The weeks passed. Nothing happened except the letters. Every week, every Wednesday, they came like clockwork. A pink envelope rested on his cell when he came back from exercise. There it was, sitting on his mattress. He'd pick it up, smell it, and wonder if she'd changed. If she'd moved on with her life from the hero business, what with the danger to her life that hizzoner Drew Lipsky posed as the boss of Middleton City. She could tell him nothing about that of course, since it would give her away. They had to suspect, but there was no real return address, no local post mark, nothing that made it hers. Kim, no, Shelly was good, or Wade was.
About a year in, the letter he'd been hoping for came. She'd dumped Mankey. Stupid pretty boy. He deserved it too, since it seemed like he'd tried to. . . take liberties, although Kim was vague about the actual circumstances. That son of a bitch. Ron decided to pay him a visit when he got out. He smiled as he read it, but felt something odd at the same time.
A strange smell, not unpleasant but disconcerting to say the least. Sandalwood and a hint of vanilla. And green. He couldn't place it, but it felt true; a color as a scent, the color green. A shadow overtook him, and as it did he felt a menacing presence, like a footstep on his grave. His cage felt smaller, vulnerable, and he sat down on the bed, his back as close to the wall as possible. He happened to glance at his mirror as he did, and threw himself to the floor away from his bed.
There she sat. A slender figure all dressed in green, and smelling strongly of the beach in summer with a touch of sweet vanilla, vanilla ice cream in the sun melting and dripping all over your hand. She, it was a woman (and what a woman, with curves to tomorrow), leaned forward a little. Close to her, he could smell her acrid, bitter breath, and Ron could tell she smoked like a chimney. She grinned and her yellow teeth removed all doubt. Without warning, a hand slammed flat against his face knocking him to the floor,.
Ron watched the stars dance in his head, watched black boots settle on the floor and move to leave his cage. As his vision faded, he watched her leave, her lithe form turning once to look at him with previously unfathomable malice. A smile, but with her eyes maddened by imagined violence. She stared at him for only an instant, but Ron read her all the same: I will kill you when and how I choose, and there is nothing you can do to stop me. Then she snapped her head around, leaving him dazed, confused, and with a very sore jaw.
"She's mine, you little shit, and nothing you can do can take the pleasure of her flesh away," the slender woman shouted at Stoppable. Ron narrowed his eyes. Crazy dyke super villainess. He said as much, and she growled, flinging a ball of plasma in his direction. He dodged and ran at her, juking to avoid her blasts. With a grunt he slammed into her, pushing her against the wall and landing a solid punch to her stomach. She doubled over, retching. He crudely kicked her across the jaw, and slammed her head against a girder.
She recovered faster than he'd liked, and came at him, but he'd already grabbed a piece of rebar. Grasping it like a bat, he swung and clotheslined her as she charged, right in the throat.
With little else to do, Ron looked forward to the weekly letter. Which made one week all that much worse.
Following her visit, he found himself wondering just who she was. It didn't matter for whom, he already knew that, but he wondered just why she had come. What was her motivation? Who had allowed her in his cell, since he was a "rapist"? Someone in the know, who was aware of the truth. Someone seeking vengeance.
But why was she angry at him? It made no sense. If she was in on the whole thing, she had no reason to hate him. As he lay pondering, it dawned on him that it was time for the weekly letter. He rose up, more awake now, and glanced at the floor. Nothing. Nothing outside on his meal tray shelf, no envelope anywhere to be seen. There was the window which, for a moment, he stared out of for some semblance of reason. Had she forgotten about him over such few months? And so shortly after ditching her significant other? Had she found somebody else? Of course she had, you buffoon. It's not like she promised herself to you or anything
She had.
It's not as if she promised to write to you forever.
She did.
He agonized over it for a day. The lack of a letter, the missing taste of normalcy. Then as he lay in bed, he slapped himself. Ron, you idiot, he thought. She's over with you. Some guy-friend in jail, yeah, you've known him a long time, but so what? Life goes on, ob-la-di, ob-la-da. He smiled and wondered what the "parole board" of Lipsky's cronies would think of his confession.
As she lay on the ground, her throat quickly turning purple, he leaned over her, and smiled.
"That's one you won't get," he said. Ron raised his arm back made to swing the rod one last time to finish the bitch for hurting Her. Then he flinched and his eyes grew a little wide. He glanced down. His shirt had a large hole in it that hadn't been there the last time he checked. Blood slowly pumped out of it. He looked back. The righteous Sergeant Steve Barkin held a smoking snub-nosed revolver in a steady grip. He watched Ron over the sights. Ron languidly stood and turned towards him.
"Why?" he said in a plaintive voice.
"Can't let you run around doing what you feel Stoppable," Barkin said. "That's not the way human beings do things. I don't want you going down the wrong way son."
"Doesn't matter," Stoppable said, and spinning 'round slammed the bar across Shego's temple as hard as he could. He hurt her skull split as Barkin's gun cracked, and the floor of the warehouse came up to met him.
"Should have listened," Barkin said, his voice sad.
The last thing he felt before waking in the hospital was Kim holding his hand.
Yes, if you've read That Yellow Bastard, you'll notice things are significantly altered. Well, this is a blend over, not a cross over. I'm putting the characters where I think they fit, and changing things slightly to put any square pegs in round holes.