Disclaimer: Do not own Kim Possible or any associated intellectual property that is clearly that of Disney. Story is written for personal enrichment only.

Going to keep this short. Two of the 4 separate story-lines come together here. For some, what transpires might come as a shock, but it will make sense, or at least I tried my damnedest to make it so.

Enjoy, and as always, review if you see something you like.

Chapter 6: Tendencies Observed, Meaningless. Tendencies Experienced, Constant.

Despite the dire consequences that lay in not having a concrete explanation prepared before entering the proverbial lion's den, when Shego found herself in front of the home of her arch nemesis and rival, hand hovering inches away from the door prepared to knock, she still with no inkling as to how this course of action had any possibility of succeeding. But then, how would a rational justification for what she sought of the hero go?

"Hiya Princess. I know we haven't always been on the best of terms... Okay, that's a bit of an understatement... but do you think you could put aside all the time's I've tried to kill you, enslave your family, destroy your home town, bring down society at large and otherwise make your life miserable and lend me your boyfriend? Sure it's short notice, and you probably think it's just me trying to play you by fooling around with his heart (cause both of us know he's had a crush on me for years) but I really do need his skills as a total sweetheart. He's the only one nice enough to listen to me bitch and moan about how me and my big ego managed to kill the single person who gave half a damn about me. That person being maybe the only one who did more than me to screw with your existence. And if it's not too much trouble Kim, could you let me hold his hand and stay with him tonight? I could really just use a warm body to hold on to. Yeah, maybe it's a tad intimate, but aren't you hero's all about helping people?"

And cue the red-head's mirthless laughter, followed by fight scene. None of the other scenarios she had gone through on the trip here sounded any more plausible than that one (although the one where she simply eliminated the ginger-haired obstacle had gained high praise from Desire) and as she stood uncomfortably on the door-step, she suddenly lost her nerve. She had thought she had found a light at the end of a long dark tunnel, but now she had convinced herself it was nothing more than a crazed, unfounded last hope and she withdrew the hand she had extended to knock.

It was a stupid idea anyway. Desire said in the back of her mind. A few more tears escaped her eyes as despair began to set back in. Sniffling, she wiped her nose against the sleeve in an about as unladylike a gesture a girl could do in sadness, as she began to turn to walk back to the hover car. But then, the door opened.

The blast of light from inside the house stunned her for a second, and she stood like a deer in the headlights. There was Stoppable, the only person she knew of who might possibly bear her any sympathy, unaccompanied by her red headed adversary. She saw his smile, the happy-go-lucky grin that had enraged, yet obviously had insidiously created an equally endearing effect on her, and then saw it morph into a look of terror. She knew she needed to speak before he ran, but just as in her musings on the ride over, her mind was blank as to how to explain her presence. All that ran through her head were the eddies of sorrow and regret, threatening to overcome her yet again. Lacking meaningful thought, she acted on the same impulse that brought her here, blind trust in his nature, and wrapped her arms around him like a life preserver.

(-) (-) (-)

I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. I'm gunna die. Ron silently screamed, the unverbalised phrase repeating more furiously the longer he remained in what he had now decided must be some exotic and lethal choke hold. It had to be, the other rationalization was ludicrous. It had all the strength of an attack, its lack of the swiftness likely meaningless. Shego was just stalling, he convinced himself, just letting him see the end coming so he would die thinking about all his regrets, probably hoping to have Kim catch a glimpse just before she snapped his neck as a bonus. That was more the villainess' style, savouring her victim's fear as long as she could, not the other explanation. But, against all natural laws and every right of fate, the death-blow did not come. They stood for several long moments, Shego clutching his form tightly, and Ron standing stiff as a board in fright. Finally, Ron's mind overcame the continuing siren of his impending doom.

This has the weirdest hold ever. he thought.It was not just in the fact that she had not moved since the initial contact either. The whole position her body took did not lend itself to combat. She left his arms free, reaching around his upper torso in a gesture that really did not restrict his ability to defend himself in any way. Although the force from her arms was considerable, she had no complementary energy from her ground posture. If this was a throw, her stance was too narrow for it to be successful, and she stood far too light on her feet to even hope to shift his mass. But the most telling deviation from offensive posturing came from her head. It lay on his shoulder, nuzzled into his neck; while this too could have been an aspect of a submission hold, it was far too hesitant, and whatever force there was, was applied through the delicate features of her face; her nose, eyes, cheek bones and mouth. The curious situation forced Ron's senses to strain for more information, and that's when he noticed a warm dampness accompanying the almost gentle pressure against his neck. Once the din of his internal monologue cooled and he could again hear sounds outside his own head, the soft sobbing that emanated mere inches from his ear brought the reality of the circumstance into sharp focus.

