her lips, but lacks her usual bravado and he thinks it might just be for show. Keeping up appearances and all that.

"Y-yeah, well." Pausing, Ron thinks better of antagonising Shego by mentioning why he's actually come over. "It's our tenth trip together, figured I would uh, step up my cab service, you know."

"Oh." The word slaps flatly against the air. Shego regards him wearily for a moment, but then pushes to her feet. "Well, it's about time." She adds haughtily. Ron welcomes the familiar swagger in her tone. It makes him less aware of how new this whole peace thing between them is.

They wander back to Ron's car, neither brave enough to say anything. Ron's had enough experience where his stuttering and spitting machinegun jokes has scared girls away. Though he doubts he could even unnerve Shego, let alone frighten her away, he's content with companionable silence. Shego, he assumes is just happy that he's not pestering her. The reprieve lasts all the way until Ron's engine roars to life.

Naturally, he's the idiot to say something.

"Shego," Ron says, hesitation evident in the way that he's paused before Shego's sharp look finds him. Cringing, he meets her eyes and presses on. "It's pretty early, isn't it? Like uh, compared to when I usually pick you up, that is. I'm not - I promise that I'm not implying that you are losing your partying edge. I'm just curious, wondering really, why it is that you're ready to leave so soon?"

Shego's eyes narrow, she lifts a slender finger to her bottom lip and dabs at it thoughtfully. It isn't a hostile gesture or anything, so Ron just puts the car into gear and assumes Shego's picking through the semi-comprehensible word vomit he's just levelled upon her. He feels a little less sure of that when Shego's eyes wander to the sidewalk. Maybe she'll just ignore him after that outburst.

The traffic is thick this particular night, so by the time Shego clears her throat and makes to speak, it's been a full three minutes. They're they're yet to clear the first intersection.

"Why are you asking?" She asks, suddenly glancing away from the window and over the centre console at him.

"Just…I'm just curious, I guess." Ron answers, bristling with discomfort. He should have expected Shego to require a motive, but it's caught him off guard and he doesn't have an answer rehearsed.

"I wouldn't be." Shego mutters, tone like concrete.

"Maybe," Ron feels like it's a cop out, but he doesn't know what else to say. He also yanks his shoulders into a shrug that probably makes things worse.

In between making sure they don't get T-boned as he crosses the intersection, Ron catches Shego continuing to watch him. It's the slightest bit unnerving. "Why are you so nice to me, Stoppable?" She blurts out, turning the spotlight back to him.

He concentrates on the road, but a part of his mind wanders far enough to provide Shego with an answer. "We've known each other a long time, haven't we?"

Shego snorts in an ungraceful manner. "I've literally tried to blast you to pieces. You do remember that, right?"

He does.

"I'm still here though, right?" Ron counters, a faint smile at the edges of his lips. "I have – I don't think I even have any scars from your plasma, Shego. You've hit me before, but yeah…" He trails off, shoulders jumping again.

Shego's cheek twitches, a muscle jumping in annoyance at Ron's observation. "Yeah, well." Shego's eyes circle skyward and she inhales deeply. "Drakken and I - Drew and I were in the taking over the world business, not the business frying teenagers."

Ron gnaws at his bottom lip, pensive. Memories of Shego doing battle against Kim and himself come freely, but Ron can't quite recall her attempting to outright kill either of them. "I guess so…" He says, not quite comfortable with the realisation.

"And you're surprised!" Shego declares, jolting forwards and straining against her seatbelt. "Look Stoppable, wanting to destroy the world and wanting to take it over aren't necessarily the same thing. I know it seems strange to you hero types, but Drakken – Drew, whatever - amongst all of his craziness, he did sort of have some good ideas."

Ron swallows. The fierce look in Shego's eyes at the mention of Drew strangles any thoughts he'd had of rebellion. They pass two intersections in silence and gradually Shego's muscles begin to unwind. Casting a final weary look in Ron's direction, she slouches into her seat once more. He's expecting another acerbic threat to leave Shego's mouth, but she merely sits in silence, content to watch the buildings fly past them for a while.

