#and then it snapped away when Shilo got back

[jrwiyuri]

Is any other jrwier actually a bit obsessed with how much of Grefgore has been changed by his forced devotion to Shilo (and likely in some way previously to the Queen) and how little of Grefgore probably exists in him anymore because he’s supposed to be a servant? Or is that just me..?

[punkstarlet]

Fallen Stone: First Step

Five weeks later

Shilo sat on her stool and watched the paint appear with a stroke of her brush. The painting before her shows an exorcist angel with a spear and blood on their outfit, and they are smiling evilly. After five weeks, she can never get her mind off the fact that Heaven allowed genocide in Hell.  

As a virtue, she was never fond of using violence and hate against men and souls. She never even used her powers to commit such an awful act; it is not what she was taught to do. The archangels trained her well to control her powers and only use them when necessary. Yet they are going against everything they told her behind her back. They’re committing a horrible act behind Heaven’s back. 

“Forget those sinners? How can I forget when I’ve been lied to by the only angels I trusted with my life!?” Shilo lamented on her anger. “I’ve been in heaven since the beginning, and I never knew this till this month!!” As she shouted, frost began to form on the floor. 

Nicholas senses her anger and powers, causing him to whimper in fright. 

“How can they talk about saving lives and protecting souls when, in truth, they are killing lives that never think about Heaven!!! How hypocritical can they be?!! And nobody knew this!! SOME SAINTS THEY CLAIMED TO BE!!!” As her voice grew louder, so did the frost and the temperature. It was sensing her rage and betrayal. 

A bark from Nicholas snapped her out of her mind, causing her to gasp. She noticed her frost on her attic floor. “Oh no! Not again!!” She tried to calm down, but her emotions got more robust, and the frost stopped spreading but didn’t melt away. 

She covered her face with her hands, groaning. “I am a complete mess right now. My mentor, my friends, my boyfriend... everything, a big lie,” she sighed sadly. Nicholas jumped on her lap, licking her cheeks to comfort her. She smiled at him. “Well, at least you are the truthful thing I have.” She pets him as he wags his tail. 

She sighed, holding him close. Her mind was racing with endless emotions—not just rage and betrayal but also distrust, confusion, overwhelm, and feeling left out. What she told Emily was half the truth: Hell is full of demons and sinners who are killers and selfish, evil people. But it can also be filled with troublesome souls that are lost and just led down the wrong path, and some are being killed just for looking bad. 

“What am I going to do?" She mumbled to herself. She couldn’t move on, knowing more sinners were just going to keep coming and be slaughtered. She needs more information about the extermination to learn the story behind it. And she knows just who to get the info from. 

~*~ 

The next day 

Shilo sat in a chair. A long cape covered her body except for her head. She looked to her side, seeing Jophiel cut her hair. She was having Jophiel cut her hair, keeping her pixie cut style as she wanted. And they are very good at it, being the archangel of beauty. Most importantly, they are the most creative out of the six.  

Jophiel cut one final strand of hair, stepping back to marvel at it. “Beautiful as ever, little blue star.” They smiled. But when they see Shilo’s expression of emptiness, they get concerned. “What? Don’t like it?” They asked. 

Shilo shook her head. “Oh no. Just the way I always ask for.” She assured them. 

Jophiel placed their hands on their hips, tiling their heads to the side. “Then what’s with the doom and gloom? Tell Jophiel.” They exclaimed. 

Shilo looked around the room, seeing a few angels getting their haircuts. She can’t ask them while there are witnesses on sight and sound. The last thing she wanted was to reveal her thoughts. She removed the cape from her neck and sat it on the table.  

Then she grabbed Jophiel and dragged them straight to the back room, where they kept hair products and the only soundproof spot. The two entered the room, and Shilo closed the door, leaving them alone in a dimly lit room surrounded by boxes of shampoo and conditioner. 

Jophiel blinked. “Shilo? What is going on?” They asked. 

Shilo turned and faced them, her eyes filled with determination. “Okay. I have to know something, and you are the only angel I know who doesn’t gossip like Gabriel.” She told them. Unlike Gabriel, Jophiel was the only angel who never started gossiping and talking about anyone behind their backs. 

Jophiel chuckled. “Well, I can’t help it; I've got a lot to share.” They give their long hair a toss. 

“Focus!!” Shilo shouted. 

Jophiel cleared their throat. “Sorry. Go on.” They ushered her to proceed. 

Shilo breathed. It was now or never. “Is it true that Sera and Michael both agreed on letting exorcist angels go to hell and kill sinners?” She asked them. “And you were in on it?” 

Jophiel’s expression changed from encouragement to pure shock. Their eyes widened, and their lips formed a thin line. “Where did you learn about that!? No one but the seraphim and my brothers are allowed to know about the exorcists and the exterminations!” They shouted. 

“Oh!? But no one else, like me, can at least acknowledge what is happening here and what they are doing!?” Shilo barked back. “Why couldn’t you just tell me this?!” 

“I can’t, little blue star. The seraphim and my brothers all agreed that nobody in the lower ranks, not even the cherubim and the thrones, should learn about this horrible event.” Jophiel explained. “And you weren’t supposed to know about it.” 

“So you all did lie to me.” Shilo hissed, her voice filled with venom and ice. 

Jophiel frowned. “Shilo, listen to me-“ but she interrupted them. 

“How can I listen to you when you seven have lied to me my whole life?! I trusted you and looked up to you!!” Shilo shouted. “You all are killing those mislead sinners-“ 

“You think we have no choice!!?” Jophiel interrupted her; their hair opened rows of eyes, and their chest had two eyes, sensing their anger. “Hell was getting too crowded with sinners arriving in hell and demons creating hellborn! But because Lucifer put a full pardon on the hellborns, our only option is the sinners!!” 

Hearing this, Shilo froze in place. So that’s what Michael was saying about going after sinners. They’re not born in hell, not created either. But crowded? Like hell was getting so crowded that they decided to send a group of killers to remove them to make bigger rooms? It just doesn’t feel right to her. 

“So killing them is the only solution?” Shilo hissed. 

“We tried our best to devise a less gruesome solution, but humans are becoming too easily tempted and reckless to join heaven,” Jophiel informed her. “Our system just... stopped working.” They sighed, letting go of the heavy burden in them. “I don’t want to see any souls getting hurt, but... it pains me to see them going into this fate. So, with a heavy burden on us all, we all agreed to put Adam in charge of the exorcist team, and once every year, they would go down to Hell and slaughter every sinner.” 

The world around Shilo started to pause in time. It all makes sense now; this wasn’t about power but about controlling a population group. Too many human souls are failing to meet Heaven’s status and are placed down here and killed by the one who created them. The system is getting lazy. 

Shilo lowered her head down, bowing it as she faced the floor. “I can’t believe this... being slaughtered like they are nothing but animals...” she whispered. 

“Well, it wasn’t a problem before, at first.” Jophiel trailed off. 

That caught her attention, lifting her head up and facing them. “Before what?” She asked them. 

Jophiel realized they said too much. They lifted their wrists, pretending to wear a watch. “My! Look at the time! I need to get back to cutting hair, and so do you!” They shoved her out of the back room. “I don’t mean with hair; I meant with teaching the kids!”

“But-!” Before Shilo can get a word out, she is out of the salon, and the door slams behind her, making her flinch at the impact.  

She groaned; she was so close to getting her answer. But at least she got parts of it. The extermination is another form of population control, all because Heaven got too picky and lazy. It’s no wonder Emily was upset over it. She wasn’t told about how it worked or the problem. 

But she still needs more information. She can’t ask Uriel and Raphael because they will punish her for being too nosy. But she knows a couple of angels that won’t tattle. 

~*~ 

Gabriel and Azrael sat in the cafe, their orders at the same table. Azrael was looking bored as he listened to Gabriel’s stories. 

“And then Raphael screamed like a girl in a shower!!” Gabrial laughed. “I was hilarious!!” He laughed so loudly. 