Is Shego crying?

This possibility was almost as unbelievable as the original notion, but in his mind the visual images that he had not taken into account after his instantaneous panic returned, and he saw her tear streaked face, swollen eyes and general dishevelled look of anguish. The appearance of sorrow was something he had never seen adorn the young woman's features before, and he had only ever seen her in such a state of disrepair after she had taken some embarrassing spill, after which she was always furious. So, perhaps understandably, he had initially interpreted her to be seething when he had opened the door to find her standing on the doorstep. But now, no matter the assumed impossibility of it, Ron had to finally relent to the facts of the state of affairs.

Shego is hugging me... the most dangerous and emotionally untouchable woman I have ever known is crying on my shoulder and squeezing me like a teddy bear.The admission sent his already embattled mind into a tailspin. It was so many levels of wrong that his logical thought processes shorted out, leaving him just with his prevailing reflexes. And Ron knew only one way to react when a girl came running to him in tears. He returned the villainess' embrace.

This drew a great shudder from the green hued woman, and her sobbing transformed into a fully developed bawl. For a second Ron began to withdraw, thinking he had misinterpreted, that he was making things worse, not that that made much sense. And, really, nothing in the last few instants made a lick of sense, so why should this? However, as he loosened his grasp, Shego stepped even farther into his personal space, going from toe to toe to arch to arch, and her already vice-like grip tightened even further. Although Kim and Rufus might have tonight been greatly predisposed to lambasting the blonde's capability to make decisions from body language and inferred information, he did not miss this prompt.

"Okay Shego. I won't let go." He whispered to her, stroking her back gently. Her crying seemed to lessen somewhat, and she allowed him the ability to take breath again, which Ron greatly appreciated. Things calmed down in his mind yet another level, to one where he could realise they were standing outside in the on-going deluge of rain. Not knowing what had happened to his girlfriend's foe, but certain that whatever it was would have been as draining physically as it was emotionally, he guided Shego inside.

His oft maligned instincts were proven correct as he ended up half carrying the exhausted woman into the kitchen, seating her at the table. Ron left the villainess for a moment, swiping a box of tissue paper that was conveniently sitting atop the kitchen counter, and then dragged a second chair from the table and sat directly across from her. He offered her a handful of the disposable handkerchiefs, which she accepted gingerly, careful with her razor-edged gloves, worn by quivering hands, near the exposed skin of his palm. She blew her nose, not meeting his eyes, the clearing of her nasal passages the only sound cutting through the awkward silence that had fell over the kitchen.

(-) (-) (-)

The seconds that it took Ron to assess and react were among the most drawn out and emotionally precarious Shego had ever experienced. The instant her hands met along his spine she was awash with the relief of simple plutonic human contact, a comfort she had denied herself for nearly a decade as a weakness. She was not at peace though. Almost as soon as the slight lifting of her spirits occurred, her chakras exploded in a chorus of protest. Although they were united in their disgust at what their mind had enacted, as always each had polar reasons for doing so.

Desire flew off the handle for how far Shego had allowed her own independence to be shattered to such a degree. It was beyond the amalgamation of ego and self preservation to see the profound value that relationships, that trusting another, could hold. Even the long-time association with Drakken, for her part at least, was always dismissed as a temporary exercise for her convenience. If not for her being chained to Reticence, she told herself, she would not even be here.

Her partner, on the other hand, derided Shego for daring to consider herself worthy of his help, and demanding his support in such a direct and disrespectful fashion. It was not the responsibility of someone who had bore nothing but her contempt and multiple attempts on his life to grant her comfort, nor was it her right to place him in such a situation where he would have to choose between his loyalty to his best friend and the law, or his naive, innocent, immature, elegant, deep, magnificent capacity to understand and forgive. His hesitation in returning her embrace served the both of the detracting spirits.

