Chapter 5

"Have I told you exactly how much I hate y-OW!"

"Yes, Pumpkin, you have." Shego chuckles lightly as she works out the knots in my back. I hate her for how hard she's pushing me, day after day. I hate her for how she never lets me stop. I hate her for always saying, "It'll be worth it," when I really don't see how that could be possible. I hate her for never giving me any time to process what she's reteaching me, or letting me find out who I am. I hate how I can't actually hate her, no matter how much I want to. I hiss as she hits a particularly sore spot, flinching.

To say the massage table is seeing use would be an understatement.

"You know, She-hulk, I've been wondering..." I can feel her grimace at the nickname, but I could really care less, at this point. I'm a ball of soreness and pain, and it's all her fault. The least she could do is give me some concessions by putting up with some stupid nicknames.

"Yeah, Cam?"

"Did you get me this massage table because you always beat me up in training? Or because I liked being pampered?"

"Both." I can practically feel the smirk through her fingertips. Oh, but what wonderful fingertips they are... If I didn't trust her with my life, I'd worry about the plasma, but she knows what she's doing, even if she's a bitch about it.

There's a marked increase in physical ability on my part, but it hasn't been easy.

Did I mention I hate her for not going easy on me?

"Tomorrow we're working on your landings... they were a little wobbly yesterday." Because she'd made me run a marathon and a half before. "Oh, and I think we should work on whips tomorrow as well... it shouldn't take you too long to get that down." My limited downtime is always filled with her mental lists. I am, as usual, incredibly displeased. "Wall climbing is in your near future as well... the less we have to rely on gadgets, the less we'll have to carry or worry about."

I twist to look at her, because this is just getting ridiculous! "Those stupid spies in your stupid movies use gadgets all the time!"

She pushes me back down onto the massage table, and kneads my back in silence. I'm a puddle of goo when she responds. "They never show the stupid gadgets

malfunctioning in those stupid movies. Nor do they show the consequences of that." Her hands still, and I'm severely tempted to turn around to look at her. "What if that... What if I don't get a second chance next time? What if I can't get to you on time?"

I don't fight it this time, I just sit up and hug her fiercely. The emotion in her voice is smothering me, and I just... I might not like her all that much right now, but she's still Shego, and she's still taking care of me the way she knows best. Her hands wrap around my naked torso, and I feel her kiss the top of my head.

It's times like this, when she's open and vulnerable, and she's not throwing low-energy plasma at me in a (very effective) attempt to push me in my workouts, that I remember why I'm doing this. I was someone to this woman once. And, well, she just wants that someone back... and it's the least I can do, I suppose. I can't fault her for that, really. I want to be that someone too... though I just really want to know who that someone is, in the grand scheme of things.

I feel her swallow, and when something wet falls on my hand, I don't have time to think before I'm kissing away her tears. I'm not sure where this is coming from, but it feels so right... so much like muscle memory or something, that I don't fight it. She sighs before leaning into me a little, clearly not pleased with having opened herself up in this way.

These random physical interactions have happened a few times since this whole physical rehabilitation started up, but we never question it, and she never pushes for
more. I'm not sure what exactly more is, but I'm really glad she's not pushing for it, because I'm not sure I'm ready for that. Just thinking about that tape that she'd left on that one time... it makes me shiver every time, and something strange and unfamiliar stirs in my stomach just thinking about her voice...

Stop it, Cam. Now is not the time to perv on your... kind-of-maybe-ex-girlfriend-partner-person. She's clearly distressed. Perving on her sultry smooth voice and her gorgeous body and her luscious hair will get you nowhere. Nowhere good, anyway... not when she needs some other form of care. Of the non-sexual nature.

God, I hope I wasn't constantly perving on her before... This is so incredibly awkward.

"You know, Shego, I've been wondering something for a while now. Do you want your Cam back? Or... would you rather have me?"

I also hope I used to have a brain-to-mouth filter. Awesome.

She's become completely stiff in my arms, and I can tell, from the amount that I know her, that I've said something very wrong. Again. She extricates herself from my embrace, and glares at me.

"You are my Cam." She kisses me forcefully, as if proving a point, and I twine my fingers through her hair as she pries my mouth open with her tongue. When her tongue flicks on mine, all thought flees my brain. Her hands coax my legs apart, and I shiver when she steps between them, getting even closer to me, as close as she can, as if any distance would be the end of us. The gentle and firm way her tongue is massaging mine; the way, when I return the sentiment, she coaxes it into her mouth to suck lightly on it... I can't help but pull her hips closer as the warmth of my desire floods my stomach.

I don't want us to end. Not before we've even begun.

Pulling away, she rests her forehead on mine as she pants, her hands around my neck. I'm fascinated by the small string of saliva hanging between her mouth and mine. An intrinsic connection between us, undefined, fragile, but there nonetheless. Her hand comes up to cup my cheek, softly tracing over a small healing cut almost reverently with the pad of her thumb.

"You're my Cam." She repeats it to me, the phrase almost a mantra, as she caresses me. Her touch causes a fire to burn deep within me, and I don't understand what exactly it is that's happening, but I wholly welcome it, leaning into her touch. She smiles at me, stepping back to look me in the eye. "Don't ever doubt yourself, Cam."

"It's just... I wish I could remember more... for you." I really do... I feel like I fail her so often, because I can't remember who I am, and I can't remember how to do things that, to her, seem so incredibly easy.

She shakes her head. "You don't need to." She maneuvers me onto my stomach before continuing the massage as if the last several minutes hadn't occurred, and my brow furrows.

She's so frustrating sometimes. Not only does she work me up, she also doesn't deliver, nor does she allow it to continue. I understand that she thinks I'm not ready for anything still, but I want her. Doesn't that count for anything?

Nights are the hardest. Laying alone in the cavernous room in complete darkness, I can't help but shiver.

It's nights when I feel loneliest. There's the thoughts that spiral around my head... the ones where I will never be enough for Shego, that I'll never know who I am, I'll never measure up to the old Cam.

I'll never know my family. I'll never know my old friends. I'll never know my childhood.

Somehow, that's the saddest one for me, but I know that, according to Shego, it's a sore subject for both of us, so I never bring it up. I so desperately want to, I've tried, but I'm always cut off.

Is it bad that it hurts?

It's nights that I pull myself into a fetal position under thin sheets and wonder. I wonder and imagine about my past. I wonder if I had a dog, siblings, allergies, favorite television shows... What was my favorite color? Food? Was I good in school? Who, other than Shego, was I close with? Did my parents know what I did for a living? Did they love me?

Or were me and Shego random anomalies in a pool of statistics; recluses that shirked the system, and worked only to take from it?

It's always in this deluge of thoughts that I struggle to sleep. Even as my body is exhausted, night after night, from the physical training Shego has me going through, my mind consistently decides to run a marathon.

I groan internally... tonight is even worse than most nights, but for completely different reasons. I'm going to wake up even more exhausted, and I'm going to hate myself for not being able to turn off my mind on command.

What was it Shego had said? "I think you're ready"? I wasn't entirely sure what that meant...

She'd pulled out a booklet and handed it to me, saying something about me having to study it tomor–today, I guess, because she'd planned everything out, and all I really had to do was read it while she went to collect supplies.

And while I really wanted to just read it, and know what we were doing, she wouldn't let me, pushing me to spar with her for another hour and a half, before I was practically collapsing of exhaustion.

But it was tomorrow now, wasn't it? I could read it. I clap my hands, still amused, even after these months, that a simple clap can turn on the lights, and grab the papers, yawning.

"The Last Spike"