Azrael only rolled his eyes. "Oh, lord...” he mumbled, sipping his tea. He always finds Gabriel a bit overexcited; it’s draining and overbearing. 

Suddenly, both Gabriel and Azrael were grabbed and dragged away by unknown forces. Their backs were met with the walls. Their senses return to normal when they are met face-to-face with their captor. 

“Shilo?” Azrael blinked. Shilo was glaring at them with a knowing glare. 

“Well, look who it is! Didn’t think you’d be the one to do the sneaking.” Gabriel chuckled. 

Shilo shot him an icy glare that made him shut his mouth. “Alright. Tell me what you know.” She started. 

“About what?” Gabriel asked. 

“About the extermination,” Shilo answered. 

Gabriel left a bead of sweat on his brow, looking away from her icy glare. “What!? Extermination!? What an awful thing!” He nervously laughed. 

“It’s not working,” Azrael spoke. The look on Shilo’s face didn’t change. 

Gabriel let out a groan of annoyance and defect. “I really miss your fun side.” He grumbled. 

“Okay, talk!” Shilo snapped. “Michael and Jophiel informed me about the exorcist angels, the extermination, and the reason behind it!” 

Gabriel nervously chucked. “Yeah, funny story.” He looked away. 

“Jophiel, mention Lucifer’s pardon. Did they?” Azrael guessed. 

“They did. And they ended up saying that it wasn’t a problem before.” Shilo nodded, confirming. “They didn’t tell me what happened before.” 

“Oh, before!” Gabriel nervously exclaimed. “Yes, see, actually.” 

But Azrael stepped in, knowing that Gabriel wouldn’t explain. “After Lucifer and Lilith both fell into Hell, Lucifer lost hope in himself.”  

Gabriel nodded, agreeing with Azrael. “Well, I can’t blame him. He started this in the first place; it’s his punishment for wanting to spread free will with the apple.” He added. 

“Yes.” Azrael verified. “Lucifer was saddened by what he did. So, with him being stuck in his own regret, Lilith stepped in and thrived.” 

The two angels felt the ground turn to frost, and snow formed. They noticed Shilo was showing an angry expression. Gabriel saw that while he and the others were careful when saying Lilith’s name before her, Azrael was not so cautious when saying it without regret. 

“Azrael! You said the ‘L’ word!!” He quivered. 

But Azrael didn’t listen to Gabriel and kept going on. “Lilith uses her power of song and her voice, empowering the sinners and demons.” He informed her. “Because of her, Hell grew along with its powers.” 

“So you’re telling me the reason they started this was because of that dirty, angel-stealing, power-hungry, no good example of a human!!?” Shilo shouted, her powers making the frost bigger and the snow falling hard due to her anger. 

Gabriel gulped, not wanting to get on the wrong side. “Only part of it was her fault. The rest are just too easily won over by any sinful temptation.” He tried to explain carefully to her. The snow and frost just barely dimmed down. “Sure, she did turn out to be a pretty good ruler, unlike her husband.” He smiled, thinking about Lilith. “And oh Lordy, she was a vision of beauty.” 

He stopped, seeing Shilo more angry, and the frost and snow grew furious. He stammered, trying to come up with a better answer. “But-But! She doesn’t have that thriving act of care like you have!!” He nervously chuckled. “Please calm down,” he begged in a weak voice. 

“It was signed in blood,” Azrael added. “We can’t break it once the deal has been paid in angelic blood.” 

Shilo’s anger subsides, and the frost and snow melt away. She growls. “I really hate that woman," she mumbles. 

“Yes, we know.” Gabriel sighed, rolling his eyes. He has grown concerned. “Look, you got your answers. Now move on with your life.” He advised her. “The last thing we wanted to hear is you starting to question everything and be the next one to fall.” 

Shilo nodded, understanding their concern. “Fine. Thanks for answering.” 

“Just be more careful, little snowflake,” Azrael told her. 

She then started walking away from them, leaving them alone. Once she is out of their sight, her apprentice changes. Her face held a determined aura and a new sense of challenge. 

Because of Lucifer’s lack of control, Lilith takes in and causes quite an empowering effect to draw more sinners. Because of this, heaven has to step in and prevent overpopulation from happening, even if it means destroying what they created. Shilo couldn’t believe it; she couldn’t allow them to keep doing this for eons more. It’s just an endless cycle of death and control. 

“Signed in blood? Huh?” She mused. “That means all their agreements and documents are recorded. And got to be in the archive. Maybe there is something I can do to stop this.” 

She opens her wings and flies into the sky. She holds her determined image firm, having a new goal in mind.  

She landed on her balcony, opened it, and stepped inside. “How long before I get in? Before it starts, before I begin.” She sings, entering her room. “How long before you decided? Before I know what it feels like.” 

Nicholas lay on the bed, his ears raised, hearing his owner back. “Where to? Where do I go? If you never try, then you’ll never know.” She grabs the rope hanging on the ceiling, pulls it down, and enters her attic. “How long do I have to climb up on the side of this mountain of mine?”

As she passed her canvas, she kneeled down on her small table. She then removed the books and the plants off the table, setting them on the floor as she lifted the table like a lid.

Inside the table are rows of binders Shilo uses for writing documents and notes that she feels are essential. She pulls out a binder empty of notes.

“Look up; I look at night; planets are moving at the speed of light. Climb up, up in the trees; every chance that you get is a chance you seize.” Shilo stood up, holding the binder close to her chest like a precious thing.

“How long am I gonna stand with my head stuck under the sand?” She sings, turning around. “I’ll start before I can stop or before I see things the right way up.”

She looks up at the sky window, seeing the stars. “All that noise and all that sound. All these places I got found, and birds go flying at the speed of sound to show you how it all began.” She sings, lowering her head and staring at her painted canvas. “Birds came flying from the underground. If you see it, then you’d understand.”

She sighed. Once her eyes landed on the finished painting of her and Lucifer, they softened. She never thought Lucifer would abandon his dreams and let Heaven turn his realm into a hunting ground. It was almost like Heaven was still holding their grip on him. She gripped her binder tightly, as her eyes had a fierce expression. Heaven may have failed him, but she refused to let Heaven fail the troubled souls. 

“Idea that you’ll never find; all the inventors could never design the building that you put up Japan and China, all lit up.” She climbed down from the attic, landing in her room. 

Nicholas watched her leave her room. He jumped off. “The sign that I couldn’t read or a light that I couldn’t see. Some things you have to believe, but others are puzzles, puzzling me.” She sings, entering her living room.  

She sat on her couch, placing her binder next to her. “All that noise and all that sound. All those places I got found, and birds go flying at the speed of sound to show you how it all began.” Nicholas climbs up the couch, placing his head on her lap. Shilo pet her. 

“Birds came flying from the underground. If you could see it that, you’d understand. Oh, when you see it, then you’ll understand.” She sings. She turned her head, facing the wall that had her picture frames. They show photos of her moments with the angels she once trusted. 

There is one with her and Michael sitting next to each other on their first date, another with Uriel and Raphael beside each other, and another with Jophiel giving her her pixie cut. Another shows her holding a degree in Heavenly History. Besides her are Michale and Sera, all smiling. And last, she held a young Emily as a kid.

“All those signs, I knew what they meant. Some things you can’t invent. Some get made, and some get sent.” Shilo sang, feeling the weight of her hurt. “Ooh-ooh. Birds go flying at the speed of sound to show you how it all began. Birds came flying from the underground. If you could see it, then you’d understand. Oh, when you see it, then you’ll understand.”

She lightly touched the crystal on her choker; it was a gift from Michael. The very first gift she ever received from her was an act of love. But now, it gives her a cumbersome burden. She sadly sighed. 

She inhales all her weight out of her, leaving her body. “If that woman can’t prove sinners can be redeemed, then maybe there can be another way to keep new souls away from hell.” She mumbled. “And all of Heaven will know the truth.” 