Look what reaching out's gotten you, princess. How long are you going to hang here before you realise he doesn't care? Do yourself a favour and cut this pitiful display short while you can still salvage some semblance of respect.

For once, I agree. Don't put this on him, don't take advantage of the best in him for yourself. He has a wonderful life without you coming into it to screw it up. Don't make him choose between aiding you and doing what should be done, because you know where he will lay his cards. Yes, salvage some respect, the self respect you used to have. Even if no one will ever know, do the honourable thing for once, and let go before he can decide to help you.

Shego's governing consciousness simultaneously acknowledged and resisted both these feelings, her defiance keeping her clinging to the still blonde for that next second, and her acceptance bringing forth tears against the young man's neck. His continued immobility gave credence to Desire's viewpoint, all the while the longer she lingered the more Reticence's suggestion grated into her. She truly did not want to drag Stoppable into her plight, but neither did she want to weather this storm alone. However, the longer she stood, waiting, feeling the man's vacillation, the more the former overpowered the latter. She was about to give in, recede back into loneliness and despondency, when Ron finally made his choice.

If the act of hugging him was like a single warming ray of sunshine in the black skies of a Pacific squall, the reciprocation of the gesture was to be basking in a meadow filled with Lilies and Baby's Breath on a cloudless spring day. Desire was silenced in a fashion that the unabashed instinct had never been before. Had she been a physical entity, she would have sat abruptly, and stared down at whatever inanimate surface was present, much like how an overconfident student held themselves in their desk after being outdone by a teacher. Reticence's argument was not so handily defeated by the blonde's selfless action, on the contrary she could have easily fed on it, if she was not so touched and shaken by that very gallantry. For, with the same commitment that Desire scoffed companionship aside, the heroic remnant craved it as a traveller lost in a desert yearned for water. The emotional and societal seclusion that the more dominant dark element imposed on her did not suppress this thirst, but aggravated it. And, like being kept in the dark for so long and then being cast into the light blinds a person, the sudden and unexpected return of un-obligated, unearned concern knocked Reticence from her soap-box. She bathed in the wonderful influx of acceptance, and joined her core psyche in the joy of the moment. The tears of sorrow were over-ridden and overwhelmed by tears of happiness for the glorious acquiescence; something that she did not deserve, something that she was in no way precious enough to merit, something that she could never hope to repay. Thus there was no voice to resist her reaction when the boy waivered at the feedback to his physical answer, and she denied him the opportunity to mistake her reaction for revulsion. He said something, what the words were did not matter, his tone and the reassuring caress of his hand against her back said it all.

Like a marathon runner just crossing the finish-line, her desperation-drawn strength seemed to be spent after her goal was reached, and she found herself being gently brought into the house. She let him guide her to the kitchen and seat her, and took his offering of tissue paper. He was nothing if not compassionate, the risk he had already placed himself at by hugging her back quadrupled by his allowing her into Kim's home, but he did so without any hesitation (once he had collected himself by what she was certain had to be the number one shock of his life). After clearing the watered down mucus from her septum, she looked towards the face of her benefactor. But the olive skinned villainess found herself unable to meet his eyes due to this almost divine sensitivity, and quickly flicked her glance to the floor. It seemed the boy was not satisfied with merely having 90 percent of the qualities of an angel however, and he decided to go once again go beyond anything that Shego would have expected.

(-) (-) (-)

In the stillness of the kitchen, certain lines of thought (some would call them sanity and reason) began to re-assert themselves in the wake of Ron's naturally driven impulse. Questions, reasonable ones too, settled heavily on his consciousness, not the least of them what he intended to do from here. What would he say to her? He had nothing to go on as to how to approach her, even in the exposed state she was in. And even if he did, this was still Shego, no matter her emotional condition; wanted criminal and sworn enemy of the woman who meant more to him that life itself. There was the inescapable possibility that this was a ruse, though it did not fit Shego's usual profile. Like Kim, she was a straight forward person when it came to things, leaving the convoluted, complex plans to her employer.