After a short time passes, Shego does speak again. It's with a tone he hadn't been expecting though, slightly cutting, but not entirely hostile.

"Look. Stoppable, now that you're aware that I'm not going to barbeque you, and I really can't believe I'm saying this," With agitation in her features, Shego grits her teeth and glares upwards for one reason or another. "But do you think maybe we could just hang out without you constantly freaking out?"

"Hang…out?" Ron asks blankly. Shego's expression twists into a rare combination of bemusement and irritation.

"Yeah, you know. The thing we're doing now." Shego says, turning over her hand and to inspect her fingernails.

"This is – we're hanging out?" Ron stutters, still waging war against the concept that Shego isn't simply using him for transport as Drew had assumed.

"Yes." Shego nods. The easy smirk that he's come to expect slides across her lips shortly afterwards.

"Oh, we're – okay. That's cool," Ron says, throat tight with anxiety.

Just when he thinks he's getting a handle on Shego using him as transport, the paradigm shifts again – violently. It's one thing to sit in somewhat companionable silence, occasionally peppered with small talk. To actually interact as friends, rather than acquaintances or 'colleagues' is another thing entirely. Hard edged as she is, Shego has always intrigued Ron; from the very first time he'd seen her mug shot. To have the chance to slip between her defences without being burnt is nerve-wracking. Desperately, he claws at every corner of his mind for something intelligent to say.

"So, you're leaving the club early this week, what's up? Sick of the club scene already?" At those comments, Shego's expression darkens.

Stupid, stupid.

There's a faint crackle, which Ron guesses to be Shego's knuckles. He's not entirely sure though, he'd been too cowardly to hold her gaze for longer than a few seconds at a time. Also there's the issue of the car he's currently operating. Resolutely, Ron focuses on the road and not the possibly murderous woman beside him. The apartment he's been dropping Shego at is coming up fast anyway, one final turn and a quarter mile after that. If he can just make it that far without –

"Yeah, something like that." Shego grits out, sounding dour.

Blinking once, then again, Ron cautiously flicks his gaze toward Shego. In the second or so she's in his sights, Ron doesn't spy a blaze in her hand, a clenched fist, or any other visible threat to his life, really. Naturally, self-preservation kicks in and he resolves not to say anything else before he drops her off.

Uh…

"It's only like 9. Do you want to maybe go and do something?" Part of Ron wishes he'd been born mute. Another much louder part of him is vicious in its curiosity.

From the corner of his eye Shego quirks an eyebrow. He notices that her faintly blurred visage isn't entirely outraged at the concept. "Maybe another time, Stoppable." She says briskly, though not unkindly. "Tonight was kind of lame. I'd be terrible company."

"You're okay though, right?" Ron blurts out. "I could go – there is an all night store down the road if you need ice cream and tissues?"

Shego laughs.

"Oh, so now that we're talking to each other, I've suddenly become a character from The Notebook? Crying and having feelings and excuse me while I vomit in your backseat."

"Well -"

"Thanks Stoppable, really. I'm fine." Shego says. "You're about to miss my building, by the way."

Ron whimpers and somehow screeches to a halt.

"Sorry!" He yelps, sliding into a park with a series of mysterious scorch marks around it. Shego just rolls her eyes.

"Well," Shego begins with an air of finality in her voice. "This has been interesting, to say the least." She continues, shaking her head with slight incredulity. "But I have got a bathtub, a flatscreen, and three kung fu movies calling my name."

Shego's pushing the door open and making her way to her feet when Ron pipes up. "Kung fu?"

"You couldn't handle me in a bath, kiddo." Shego smirks, deliberately looking him up and down before stepping away and shutting the door to Ron's car.

"That's not -" Ron begins his retort before realising Shego probably can't hear him. Scrambling, he unlatches his seatbelt, winds the window down and hangs out of the door frame. "That's not what I meant, Shego!" He calls after her retreating form.