She faces the window that views the angelic court building. That building has every document and information the archangels recorded and placed for research. It would most definitely have the documents about the extermination. She must gather them and show the school a hidden history they missed. She won’t remain ignorant anymore, and neither will the angels.

~*~

In the angelic courtroom, Adam and Lute stood in the middle while Michael paced with his hands behind his wings. He was fuming under his breath, clearly angry and upset. 

He stopped in the middle, turning his attention to the two angels. “Really? Targeting Charlie’s hotel? What were you thinking?” He stated. 

“Oh, please. It wasn’t that important.” Adam rolled his eyes, not caring. “I won. The extermination is happening in a few weeks, and Hell will be gone for good.” 

“Damn it, Adam!!” Michael slammed his fist on a table, causing an echo around the room. And making the angels flinched. “You don’t think!!” He yelled.

Lute cleared her throat. “Sir Michael. The princess didn’t come alone; our former exorcist was with her.” She informed him. 

Michael rolled his eyes. “And why should that concern me?” He questioned her. “I am not in charge of picking which angel is which. That’s the system’s duty.” He heaved. 

Lute stepped forward, clearly not taking this lightly from him. ”But she turned her back against us, against everything we know.” Lute argued.  

“By showing mercy on a Hellborn?” Michael hinted, eyebrow raised. “That was the agreement, and you decided to kick her out over a little mistake?” He challenged her. 

“We are angels! We don’t make mistakes!” Lute shouted at him. 

“I made a mistake by letting Lucifer!! My brother!!! From coming to Earth, and didn’t stop him from seeing Lilith!!” Michael raged; his angelic eyes opened from his anger. He was panting through his teeth. “We are not monsters, Lieutenant!!” 

Adam huffed out. “If anyone is the monster, it’s those losers.” He blunted. 

Michael snapped his head in Adam’s direction, eyes filled with rage. “Shut it, you worthless worm!!” He roared. “The only reason you are here is that you didn’t cause a natural disaster!!” 

Adam gulped, closing his mouth. Not wanting to get on his wrong side. 

Michael sighed, rubbing his forehead to smooth his raging anger. He inhales in and out. “If you want to go down there and kill any sinners you see, be my guest.” He huffed out. He narrowed his eyes at Adam. “But you do not, I repeat, do not go after Charlie and her friends.” 

“What!!?” Adam yelled, shocked. “But Michael-“ 

“You cut a few months to start an early extermination. We are still in charge of holding the end of our agreement.” He scolded. “I can’t risk having a war between Heaven and Hell all because of you two fucking idiots.” He glared at them.

Lute narrowed her eyes at him as if he weren’t the Michael he had everyone view him as. “You really have gone soft.” she hissed. 

Michael glared at her. “Don’t push me, or I will have you fall next!” He threatened her. 

Lute backed away, feeling his threat. “Yes, sir,” she surrendered. 

“Final warning: Stay away from Charlie and her hotel,” he ordered them. “Do I make myself clear to you, two empty-headed freaks?” He asked them. 

“Yes, sir.” The two answered in unison. 

Michael nodded, pleased with their agreement. “That's Good. You may leave," he told them. 

He watched the two leave the courtroom until he was alone in it. He sighed, rubbing his forehead. He never thought this would happen and change everything they had worked hard on. “Never in a million years... and he got his princess and Shilo involved too,” he mumbled. “After all we did to keep Shilo from getting curious again,” he knew that the seraphim wouldn’t be pleased with this. If they find out Shilo knew about the extermination, they would have her be like Lucifer, fallen, only as a dead body in hell. 

~*~ 

In the hallway, Adam and Lute both walked down an empty wall. 

Lute turned her focus on Adam. “So, are we still going after the hotel?” She asked him. 

“Of course we fucking are!” Adam laughed, uncaring. “That little bitch wants to fight back, then let’s give them a good fight.”

[sosimsofmaddi]

Reese & Roxana's Parallel Lives

Reese and Roxana's relationship has been a bit strained since Reese got pregnant with her second set of twins. Roxie had been living with Reese in Moonwood Mill since the beginning, there to look after her sister and the nephew she never met before. When Reese met Gunnar, a werewolf, it put a huge strain on their relationship. Roxana never trusted Gunnar. Reese chalked that up to Roxana being prejudiced against wolves.

When Reese got pregnant almost right away with her and Gunnar's first children, Roxie wasn't happy, but she stuck around. Even when Gunnar moved in, Roxana didn't leave.

They all moved to a new house together where there would be room for the babies. But Reese got pregnant again when the twins were barely toddlers. A second set of twins really pushed Reese and Roxana's relationship to a whole new low. Suddenly, their house wasn't big enough again, they had two more mouths coming, and Gunnar -- who always lived off the grid with the wolf pack-- didn't have a real job.

Despite the fact that Gunnar wasn't hurting for money of his own, Roxie didn't trust him and felt like he was taking advantage of her sister. She felt that Gunnar locked Reese down with two new babies, then another pregnancy that resulted in another set of twins.

Reese went from hating werewolves and trying to remain free of them even while she tried to find answers to help her son, Kelley, with his young transition into a lycanthrope. The minute she met Gunnar, she suddenly didn't want to stay away from the wolves at all. She got involved with a werewolf that couldn't even tell his pack he was seeing her. He especially couldn't tell them that he got an outsider wolf pregnant with his children.

Roxana moved out of the house when Reese became pregnant with the second set of twins, Rio and Shilo. The girls were born and Roxana left. She remained in distant contact with her sister, and close contact with her nephew, Kelley (who wasn't Gunnar's child).

But Roxana overhears Reese and Gunnar during a private conversation when she shows up to pick up Kelley for a day out.

~~

Roxana grinned when her teenage nephew, Kelley, opened the front door of the house they used to live in together. She was always shocked to see him, no matter how much time was between each visit. Every time he was out of sight, she pictured him as the same lanky ten-year-old she met for the first time.

He grinned back at her with the same smile, same hair. Reese always said how much young Kelley looked like her, how he used to remind Reese of Roxana before they reconnected, when he was really young. And Roxana saw it every time she looked at him, even as he grew up.

She walked inside and hugged him tight, chuckling when the teenager squirmed and pulled back. "Mom and Gunnar are around here somewhere," he said, sparing a quick glance at the living room behind them.

Roxana scanned the room too. The front door opened into a little entryway with a desk nook, two doors to the right, and a long narrow staircase. The living room was straight ahead through the arch, and two blonde heads popped up from where they sat on the floor, toys fanned out in front of them.

Roxie took a few steps inside and paused as the older twins's heads snapped up to her. Brucie and Juneau looked so much like their parents that it was almost uncanny. While Reese's genes had won over and given Kelley and Brucie her face -- Gunnar's DNA had beat Reese's entirely when it came to Juneau. Two incredibly blonde children with their mothers' eyes and their father's features.

A point of contention between the sisters was how Roxana struggled to separate her struggles and feelings about Gunnar from the feelings she had toward his children. Roxie tried for years to make that not true. It was easier when she lived with them as babies to see them just as babies, but now that they were eight years old, it was hard not to see their father in every move they made.

They didn't know their aunt the way Kelley did. They didn't have years of living together, of relationship building. While Gunnar came into Kelley's life just months after Roxana did, Roxie was still there first. And there was a bond between them that she never built with Gunnar's children -- Gunnar and Reese's children.

"Aunt Roxie's here," Kelley told his younger half-siblings, urging his aunt into the house and into the twins' space.

The twins both sat up on their knees. Juneau looked so much like Gunnar that it was impossible not to see it. She had his eye shape, his nose, and his pale skin tone. While Brucie had Reese's face, eyes, and warm skin, with Gunnar's ice-white hair.

While Juneau was almost a carbon copy of her father's features, her disposition was different. Despite the fact that Roxie struggled to like Gunnar, he was never anything but kind to her. He was obviously in love with Reese, and had been from the beginning, and he took on Kelley like the ten year old was his own blood. He was focused and serious a lot of the time in a way that made Roxana worry about what his life was away from her family, but he was loving and open.