But, in that instant that her wide, pleading eyes met his before she turned them away, this similarity took on new depth, as he saw for the first time the remarkable resemblance her emerald soul-windows had to Kim's. Of course, he had never seen them in such a way, they had always been the hard, icy glare of an enemy, while he had seen Kim's through the entire spectrum of emotion through the years. Was it so long ago that he had gazed into another broken set of green eyes, eyes which had been so strong and unerring before then, and decided that he would throw caution to the wind and do whatever it took to ensure he never saw those eyes like that again? So long ago that he risked the loss of something whose value was so beyond measure, Kim's friendship, that it made the risk of physical harm he thought he was in seconds ago seem insignificant by comparison, just to preserve that brave glance? It did not matter which side Shego was on, nor what she had done in the past, Ron could not stand to see something so rare and fragile disappear, let a wound so deep go untreated. Looking at her through new lenses, the blonde finally overcame the ingrained image of Shego the warrior and saw Shego the woman, hurt, alone, and in need of a friend.

He no longer just acted on instinct, his entire mind came together and dictated his action now. For Ron, this was a rare event, being so focused on one thing. In fact, the only times it had happened before were for Kim. The pain on her face, written in the smooth curves of her washed out mascara, became a distasteful stain that marred his new-found appreciation for her beauty. He took another sheet of tissue paper, and with his free hand gently lifted the woman's face to normal angle with his. As he took another look into her eyes, he saw fear and confusion mixed with the imploring flavour he had detected before. He smiled, and softly wiped the streaks from her face, before releasing her chin and speaking.

"It's alright Shego. I'm here. What's happened?"

(-) (-) (-)

Nothing that she had seen or heard of, between the Go Tower to the sewers that her work with Drakken sometimes required she enter, could have prepared Shego for Ron's action, or its aftermath. It seemed that she had been correct about the blonde, that his code was as binding to him for those on the side opposing good as it was to good itself, but only in its quality, not its quantity. Returning a hug that was forced upon him was one thing, but initiating the form of close, almost affectionate contact that he had was quite another. First of all, he did so without the fear that if he had not done so would result in copious amounts of pain (as failing to reciprocate the embrace might have.) To instigate such contact professed genuine concern for her well-being; not simply an attachment to some principle, but action by inclination. Doing so also suggested that he not only could care about her, which was shocking enough to the mint-hued villainess, but that he in fact trusted her. Trusted her not to lash out at him for being so forward as to take control of the situation, not to simply be a wailing wall for her anguish and frustration. Many men had wound up singed and slashed for trying to be chivalrous around her, most of them for lack of appreciation of just how dangerous she could be. But Ron was more than well aquatinted with her snap-show lethality, and even with that knowledge persisted in risking broken limb and life in his course of action. Maybe it was because his gentility was a legitimate tendency, not just a mask. Once again Shego found herself in disbelief of how such an innocent offering, what would be considered almost idiotic on any other day, could be so innately wise and prolific, that it could cut through walls she could not tear down even if she wanted to.

And then there was the actual tactile contact. If the sensation of his fingertips did not still tingle on her cheek, she would have difficulty believing the soft, but steady hands that wiped away her tear-streaks belonged to the same klutz sidekick she had observed over the years. That the same boy who seemed to have an aptitude for destroying anything he laid his hands on with a speed that even her plasma powers could not compete with, was able to handle any task with such care. It was so simple an act, superficial and uninvasive, yet those few seconds of contact stirred more than comfort, more than tranquility. For the first time in a long time, stretching back even farther than when Desire and Reticence became two, Shego felt... safe. In less than 5 minutes, Kim's sidekick had accomplished what no other person she had known since high school had been able to. A ghost of a smile graced her face, as hope finally became more than distant spectre, or a trick of the light.

Embraced by this sense security, Shego reached her other hand up, and relinquished her grip on the item she had held so tightly up until now an observer might expect it had become fused with her palm. As Drakken's lab gauntlet fell to the table, however, the smile faltered, between the miserable frown she initially wore, to an almost hysterical grin, and back again.

Ron looked at it for a moment, a look of confusion flowing to questioning to comprehension and finally understanding. He looked up at her, those kind brown orbs gently questioning, but not judging, her. She nodded in confirmation.

"Dr. Drakken's gone?" Another nod.

"Are you okay?" Now that was the sort of inept thing she expected of the sidekick. She shot him a glance which he much more familiar with, a dry look, her eyebrow raised as if she could not believe he would ask such a stupid question. To her genuine surprise, however, he didn't backpedal... much...