She laughs, but doesn't slow down.

"And then she said 'you couldn't handle me in a bath, kiddo' she – a bath – Shego and I in a bath!"

When Ron says that, it deals a seriously mortal blow to the comfortable familiarity of being splayed across a couch beside Kim. There's a full minute – and it feels like an hour – where Kim just stares at him unblinkingly, as though she's wondering if he's completely and irrevocably insane.

Honestly, he's just waiting for Kim to drown him in reasons that associating with Shego is a bad idea. But then, like a light bulb has gone off somewhere in her head, Kim's eyes brighten. Her lips crease with a tentative smile, and then laughter washes the stifling tension away.

"Oh, Ron." She says, batting at his arm affectionately. It's the slightest bit emasculating and Ron feels like a misbehaving pet.

Casting a brief glance at his arm, the one Kim has just touched, Ron feels like he's been steamrolled. He'd been all set for a lecture of some kind, vitriolic words directed at Shego, maybe. He'd even half thought out a tantrum about how Kim and Drakken had once ditched him at bowling on his way here. Kim actual reaction though, the 'Oh, Ron.' and the laughter, has caught him wildly off guard.

"Ron, you know as well as I do," Kim pauses, winding her fingers together tensely. "Shego and Dra – Drew, Global Justice says that both of them are doing really well at their parole meetings."

Ron blinks, Kim sighs heavily. He hadn't realized that Shego and Drew were attending any sorts of rehabilitation programs. It makes sense though, Ron guesses. Saving the world once doesn't entirely erase a decade – give or take - of attempting to take it over. Gnawing at the inside of his lip, Ron wonders how many other things Global Justice exclusively tell Kim, rather than the both of them.

"So because Global Justice says it's okay, we can all be friends?" Ron mutters, more bitingly than he'd planned on.

Kim shrugs, but keeps looking at him, her expression somewhat forlorn. "All I'm saying is that I'm – I don't think this freaks me out as much as you think it does."

"Hey would you look at that KP, Pain King." Ron says, shoving the conversation in another direction.

Kim glances over at the television, but it's sluggish. Ron gets the impression that she's just doing it to placate him. They've fallen into sickly routine of levity one moment, a misstep the next, and fits of silence after that. The realisation makes him slightly uncomfortable, as do many of their interactions since the break up.

He looks over to Kim, her green eyes, bottomless without makeup and the soft arc of her jawline. She's beautiful without even trying, but he's always known that. Ron's clumsy without even moving, but she's always known that. And yet, when it had come down to it, he'd been the one to call time on their relationship. It hadn't been easy to admit that as a couple they hadn't really clicked. Kim had cried all day. He hadn't been much better.

Now there's a distance between them, even when they're side by side.

"Kim," Her name is uncannily heavy on his tongue. He doesn't often deviate from calling her KP. "Why are things so weird? Can we stop fighting – disagreeing, whatever? – I miss my best friend."

"I'm not fighting with you," Kim says, eyes widening. She looks sad for him, somehow. "I miss my best friend too."

"I'm sorry," Ron says, and though Kim is being so understanding, his throat feels tight. He can't quite stifle the faint urge to mourn what should have been, but probably never will be. "I shouldn't – I'll stop being weird now. We'll hang out more."

"You mean we'll do stuff aside from bowling with Drew?" Kim asks, a tentative smile bowing her lips.

Ron hums in agreement, though inwardly he feels guilty. This night – watching movies and eating pizza at Kim's dorm – it's the first time he's made a conscious effort to see her in weeks. She's been texting him off and on about doing something together since Drew had last badgered them into going bowling.

With Kim's admission that she's not fighting with him, Ron feels like the current silence between them isn't so heavy. It's more like they're just watching wrestling together, rather than convalescing after a break up. Ron feels more like he's breathing in oxygen, and less like he's attempting to inhale molasses.

Well, that's the first part of my first effort at diving into Rongo. I do hope you guys liked it. Let me know if you did =)