Even with his troubles with his pack, he was always honest with Reese, and ultimately he put Reese and his family above his loyalty to the pack. Even Roxana understood there was something significant about that.

This little girl stared at Roxana with a glare, eyes narrowed and hands placed flat on her thighs. The boy jumped up though, grinning, and crossed the space.

"Hi Aunt Roxie," he said, clasping his fingers in front of him. "Mommy said you had a baby."

Roxana offered the little boy a smile -- a reaction at thinking of her own child, just a few months old. She came back into Reese's life after Reese was already a mother, and she watched as Reese very quickly had more children. She'd always thought of her older sister as a parent -- as the caregiver. So it was a strange moment to stand in front of Reese's babies and tell them about her own.

"I did," she said proudly, thinking of her husband, her stepson, and her new infant daughter. "Her name is Diana."

Brucie nodded quickly, white-blonde bangs brushing against his forehead. "She's not here?"

Roxana stepped around him and went to sit on the couch. Kelley pointed toward the stairs to let her know he was going to run up and get something. She just nodded and answered Brucie.

"She's at home with her daddy," she explained, watching Juneau spin around on her knees to face her, still not saying anything. "Where're your mom and dad?"

Brucie's brows went up, making his pink eyes even bigger behind his glasses. He glanced quickly toward the adults' bedroom, but didn't say anything.

Juneau pushed up to her feet. "They're busy," she said with a cross of her arms.

"I'll tell them you're here!" Brucie said, scampering around his sister when she tried to grab his ankle. He careened over to their door off the living room and fell full-bodily into it. "Mommy, Daddy!" he shouted. "Aunt Roxie's here!"

He tried the handle but it was locked. Roxana bit back a smile as Juneau raced over to him and yanked him back by the shoulder. "You can't go in there!"

Brucie rolled his eyes and shoved his sister away. Before he could bang on the door again, it popped open, and he careened into his dad's waist.

Gunnar grinned and picked him up. He clung on like a spider-monkey, while Reese slipped out of the room around them. She touched her son's white-blonde head, then teased the hair at the back of Gunnar's neck.

"We'll talk about it again later, okay?" she said, brushing his hair off his neck and walking around. Reese grinned at her sister and side-stepped her children to get to her.

The sisters hugged. Despite the tension, they held each other tightly. Even though they couldn't get around their feelings toward each of their lives, they'd always cared for each other at a distance, even when they were kids.

Roxie pulled back and spared a glance at Gunnar as he swept both twins up into his arms. They were too big, but he didn't balk as they clinched themselves around him. In fact, he hefted them both up and carted them away. "I'll check on the babies," he said to his wife, taking the kids so they could have a moment to themselves.

Reese took her younger sister's arm and dragged her down onto the couch. "How are you?" she demanded, squeezing her forearm. "How's Diana?"

Roxie smiled at the thought of her baby. Something in that moment softened the house around her, the situation of Reese's life and the sheer changes that happened as soon as she met Gunnar. Roxie never understood how Reese was able to meet a man, fall in love, and have babies all within a short period of time. She used to think of Reese as being so practical and serious, so when Reese met Gunnar and fell so instantly, it changed the way Roxie saw her -- it dampened Reese's image in her mind.

Even though Reese and Gunnar tried to explain that they were soul-bound as only wolves could be, Roxie couldn't help but think it a weakness that Reese would concede her life to a man as soon as she met him. Reese was the strongest and most independent person Roxie knew, and she couldn't reconcile how easily Reese let Gunnar sweep into all their lives.

"She's amazing," Roxana gushed, unable to be at all unbiased. Her daughter was intelligent and beautiful. She was so much like her level-headed father, Rue. So quiet and thoughtful. Even though Diana got Roxana's looks, she got her father's mind, and Roxie loved that.

Reese grinned at her sister, insanely happy for her. In the past, Reese watched from a distance as Roxana was raised in a family, as Roxie was embraced by everyone around her while Reese pulled back in fear of her lycanthropy being discovered, in fear of hurting others. She could never let herself get close to anyone, especially not Roxana's adopted family. She couldn't ruin things for her sister, who had somehow avoided getting their father's werewolf gene.

But sitting here with her sister, in her own house with her husband and kids in the next room, Reese didn't feel any twinge of jealousy. She didn't feel like an outsider who couldn't have what her sister did. Instead, she felt like she was sharing something she had with Roxana, something she'd had all along that Roxie never did until now.

Yet, Reese had only seen her niece twice, and none of her children or her husband had set their eyes on the infant. Kelley was going to spend the day with his aunt, but Reese knew that Roxana would never feel comfortable bringing her daughter around any of Reese's children -- her werewolf children.

Roxana would never entirely move past what they were. She certainly would never forgive Gunnar for bringing Roxana and Kelley more firmly into this life. Reese knew that, and she knew that as close and Roxana and Kelley were, she would never feel the same about any child that had Gunnar's blood.

Roxie tip-toed into her next question. "Are you and Gunnar okay?" she asked slowly. "I didn't mean for the twins to interrupt whatever conversation you were in the middle of."

Reese shook her head quickly. "Don't even worry about it. We were just talking about some baby stuff." She waved her hand off toward the front of the house, where she could almost see into the babies' bedroom. The door was mostly shut with Gunnar and the older twins in there. She hoped that he could manage to get them fed and to sleep with the chaos of their older two.

"Are the babies okay?" Roxie questioned. "The twins?"

Reese smiled. "Are you asking if we know what they are yet?" The thing about werewolves is that they were typically born werewolves... unless one of their parents wasn't full blooded.

With their father, who was bitten and not born, he passed his mutation down to Reese, not to Roxana. Kelley was a wolf, but they didn't know that until he started showing signs around nine. With the twins only eight, it was impossible to know. Even more impossible for the infants. Gunnar said they likely wouldn't know for awhile yet.

"So far, we don't know," Reese admitted. "But Gunnar is convinced that all of this children are going to take after him. With him being born a wolf from two parents, it's pretty likely they'll all follow after him."

"That doesn't worry you?" Roxana asked softly, trying her hardest not to sound judgemental. "You don't think it will be hard to manage four werewolf children? Plus, Kelley."

"Kelley is doing great," Reese said. "I remember how terrified I was for him when we moved to Moonwood. I thought he would be in agony, terrified. I didn't know what would happen to him or how he would get through it. But, Gunnar knew it all, and he was there with Kelley every step of the way. Gunnar taught him better than I ever learned. He's doing great with it now."

Roxana bit her bottom lip. "He can control it?"

"Yes," Reese stated. "He's amazing, Rox. He doesn't even have to change every month if he doesn't want to. Gunnar takes him out and gets his energy out. They both love it."

"You don't worry about the kids getting hurt..."

Reese's mind slowed as she considered her sister's question. It was the root of everything for them both. All the fear that was forced into them as children, all the pain, the separation, the terror. Their father was bitten, then he killed his wife and maimed his daughters. Then ended his own life out of guilt and fear.

They each went into foster care. Roxana to a family. Reese on her own. Their father's bite shaped their lives.

"Kelley would never hurt any of them," Reese said, "and Gunnar certainly wouldn't. He's not like Dad, Rox. Gunnar doesn't fight what he is. I see him embrace every aspect of lycanthropy. He loves it."

Roxana didn't answer, but she didn't look skeptical or judgmental.

"Dad fought it too much, Rox. He hated himself for it, and he lost control of that hatred at the wrong moment. My kids aren't being raised to hate who they are; that will never happen to them."

Reese turned to face her sister completely, folding one leg under her. "My children have never been hurt because of this," she stated. "And I hope you know that we would never hurt yours."

Roxana squeezed her hands together as Reese hit on her biggest fear and the source of distance between them.

Reese squeezed her arm. "The little ones can't even transform yet," she said, "and Kelley has had this under control from the beginning. He's a wonder, actually. I never imagined having kids, Rox, but I would've loved if our kids could grow up together."