"Okay, dumb question, fine. It still stands."

"Do I look alright, Stoppable?"

"Can I answer truthfully without getting my eyes clawed out?"

"I can think of better places to go than my arch-enemy's digs if I just want to be flattered."

"Then I better keep my mouth shut."

"Look, Stoppable. I'm not here to hurt... wait, what?" Did he just say I looked alright? Shego caught herself. Okay, new explanation. He's so scared he's lost touch with reality.

The stupid grin he had on his lips certainly seemed to agree with this assessment, but in spite of this she found her cheeks warming slightly. It wasn't often a girl was told she looked acceptable when she knew she was a complete wreck, even less common was it when it was from someone she had on many occasions severely beaten. Of course, when faced with 10 razor tipped claws and the ability to emulate Russia's WWII scorched earth policy at a moment's notice, men tended to lie through their teeth. Because if what they had to say displeased her, they risked losing every single one of them. Ron definitely had a history of doing exactly that, throwing out everything but a bald face "I didn't do it" when she cornered him. Having been exposed to the blonde's tells on such a regular basis gave Shego a pretty good idea of when he was lying. Actually, you would have to def, blind and dumb not to know when Stoppable wasn't telling the truth, the boy was about as capable of running a decent bluff as a fish was able to breathe out of water. And, so far as she could tell, Ron had actually given her his honest opinion, unless she had somehow missed the hyperventilation, voice cracks and fidgeting.

"What happened?" He asked, interrupting her thoughts.

"We um... well... he... ah..." Shego fumbled her words.

Great. You managed to do the impossible and find someone more than willing to listen to you and now your freaking tongue-tied. It seemed knowing you had done something terrible and actually putting that knowledge to words were two very different animals. Never did Shego think she'd see the day that Stoppable was more eloquent than she was.

"I..."

Just say it.

"I... erm..."

For Christ sakes, say the freaking words.

"Stoppable... I..."

SAY IT.

"I killed him." Finally, Shego muscled the phrase out. Then the dam bust. "It was an accident. We got in a fight, and I kicked him out of the hovercar and left him on the side of the road. I wanted to teach him a lesson so I took all his stuff and wired the lab to blow up before he got back, but he made it back in time to be inside when it happened but I didn't mean for him to get back that soon and I went back looking for him but all I found was his glove and... and I... I've never killed anyone before Stoppable. Not even when I wanted to, but now I've killed the only person who even kinda accepted me. I didn't mean for him to die... I didn't mean it." When her steam ran out, she was tearing up again, so Ron handed her another tissue.

"It's alright Shego. Now, once more, but a little slower, okay?" She blew her nose again, and nodded. It came easier this time, not requiring her to force it, more or less under her control. She told him the whole story, leaving nothing out, not even her bout with the porcelain throne. Ron sat back and listened intently, keeping his eyes on hers. Oddly enough, delving back into the nightmare wasn't nearly as painful as she had anticipated it would. This was almost certainly due to Stoppable's presence. He did not interrupt, fixating his attention on her, patiently letting her move herself along at a pace she was comfortable with. It was nice to have someone just sit and listen for once, doubly when normally that person was the most hyperactive person imaginable, but managed to reserve their attention for you.

No wonder Kimmie looks past all his weirdness. Keep him away from self-destruct buttons and this kid is pure gold. She thought as she finished. But now came the real test. What, with the whole terrible plot revealed, would he do?

Shego watched him as he fidgeted and his eyes glazed over. Their eyes lost contact, this time him looking down to the floor. His breathing became less calm, not exactly sighing but defiantly disturbed and his shoulders sagged. What was he thinking?

Probably trying to keep his dinner down. One of the voices said, which one Shego could not tell. Whichever it was, she agreed this time. She didn't really expect him to agree to help her once he found out what she had done, did she? His listening was enough, more in fact than she deserved, and he was a hero. Whatever help he could offer would be linked inextricably to her turning herself in.

"I'm sorry for involving you into this Stoppable. This has nothing to do with you. I should just go..." Shego said with a sigh after the long pause. She rose, and reached for Drakken's glove.

