An idea I got after seeing a picture called 'It's fun to fight' on deviantArt. The pic is by kamijo.
Drakken brought the air car in for a rough landing at one of his alternate, emergency lairs. To be honest, it was more of a controlled crash, what with the damage the car had sustained in Drakken's latest clash with that annoying cheerleader, Kim Possible, and her blond doofus sidekick...Whatsizname.
Shego grunted in pain as the car hit, bounced, and hit again, hating herself for showing even that much weakness. Truth be told, the first impact had nearly made her lose consciousness, she was in so much pain. If little Kimmie hadn't broken Shego's right arm, she'd come as close as you could without actually doing it, and Shego knew from the way it hurt when she breathed that at least two of her ribs were cracked.
The car finally slid to a stop two thirds of the way into the long tunnel that served as this lair's landing strip. Welcoming the cessation of motion and its accompanying reduction in the amount of pain she had to endure, Shego gave fleeting thanks to the God she rarely bothered to believe in anymore that Drakken had actually managed to fly the crippled air car into the tunnel, instead of splattering it and them against the mountainside.
Mountainside. Where the hell was this lair again, anyway? Shego wasn't sure. She hadn't really been in a condition to pay attention, and her sense of time was off, too.
"Where are we, Doc?" she rasped. Drakken, who had said little if anything during their flight, turned to her with a distracted expression on his face.
"What's that, Shego? Where..?" Drakken's voice trailed off as his eyes widened. "Shego! Are you all right?" he yelped, suddenly anxious.
Shego couldn't help giving a sarcastic snort, an action she regretted instantly for the knives of pain that stabbed into her chest as splintered bones shifted suddenly.
"Aaaa!" Another grimace of pain, and a surge of anger, this time directed at Drakken for making her laugh.
"Oh, sure, I'm just peachy keen, Dr. D," Shego sneered. With grim determination she started to unbuckle the straps of her safety harness. Cold sweat beaded on her brow, and her already pale features went alabaster. She got one buckle loose, then another. She started on a third, struggling mightily, but falling short of the mark. She finally had to give up, sagging back in her seat, her head lolling limply.
"Shego!"
"Where are those damned henchmen of yours anyway?" Shego managed, breathing laboriously.
Drakken slammed a fist down on a prominent button on the car's dashboard.
"Medical assistance to the main hanger at once!" he bellowed.
Drakken wasn't a medical doctor, so he could do nothing but look on worriedly as the henchmen helped Shego from the air car and onto a gurney they had brought. The lair had only a skeleton crew of fifteen, but fortunately one of those fifteen was both a medical technician (a former medical student who was recruited after being thrown out of medical school) and female. Shego could have and would have put up with a male doctor, but was secretly relieved that she wouldn't have to. It was bad enough, from Shego's perspective, that she needed the henchman's, er, henchwoman's help getting out of her trademark green and black jumpsuit.
Of course, Shego didn't get all the way out of her clothes. There was nothing wrong with her legs, so the tech limited things to unzipping the upper half of the suit and sliding Shego's arms out of the sleeves. Shego managed to get her sports bra most of the way off by herself, the tech helping only with the last little bit before making Shego (asking politely, really: nobody made Shego do anything) lie down for x-rays.
When Shego walked out of the exam room she found Drakken sitting in the waiting area, absently turning the pages of a magazine. Shego felt herself smile at the sight. The magazine was a four year old copy of Ladies Home Journal.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the smile vanished from Shego's face. However funny the old cliché of doctor's offices and their ancient magazines was, it was Drakken's sometimes slavish devotion to clichés (of the mad scientist variety, among others) that had gotten her into this mess to begin with.
He must have heard her, for he looked up, a concerned look on his face.
"Shego!" he began brightly. "How...are...you?" The last words came out in a frightened squeak as Shego stalked across the room towards him. Hold up her left hand, Shego began ticking off the items on her fingers.
"Wrenched shoulder," she smiled through clenched teeth. "Pulled deltoid muscle. Strained elbow. And not one, not two, but three broken ribs. All thanks to your latest plan and its stupidity!" Shego fairly bellowed the last, another impulsive action she regretted immediately. The pain that resulted staggered her. Drakken reached out a steadying hand, but Shego batted it away.
"No, Drakken," she rasped. "You need my help, not the other way around." Shego winced, then said, "I'm going to my quarters." One advantage of Drakken's lairs was that they all had pretty much the same layout. She could find the rooms set aside for her blindfolded. Grimly, she limped off.
Drakken watched her go. He considered calling after her, but decided against it. It was always like this, after a bad defeat. Like a wounded animal Shego would slink off to her 'cave' to heal up, and woe to anyone to tried to approach her unbidden in that state. She would heal relatively quickly, a handy byproduct of the comet radiation that gave her and her brothers their powers, but it would still be a week or two before it was safe to go near her uninvited. Sighing, Drakken crossed to a handy comm terminal.
"Drakken to Matthews, report."
A few moments later the voice of Matthews, the man who handled the cooking duties at this lair, answered, "Yes, Dr. Drakken?"
"Look up Shego's menu favorites and have each of them ready to be heated and delivered to her whenever she calls for them, day or night. It'll be in all our best interests, believe me."
"Understood, Dr. Drakken, Matthews out."
In her quarters Shego slumped down onto the bed. Her right arm was strapped across her stomach for the time being, so she had to fumble awkwardly with her left hand for the bottle of pain pills the medtech had given her. Fortunately the tech had had the sense to not use a childproof cap, so Shego was able to twist it loose with her teeth. One of the little red pills went into her mouth and down her throat.
Shego laid down. Give the pill a half hour to kick in and she'd take off her jumpsuit which, she noted, was badly torn and stained already, despite being brand new.
"That's something else I owe the Princess," Shego muttered, already feeling the drug working its painkilling magic. Not that Shego hated Kim Possible. Possible was only doing her job, same as Shego was. Both women were very good at what they did, so in a way it was inevitable that they would get hurt.
"I just wish I wasn't on the receiving end so often," Shego murmured sleepily. Her eyelids were fluttering now, as the pill took away her aches. The tape on her ribs kept her from breathing deeply, but that was alright. After she was better she'd hit the gym, toughen up, learn a few new moves, and have another go at Kimmie. Who knew? Next time she might win.
An hour later Drakken looked in on Shego. He did so only because he knew it was almost certainly safe to do so, and sure enough, Shego was sound asleep, not even stirring as Drakken walked slowly and carefully into her room. There was, he noted, a faint smile on Shego's lips. He sometimes wondered what she dreamt about, but never managed to work up the nerve to ask. Drakken supposed Shego was dreaming about inflicting severe pain on Kim Possible.
'Or me,' he allowed.
Smiling faintly himself, Drakken set a pitcher of water and a glass on the stand beside Shego's bed, then left the room.