Left to right, top row: Kelley, Brucie, Juneau. Bottom row: Akeem (Roxie's step-son), Diana, Rio, Shilo.

The babies' bedroom door creaked open as if to announce the chaos about to rush through. Brucie and Juneau knocked into each other as they raced out and into the living room, and Gunnar followed with a baby in each arm. Both Rio and Shilo were awake.

He offered Reese an apologetic smile as he carted them out. "We can go outside if you want," he said, pretending to heft the babies in that direction.

Reese grinned at her family and shook her head. She held her hands out, and Gunnar deposited one of the babies in her arms.

Rio was the only dark-haired kid in the bunch.

"She has mom's hair color," Reese said gently, angling her baby toward her sister.

Roxana looked startled by the admission.

"Gunnar's hair genes keep diluting mine," Reese joked, brushing her daughter's brown hair back. "Still didn't get a black-haired baby."

Gunnar propped himself on the arm on the couch closest to her. "Maybe next time," he said, brushing Shilo's white-blonde hair out of her face.

Roxana's head snapped up.

Reese glared at Gunnar. "He's joking," she said, both to her older twins and to Roxana. "We're not planning on having more."

Gunnar tucked his smile into his daughter's hair. Then he pushed up and shooed Juneau and Brucie away. "Outside with the lot of yah," he scattered. "Shoes and jackets. Let's go check the garden."

Juneau and Brucie popped up easily, racing to follow their father outside. He stooped and laid Shilo on a play mat, meeting Reese's gaze to make sure it was okay to leave her with the babies.

Reese nodded and grinned at her husband, shooing him and the twins out.

"Another one?" Roxana questioned, "or two?"

Reese laughed and shook her head. "We're definitely not trying for more."

"Doesn't sound like you're not trying."

Reese caught the serious edge to her sister's words. "We're not trying to have another baby," Reese said firmly. "We've got two under two right now, plus two eight year olds. We're good."

"For now?"

Reese gave her sister a look.

"It just sounds like Gunnar isn't good," she countered. "Men don't bring up having more babies if they don't want them. And you know he's always wanted you to have his kids, Reese."

"Rox," Reese sighed. "Don't start."

"Tell me that's not true," Roxana pushed. "The minute you met, you were pregnant."

"That's not true," Reese stated. "We knew each other a year before we got together, and it was months after that I got pregnant."

"You didn't want more kids," Roxana argued. "You told me that before you ever met him."

"I was scared of having more," Reese defended. "I was terrified of passing down a curse to more children. I thought that I could never get married, because I could never bring someone into this life. Then I met Gunnar, Rox, and it was different."

"Different because he wanted kids of his own."

"No, because we got pregnant on accident, and then it was a reality and not a hypothetical. Yes, I knew that he would've loved to have more kids. He and I grew up in the same situation, Rox, and I knew what it meant to me when I had Kelley, and I wanted him to have that feeling too."

Roxana was quieter as she asked, "What feeling?" She had no idea what Gunnar's past was like, but it zinged through her when she thought back to Reese's. Reese never spoke in detail about what her childhood was like once they were orphaned, but Roxie had a pretty good idea about what it wasn't.

Reese's childhood was nothing like hers. No family, no siblings in her life. She didn't get to stay in one place with people who loved her. She wasn't secure in the fact that people did want her around.

"I had Kelley and suddenly I had something that was mine," Reese said. "Kelley was born and suddenly I felt anchored to a life, to my life. Gunnar was raised by the pack, by whoever noticed him at the time. So when it came down to having his child, to giving him that same kind of anchor, I didn't want to say no. And I'm grateful that I never did.

So if it came down to it, and we were careless enough to get pregnant again, then it would be a serious conversation between me and Gunnar. He would do whatever I wanted, Roxie, he would've that first time too. But I want him to be happy. I love seeing him happy, Rox. And he's the best father. You don't give him enough of a chance to see that, but he's the best dad out there. He loves being a father and he loves his kids."

Reese stared toward the front door, where the love of her life went with her children. The way he loved every moment of it.

"He does everything with them. There isn't one thing he does only for himself. He has a whole garden out there that he grows with the kids. He's a fantastic painter and he sells all of his art, but he keeps every crappy drawing the kids do for him. He takes Kelley to school every day and picks him up. He makes sure he has one-one-one time with each of them, especially the twins because he doesn't want them to feel like they're not valued as individuals.

"He raises our kids full time, Rox. I go to work and I have a life outside of this house, but Gunn stays with the kids all day and uses his free time to sell paintings that pay so many of our bills."

Roxana bit her bottom lip. She'd talked with Reese before about Gunnar, but it was a long time ago and it was all wolf-talk to explain their drastic pull together. Roxana hadn't seen Gunnar as he was now.

Reese met her sister's eye. "If his heart wants another child, I'd be open to it down the line. He's the best man I've ever met, and I'll give him everything he wants. He does the same for me."

Reese watched her sister's face, trying to see if recognition played across her features. Roxana was married now, with a child and a step-child. Did she not feel that all-consuming pull toward her husband? Reese was happy, independent of Gunnar and even their children, but that emotion multiplied tenfold when Gunnar smiled at her, and grew from there every time he smiled at their kids. Every time he flung one of them into his arms, or fell asleep weighed down by them. He was so beautiful and so kind and so loving, and all Reese really wanted was to see more of that.

"Do you want more?" Reese asked her sister, knowing that Roxana was only months into being a mother.

Roxana bit her bottom lip. "I'm not sure," she said. "We've got Akeem every weekend as well, so that adds another layer to it. He's a great kid, but having two around is so different than one."

Reese grinned. She definitely knew that. She went right from one to three, then three to five. Gunnar was a werewolf, but he swore that it wasn't any more common to have multiples that it was for humans. It was just him, he joked.

"I loved my years with Kelley," Reese said. "All those years just the two of us were some of the best of my life. I wouldn't trade it for anything. Sometimes I wish that there was more time for the three of us -- me, Kelley, and Gunn. I loved our little family so much."

"It's not so little anymore," Roxana said softly.

Reese smiled, shook her head. "No, it's definitely not. But if we didn't have a big family, I would've never seen Gunn as the dad he is. I would've really missed out."

"It's such a cliche," Reese said, "but he's literally the best person I've ever met. I don't think I can love anyone the way that I love him."

[split-n-splice]

This is it! The last chapter I have available to share. The rest are locked away, because I don’t really feel any motivation to update. Call me lazy.

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

50. Whose Side – 13

It could have easily been a day like any other, but it wasn’t meant to be.

Shilo could have done without Gail reminding her of the little blonde affliction on the oasis when she wondered if Shilo knew what had kept the new residents out so late. In reply, Shilo merely curled her lip and shrugged it off without voicing an answer. She didn’t need Buckley’s girls knowing Priscilla had gained access to the lair when they themselves had been interested in a tour since day one. She especially didn’t need them to know it was only because of a security breach that Priscilla had gotten in at all.

Aside from the brief interrogation, the day was ordinary.

Almost ordinary.

Abigail’s spirits seemed to be low, and Chester leaned through the order window to try to shoot the breeze in between customers more than usual. Suspended from school after her prank on the gym teacher, Jenny was grounded to the office for endless homework, only briefly making appearances to bus tables and wash dishes, voicing loudly her envy that Chester had been chosen as a candidate for LHU.

“Hench has contracts and quotas to fill,” Buckley chastised, shooing Jenny back out of the kitchen. “But he’s not getting your head until you’ve got a strong spine to hold it up.” Peeking through the window, Shilo caught a glimpse of the woman adjusting her teenage daughter’s posture, straightening her back and lifting her chin up to make her point.

Shilo couldn’t help checking herself to make sure she wasn’t slouching too.