(-) (-) (-)

When she finally ended her story, Ron leaned forward, rubbing the back of his neck. He'd known something was wrong, but Drakken dead? Shego really did go big or just go home. The blonde could not help but feel a pang of sadness for the loss of the blue doctor. Yeah, he wasn't exactly what you would call a friend, but he grew on you, and his demise still struck close to the heart. It was as if, with his death, something had been lost. Maybe it was a sense of invincibility, on both sides, that no matter what happened they could dust themselves off after the lab collapsed, exchange parting phrases and meet again next week, kind of like a friendly free-for-all clash of Zombie Mayhem. And after almost 4 years in the game, he and KP had been able to avoid any terminal casualties. But this was real life, no matter how Kim managed to violate the laws of chance, something like this was bound to happen sooner or later. And considering the volatile nature of Dr. Drakken's and Shego's relationship, combined with their seemingly limitless access to things that go boom or zap, Ron would be inclined to have bet on sooner. He didn't think she was lying about it being an accident, however; for all her violent tendencies Shego had never taken that last step despite ample opportunity and motive. She probably did place more than a sufficient buffer to have the building explode while he was still miles away. Unfortunately for her though, the not-so-good doctor was most talented (if you could call it a talent) in being right where the hurt was about to be laid down. If there was a rock in need of the back of a head, Drakken would be there. If a vase was knocked off a balcony, he would be under it. And if there was a fragile component on one of his devices... well, The Ron-Man would find it. Add to that his bumbling, obtuse ways and a certain tendency to say exactly the wrong thing at the wrong time, without Shego to drag his sorry blue behind out of danger it really was no contest. Being his closest ally, Shego should have anticipated this occurrence, explainable or not. But, Ron himself often failed to predict the outcomes of far less complicated exercises, and had always had someone there to re-assure him. For him to withhold help from the poor girl sitting across from him would terribly unfair and unforgivably hypocritical.

Shego's apology brought him from his thoughts. And as she reached for Drakken's gauntlet, Ron grabbed a-hold of her gloved hand, stopping her. She looked at him questioningly.

"You don't have to go Shego. This is just a lot of information to process at once, you know?"

A curt nod telegraphed her understanding, and she relinquished the gauntlet. However, she did not retract her hand. Wary of the thin ice he walked, Ron did not withdraw either.

"I believe you when you say you didn't mean to kill him. To be honest, considering what you two do for a living this sort of thing is almost par for the course." There was a glint of a smile again. "I'd like to help you Shego... I'm not really sure what I can do, but... I can have your back, if that makes any difference."

To cement his point, Ron gave Shego's hand an encouraging squeeze. However, in response, much to the blonde's surprise, the olive skinned woman winced and let out a short cry of pain. In a sharp motion, she extracted her hand from his and clutched it tentatively near her chest. Almost immediately she composed herself, and looked back up to the slighted boy.

"I'm sorry, Stoppable, it's just..." her explanation trailed off as Ron again took her hand, much more gently this time, examining the graceful, yet oh-so-dangerous digits. He looked to her, inclining his head towards her hand. Shego nodded, and he slowly removed the battle glove, revealing her terribly lacerated fingers, awash in hunter-green blood.

"I scraped them up pretty badly before I found Dr. D's glove." She finished.

"Well, this is something I can help with." Ron replied, beginning to stand. But then he halted mid-rise. "If that's what you want. My help, that is... not to say that you need it, I mean... but you know if you'd be okay with it..." Even after all he had been privy to tonight, it still sounded boarder-line nonsensical for him, Ron Stoppable, to be offering Shego help. For her to accept would be on the same level as Bonnie deciding to follow his fashion advice. It was almost a categorically incoherent concept, but after only the briefest of pauses did the older woman smile subtly again, not an overt facial expression but it seemed to be the most stable and sure one of the night.

"I'd like that Stoppa... Ron."

Now with her permission, the blonde released the villainess' palm, finished standing and ducked out of the kitchen. He made the quick journey to the main-floor bathroom where Mrs. Dr. Possible kept an assortment of gauze, bandages, and other medical paraphernalia stocked in the cupboard. He knew his way around this beefed up medicine cabinet as he had visited it on more occasions than he wished to recall, reasons ranging from the good doctor's daughter (saving the world resulted in more than a few bumps and bruises), her sons (before he learned just how dangerous the twin's experiments could be), her husband (emotional care was also included), and most often because of his own hand (or foot). He kneeled down, opened the cubby, and began searching its confines. Once he located what he estimated he would need to soothe Shego's physical wounds, he turned on his heel and prepared to stand and grab towels for the two of them (considering they were both soaked), but was then blindsided by a pink blur. Rufus embraced his human's neck tightly.

"Whoa whoa whoa, hold up Rufus! What's going on?" Ron asked as he patted his pets back softly.

"Hck Hck. Ron safe." The rodent replied, snuggling in tighter a second longer before taking a step back.

"Of course I'm safe. Why wouldn't I be?" Ron questioned, this time in confusion more than surprise. Rufus was taken aback slightly, shaking his head violently and blinking rapidly in his shock. To him the answer was perfectly clear, but his master's look, one of little to no recognition, remained. So the small creature turned and pointed aggressively toward the kitchen.

"Hnn, Shego!"

"Wha... oh!" Ron exclaimed, smacking his forehead. "Listen, Rufus, Shego's cool. She's not here to hurt anybody."

"Huh?" Rufus squeaked, again being caught in a frenzy of cranial spasms at the statement.

"I know it sounds crazy, but Shego needs our help. She just came to talk." This time it was Rufus' who looked completely and utterly lost, so Ron spread his arms wide, indicating himself.

"How else do you explain this?"

The fact that Ron was completely unharmed after being alone in a room with Shego for the better part of an hour was enough to convince the intelligent mole rat that his friend's story was true, if unbelievable. Like Ron, Rufus was not an overly suspicious animal, and if Ron thought Shego wasn't going to do any harm, it was good enough for the little mammal. Still, if this had happened, it was time to re-evaluate whether or not the moon was made of cheese, despite Mr. Dr. Possible's guarantees to it not being so.

"Wait a minute. Where were you anyway?" Ron said, realising that he had not seen Rufus since he had ushered Shego into the kitchen, despite it being where he had left the naked mole rat before opening the front door. He hadn't noticed it before, for obvious reasons, but now that he thought about it, it was a ferociously odd coincidence. Un-encouragingly, Rufus stiffened at the question.

"Uh oh."

"What do you mean 'Uh oh'?" Ron inquired nervously. He felt a cold flush run through his back, the sort you get when you realise you've left something like a wallet or set of keys behind in a restaurant or at the gym. There was a sudden stillness about the house that bothered him, and the phrase 'Uh oh' never had positive results. The pink creature took up a very timid stance and mumbled something that escaped the blonde's hearing, despite the speaker being on the listener's shoulder.

"What was that?" Ron insisted, the cold flush transforming into that irritating, body wide dryness, the kind that signals a full on fight or flight response is in the tubes. Although he didn't process what his friend had told him, subconsciously the meaning had made it through. It was just a matter of particulars now. Rufus tried again, only slightly more confident this time. Two words fulfilled the worst case scenario.

"Got Kim."

Suddenly, it became clear to Ron what exactly had changed in the house that had set off his subconscious warning sirens. The sound of running water was no longer present. This meant Kim was at the best in her room changing, at worst (and probably) out and about in the house. And now it was confirmed that Rufus had informed her of her least-favourite-person-in-the-world's presence in her home, skewed to even more violent proportions by Rufus' belief that Ron was in immediate danger. She might have been tweaked with him before, but a "Sidekick in Trouble" call was always a recipe for one extremely dangerous red-head. But worse than that was how what had happened earlier in the night might do to Kim's decision making abilities. Her guilt for the injury of the soldier had been buried, but not nearly deeply enough, and seeing someone with a degree of responsibility in putting that man in said state easily could dig those feelings up again. There would be no questions of "What's going on?" if she wandered in on Shego. Add to that the fact that the villainess was in no state to fight, and things could not have been written up any worse.

"Oh damn..." was all Ron managed in the last moment of silence as he lunged out of the bathroom, just before a house-shaking racket erupted from the kitchen.

So, what did we think? If this chapter doesn't provoke responses I might as well give up now. As a side note, this is the last pre-written chapter I have. The next one will take a while longer. Sorry, but I just cant dedicate the time to this I used to.