The bell jingled and she spun away from the window, opening her mouth to greet the customer, as per protocol. “Welcome to Buckley’s Brew, what can I—oh, it’s you.” The forced smile fell from her face as she narrowed her eyes on Priscilla swaggering up to the counter, Mickey shadowing her.

“Hey, hot stuff,” sang Priscilla, leaning far enough across the counter for Shilo to feel justified in reaching out to unceremoniously shove her back with a palm to her face. She got the hint and leaned back to her side. “Two – oh, what was that you two call them? Chocolate moomoos?”

Hot stuff was right. Just like that, Shilo felt herself burning up with a rush of embarrassment, but she clutched her fists at her sides and glared at Priscilla standing before her with a smug smirk. Letting her flame burn freely wasn’t an option – but really, reaching for Jenny’s cup of decaf forgotten on the counter shouldn’t have been one either. Priscilla yelped in surprise and leapt back from the coffee splashed at her, narrowly avoiding stains on her white stockings.

“Why don’t you try black?” Shilo suggested.

“Hey! You’re cleaning that up!” snapped Gail, giving Shilo’s shoulder a rough shove. “Kill each other on your own time, will ya?”

“Oh, you can count on it,” laughed Priscilla wryly, stepping around the puddle of coffee spilled across the floor. Ignoring Shilo’s warning glare, she reached out to a basket of tiny creamers on the display case, peeling one open and downing it like a shot. “Hot chocolate, please. Two of them. Oh, and do that thing with the whipped cream on top. You know how I like it.”

Mickey stepped up to pay as Priscilla clearly had no intentions of it.

Shilo could hardly tear her glare off Priscilla even as she mopped up the mess she’d made. Mickey had taken his hot cocoa and sat at the furthest corner of the café while Priscilla had opted to sit at the back nearest the counter. She wondered inwardly if they had been in a fight. She almost hoped so, but Mickey was calmly watching out the window while Priscilla swung her feet and sipped her hot cocoa and read a brochure. Shilo did a double take once she recognized a logo on the front, but it wasn’t surprising the miscreant was looking over the same LHU pamphlet she had received during her interview with the headhunter.

A handful of customers came and went, but Prissy was still slowly working on her hot cocoa. Mickey had finally grown bored of watching traffic, because he heaved a huge sigh and stood.

“Where are you going?” called Priscilla. “Sit your ass back down.”

Shilo glanced up from reorganizing a stack of individually-wrapped muffins, watching the tendons in Mickey’s hands go taut as he balled up his fists. There was a moment he looked like he was about to follow her command and return to his seat, but he turned a blind eye and stalked up to the display case instead, tapping the glass above the fresh lunch items. “One of those to go,” he said, making a point to not acknowledge the daggers Priscilla was shooting him.

It would have been easy to stir the pot and question them or make a remark, but Shilo kept her lips zipped. She quietly bagged the turkey hoagie and rang him up. “Have a good day, Mickey.”

He grunted quietly and gave a small nod, but didn’t return the farewell. Priscilla was fuming, her nails drumming on the table as she glared at the young man’s back as he took his leave. When he paused, he failed to even cast the pink menace a glance, though he met Shilo’s eye and wondered, “Know where there’s a payphone around here?”

“Smoke shop across the street,” supplied Shilo.

“She’s not gonna answer,” twittered Priscilla.

Mickey grunted unappreciatively. “You don’t know that,” he shot back and ducked out quickly.

“Who’s he calling?”

“His granny.” That was no surprise, as Mickey had lived with his grandparents as long as she’d known him. Priscilla slouched back and let her head loll to peer across to Shilo. She tried not to look back at her, focusing on stacking up another variety of muffins instead. “His grandpa died last month.”

Shilo dropped a muffin, failing to catch it before it could fall to the other side of the display case. She swore in frustration and resigned herself to walking around and passing by Priscilla to get it. “Really,” she huffed. “So he left her all alone to tag along cross country with you?”

“He’s homeless.”

“What?”

“She went to live in an old folks’ home,” Priscilla went on. She put on an air of dismay then, though she’d win no acting awards with it. “Don’t tell no one, but I think he killed his grandpa by accident. I think his gran knows it too.” Some secret it was when Chester was eavesdropping through the window and Gail was at the far end of the counter polishing coffee mugs.

Shilo found herself rooted to the spot for a long moment before turning her glare down to the poppyseed muffin in her hands. “So that’s why he’s forced to slum it out with you,” she muttered, and made to stalk past Priscilla.

She plucked the muffin from Shilo and unwrapped it, taking a bite before it could be reclaimed. “I’m not forcing him to do anything,” she said confidently around a mouthful. “If he wants to come and help out a friend and run away from a crime scene, I’m not gonna stop him. What are friends for?” She spat out the bite into a napkin then, groaning. “This tastes like shit.”

“Maybe don’t eat shit off the floor,” remarked Gail, coming over to take the muffin from her.

Priscilla twisted in her seat to scowl at the stout young woman returning to her post. “What, are you gonna eat it, Miss Piggy?” she sneered back.

“Lay off, Prissy,” warned Shilo.

Despite the tension in the air, Gail almost playfully took a stance, fists raised. “If you’re that hungry, I can make you a knuckle sandwich,” she jeered with a certain excited gleam in her eye, as if she were genuinely excited for fisticuffs in the middle of work.

Buckley leaned through the order window then, only fitting her head out really as her shoulders were too broad. “Hey, you. You’re on the clock,” she reminded. “You can brush up on your kickboxing later.” She butted out of the near-quarrel then, the ringing of the telephone interrupting her.

The bell above the door jingled, signaling it was time Shilo return to her own post. She didn’t get to open her mouth for the rehearsed greeting this time, clamming up when she recognized the frowning mug of Miss Hatchet.

“I’ll take a cup of donkey piss,” growled the crass woman as she made straight for Priscilla, though Shilo had a hunch it was intended as an order.

She looked to Abigail in confusion, but it seemed even she had to pull out a cheat card for Jackass Joe’s secret menu to understand. Though Gail hurriedly whipped up a steaming cup of tea from Buckley’s own special blend, she pawned the mug off on Shilo to serve. It wasn’t so much an aroma as it was an odor that made her eyes burn, the steam wafting up from the mug as she hurried to set the order in front of Miss Hatchet.

Meanwhile, another customer arrived who needed tending to. Miss Hatchet said nothing for a long moment, giving the tea a stir and keeping an eye on the patron until they left. Finally she addressed Priscilla. “This had better be worth my time,” she said.

Priscilla must have been waiting to see the terse woman relax and sip her tea before beginning. “You told me I needed proof of experience,” she said casually, unzipping the fanny pack at her hip.

Shilo’s stomach curdled at the flippant air Priscilla exuded, and a spike of fear and curiosity had her wondering what proof she had that she was worthy of the headhunter’s consideration. The answer must have been on a tape recorder, as that was what she pulled out and set on the table. Priscilla sat back and her hazel eyes cast a sidelong peek toward Shilo, giving her a cheeky smile.

“Is there no one to vouch for you?” grunted Miss Hatchet, nodding toward the baristas.

“Nah. Don’t think I need it.” Priscilla sounded awfully sure of herself. “Well, I guess she can, if she opens her mouth as easy as her legs.”

The suggestion caught her by surprise – but really, this was Priscilla she was dealing with. She should have expected it. Still, the remark was uncalled for.

“What?” Shilo choked, her voice cracking. She wished she could blast off the thumb that was jabbed in her direction. She knew better than to let the comment get to her, but it was a little hard to recall the fluster now that her face was hot.

“Sheesh, Shi, you get your panties in a twist so easy,” Prissy laughed. “We all know you’re sleeping with the boss.” She flapped a hand dismissively.

“Can you back up that claim?” pressed Miss Hatchet, a note of disapproval and suspicion thick in her voice. Shilo felt her chances of acceptance into LHU were slimmer than ever now.

Priscilla shrugged. “I’ll bring a camera next time.”

“I am not!” Shilo barked in defense, the fire back in her urging her to dive for Priscilla to beat her to a bloody pulp herself. She felt herself burning up – quite literally. Fire in her hands crackled to life without her consent – and she almost whirled on Gail even when the coworker pushed against her back to shoo her into the kitchen where she could lose her cool out of view of potential customers.

Being in the kitchen wasn’t much better, except it put a wall between her and Priscilla. She stayed away from the order window, rooting herself in front of the sink to forcefully scrub her hands and arms free of plasma before the alien fire could eat holes through her shirt.

Still, she listened intently, leaning to glance out the window and standing on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of Miss Hatchet taking the tape recorder and hitting play.

Shilo felt even sicker when, after a moment of shuffling and crackling against the receiver, she heard Drakken’s voice cutting clearly through the white noise.

“Shego? Is that – you!” The accusation in his voice was thick, fear dissipating and anger replacing it. “What are you doing down here? How do you keep getting in my lair?” She might not recognize his roar of frustration if she didn’t know any better.

She could recognize Priscilla Kimbley’s laugh anywhere too, even over a shitty tape muffled by the fanny pack it must have been in. “I saw the restricted area sign posted at the door and couldn’t help myself.”

“What is the point of all the signs that spell out danger if no one listens to them?” Drakken bellowed, his temper making Shilo flinch even over the recording. His indiscernible grumbles followed but stopped short. “And is that—,” he gagged and his rage turned to worry again. “Was that—?”

“Psh, no,” scoffed Priscilla’s voice. Shilo gravitated toward the window, her heart beginning to thud. When had she taken this recording? “I just threw his uniform on the transformer thingahoozit to freak you out. You lovebirds were making me sick. Someone had to do it.”

Shilo realized with a lurch of her stomach the recording was from last night during the power outage. She briefly hoped Drakken would cause a scene to put the headhunter off the idea she was using cheap tricks to keep her position as the rogue’s partner in crime.

“Lovebirds? Nng – then where is—? Oh. Why is Collins naked?”

A third voice, though not so much a voice as a muffled mumbling could be heard through the white noise. It must have belonged to Collins. Shilo couldn’t put a face to the name, but she was sure he must have been one of the newer men on the crew.

“Hey, I can’t help it if your henchmen are going commando under those pajamas.”

“That doesn’t answer—”

“I’ll give you a demonstration after you restore the power, how ‘bout that, Dan?”

“It’s Drakken – and don’t you touch me.”

The audio cut out to silence then, the rest of the tape blank.

“If you want more, I can get you more,” Priscilla offered the headhunter.

Shilo could hardly be pleased to see Miss Hatchet reach across to grab the pink-clad candidate’s face to forcefully turn her head back to attention when Priscilla made to peer smugly back at Shilo through the window. “Look at me when you’re speaking to me,” growled the headhunter in warning. Chair screeching, she stood abruptly and nodded to her. “When we’re done with you, manners will be first nature. See you around, kid.”

As soon as Miss Hatchet was gone, Gail was on Priscilla’s case. “If you’re done loitering, get outta here,” she badgered, practically pulling Priscilla’s chair out from under her and tipping it.

Reluctant to let her butt leave the chair, Priscilla finally groaned and stood. “Any of you crazy chicks wanna hang with me today?”

“Count me out,” said Chester.

“Ooh! Me!” piped Jenny, leaning out of the hall to the back to wave her hand.

Buckley was behind her to pull her back however. “You’re still grounded,” reminded the woman, turning the girl around to usher her back to the office for homework.

“And I’m not going if Chester’s not going,” Gail decided. She pulled up a stool and crossed her arms to make her point.

Which left Shilo glaring out the order window at the blonde blight, eyes narrowed. Priscilla was not deterred, batting her lashes and pulling on a sweet look made of imitation sugar. It wasn’t so much that the doe eyes weakened her resolve, but knowing the girl was liable to make her life worse if she didn’t comply, that made her sigh and grumble, “Fine. But only for a little while.”

Chester barred her way out of the kitchen when she made for the door. “You sure you wanna be alone with her?” she whispered.

“I can handle her,” Shilo muttered back. She cracked the knuckles as she ducked past Chester. “Just like old times.”

Thankfully Priscilla was one foot out the door as Shilo took her place behind the counter once more. “See you for our date!” she called, and swooped out as a new customer entered.

Needless to say, she wasn’t looking forward to it. She had no appetite for lunch, puffing away on a cigarette instead in the back alley, frustrated it did nothing to put her at ease. In between customers, the only thing Buckley’s girls had to talk about was henchschool this, henchschool that, how much everyone envied Chester’s upcoming tour of the place before her official enrollment, and warnings from Buckley that the glorified boot camp would be no piece of cake. Shilo couldn’t help wondering aloud why Chester – or anyone, for that matter – would want to go into the hench line of work, but Joanne Buckley intervened with some ambiguous answer that they each had their own private motives.

Shilo stewed on that answer. Her next question would be what Priscilla’s motive was, but none of Buckley’s girls knew enough about the stranger in town to shed any light. As Shilo left out the back for the day, she hoped at least one good thing would come from fraternizing with the enemy this evening.

She couldn’t tell if it was a good thing it was Lux who had come to pick her up in his Beetle. Had it been Drakken, she would have gladly hopped in to retreat to the safety of the lair. Priscilla wouldn’t take kindly to being stood up though.

It was surprising when Lux cut the engine and hopped out. He was in his henchman attire, sans mask and with an additional mismatched jacket. His messy sweaty hair stood up at every angle, and the body odor wafting from him from a hard day at work had Shilo jumping back out of his way as he made for the back door.

“Do you think she has any day-old cinnamon buns?” he wondered as he snuck in.

“No, but she’s got some oatmeal cookies,” Shilo supplied, watching the eager henchman with the big belly vanish into the café. Even from the alley, she could hear Buckley’s groan when the snack-scavenger arrived to collect stale goods unfit for sale.

With the chauffeur Drakken had sent distracted, Shilo was allowed to sneak away without an issue. She could only dread what Priscilla had in store for her, but as she clenched her fists at her sides, she reassured herself she could handle the nuisance.

Still, she couldn’t believe she hoped the headhunter would pick the blonde’s head to haul away soon.

[notsdlifter]

Kill Hollows: Chapter 0

CHAPTER 0

THE NIGHT OF THE SYNDEMIC

“We've got a bunch of calls coming in about smoke at the Pain Clinic. Johnnie, what's your 20?” snapped the radio between Officers John Brady and Susan McMillian in squad car three. There was a ride-along, a DTF trainee visiting from Kanas City, in the seat behind the officers in the cage. Officer Brady looked over at his partner in the passenger seat and wagged his eyebrows.

“It’s your favorite place, McMack. That clinic is a dumpster fire.”

“Probably a junkie pissed they wouldn’t write a script,” McMillian bit her lip and shrugged as she examined the smoke roiling in the distance.

“That clinic has never turned down a script,” Brady said with a sneer. “Never.”

Brady grabbed the handheld CB and clicked it to life. “Just passing Courthouse Square on Shilo Street. We’re on the way. Over,” Brady said as he hit the lights on the squad car, and bathed the dead, twisted limbs of the old oak tree in the center of town in a lurching, nystagmic pattern of red and blue. The siren’s hollow echo reverberated off the pillars of the limestone courthouse. The engine roared as the police cruiser raced up Shilo Street.

From the moment he woke up, Brady had an unsettling sensation in his guts; a queasy feeling his grandma used to call the “nervous shits.” There was something in the air. He had patrolled the streets long enough to know you listen to those feelings. A tension hung over Token-Oak like low-hanging funnel clouds in the middle of May. Between yesterday’s overdoses the and the dead trees everywhere, it gave Brady a chill. It felt like something was coming.

“By the pricking of my thumbs, “Brady thought, remembering a line he memorized for a school play years ago. He shook his head and tightened his grip on the wheel.

He saw a pillar of baby blue smoke roiling in the streetlights in the distance. Chemicals, Brady thought, damn. This was no gas fire or stalled car that burst into flames. This was something industrial.

“What the fuck is burning?” asked McMillian, her eyes locked on the sky ahead.

Of course, it was the Clinic, it was always the goddamned Clinic, Brady thought. For a town of seven thousand, Token-Oak had a Pain Clinic that treated thirty-five patients at a time and had a waiting room that could serve 200. Patients came to the clinic from the surrounding eight counties to get their prescriptions. Most days, the line for the clinic stretched around the building and down the sidewalk. It had the foot traffic of a methadone clinic in Chicago or New York not what you’d expect in some little town in the rolling hills of the Great Plains.

For years, Brady thought meth was the worst thing that could happen to a small town. Meth got a person high for days. Dopers made it with household chemicals. But only dopers took meth. Opiates, however, were legal and everyone from the local preacher to a handful of county commissioners was hooked on oxy. Some days, to Brady, it seemed like Token-Oak had just three types of folks: those addicted to the shit, those selling it, and the rest who didn’t leave their houses at night and slept with loaded pistols on their night stands.

Officer Brady looked back at the ride-along, Tim Forsyth, a Drug Task Force officer in training. Brady wondered if he even had to shave every day. The powers that be had sent Forsyth to the prairie to learn about small-town drug networks, and on last night’s shift, his first in Token-Oak, the kid got a crash course in rural drug interdiction: two meth explosions over in Boom Town, a drug related homicide in the trailer park, and even a flock of runners with several hundred gallons of anhydrous on MLK out by the Fair grounds. To top the night off, there were a half dozen ODs. Local addicts had mixed meth and oxy and were shooting it up with disastrous consequences: Six dead, and a dozen more lay writhing in hospital beds with their veins on fire. Brady saw fear in Forsyth’s eyes that night. The Big City cop came to little old Token-Oak to learn. Jesus, Brady thought as he looked at the kid in the rearview biting his lip and wringing his hands, welcome to Token-Oak, kid.

“Put your seatbelt on, Timmy,” Officer Brady said as he gunned the cruiser towards the blaze. The car sped through intersections and passed the bar crowd at the local Moose club, a collection of local drunks gave fascist salutes as the cruiser sped past.

“Will you look at that,” Officer McMillian said as the fire came into view.

Brady keyed the mic on the radio, altering dispatch, “We’ve got definite flames at the Clinic. Looks bad.”

The Pain Clinic was raging. Ten-foot flames were dancing into the night air through a small hole in the roof. Dozens of people packed the sidewalk watching the blaze. They didn’t run, officer Brady thought, because they didn’t want to lose their place in line.

As the cruiser rolled into the parking lot of the Pain Clinic, there was an acrid odor so overpowering that Brady had to cover his mouth with his handkerchief. His eyes watered and his lungs burned. He slammed on the brakes.

“What is that smell?” Forsyth said from the back seat.

“Fucking ammonia,” McMillian coughed as she hit the button to open the trunk. “I’ll get the respirators. We need to clear those dumbasses away from the fire.”

As Brady reached down for the CB, a torrent of hot air ripped its way out of a hole in the roof. A blast of flaming debris shot out a hundred feet in every direction. Chunks of flames rained down on the shuffling crowd as they stood watching the inferno. The ground shook, and a sinister hiss shrieked through the night air.

“Damn!” McMillian said, “why the hell are those people not running?” McMillian opened the passenger door and slid out of the cruiser and scrambled towards the open trunk. The backs of the crowd alternated in a strobe of red and blue.

Brady clicked the megaphone to life and shut off the sirens to the cruiser. “YOU PEOPLE, GET THE HELL BACK!”

A hundred faces snapped towards the police cruiser. They had their heads ducked and legs bent in a crouch. The image that flashed in Brady’s mind was of an attack dog: roiled, hackles up, ready to bite. Brady had seen a shit ton in his time on Token-Oak PD, but he had never seen anything like the way this crowd acted. His hand instinctively reached to the holster of his gun. He checked his belt for extra clips.

Forsyth, in a desperate whisper, said from the back seat, “McMillian should—she — she should get back in.”

The crowd lurched, suddenly, and in a singular movement. In disbelief, he blinked twice and pulled his head back to refocus his eyes. The crowd—every single person—broke into a violent sprint toward the cruiser. Their eyes were wide open and the fingers on their hands stretched out. All of them were screaming, mouths open and tongues churning around their teeth, veins on necks bulged and muscles stretched like taut cables.

___________________________

Susan put her palm on the edge of the trunk and slammed it shut. She looked at the clinic as she rounded the cruiser. There were a hundred faces looking back at her. Not just looking, glaring. She stopped and tilted her head. The respirators dangling from her left hand near the asphalt.

There in the middle of the crowd she saw her nephew, Parker. He had just turned seventeen and no one had seen him in over four months. Around his neck he wore the coral beaded choker that she brought him back from her honeymoon in the Dominican Republic. Out of all her nephews and nieces, Parker was her favorite. He was the type of kid so full of life that he radiated actual warmth. His laugh—that out-of-breath, squeaking gasp—could heal any wound. Parker, she was sure, was destined to move out of Token-Oak and pursue a career in something that suited his gregarious nature and inquisitive personality.

Looking at him now, Susan saw that warmth was gone. Parker’s eyes were blank. Whatever fire that had burned inside him had been extinguished. He breathed in heavy, panting gasps. And when their eyes met, he did not recognize her, she was sure of it. As he broke into a run toward her, his face contorted, tongue waggling through an open jaw while he screamed. Susan McMillian stood perfectly still as she watched the child she to read poems from Where the Sidewalk Ends until he fell asleep, close upon her.

She never even put her hand on her gun.

____________________________

“SUSAN!” Brady yelled.

But the edge of the crowd met Susan McMillian as she was returning from the trunk. They slung her onto the hood. She hit the black paint with a dull thud. A dozen sets of hands grasped at her body. McMillian screamed as a man grabbed her by the throat and pulled her windpipe free, parts of her tongue and trachea dangled in the night air. Officer McMillian gurgled as blood sprayed from her neck. The crowd engulfed her failing body. They gutted her like a freshly caught largemouth bass.

Brady pulled his service Glock and fired through his window. He emptied the magazine into a half-dozen people in the crowd. Bodies fell onto the asphalt of the parking lot. A middle-aged woman shot in the face spilled over the hood of the cruiser. He hit a young man in the chest three times, but he kept coming. They seemed oblivious to the gun shots. They leaned into the bullets, not one of them so much as flinched as they moved, always closer.

Brady hit the release on his magazine and reached for another, too late. Grasping hands pulled him out of the window and into the night. Fingers tore at his eyes and face as he squinted and screamed. His left ear was ripped from his head. A young woman, her face a smear of rage, grabbed his nose and split one of his nostrils in half. the explosion of the Pain Clinic. A hot blast of fire hit his skin. The car was blown backward. The cruiser tumbling over once, maybe more. The roof of the car coming to rest on Halstead Street.

He opened his left eye to a squint while lying in the upside-down cruiser. He felt the fire on his back and arms as the entire car burned. There were parts in the middle of the street: a hand, an arm, random pieces of clothing burning bright on the black asphalt. As he watched through the smashed windows of the cruiser, he saw flaming bodies sprinting down Halstead towards the center of Token-Oak. What the fuck is happening, he thought.

Brady heard pounding from the cage behind him. Forsyth, even though the cruiser was on fire, refused to open the door. It was unlocked, and all Forsyth had to do was roll out. Brady felt him slapping at the flames and jumping around the back seat. But the guy didn’t scream. He danced in the fire and the pain, too scared to leave the cage.

The CB on the dash clicked to life. A questioning voice demanded an update. There was another call, a fire at the High Rise. An officer in a different squad car responded in a desperate tone. There were gunshots in the background. It was happening across Token-Oak, Brady thought. It was happening everywhere.

As Brady pulled in his last breath, he felt his clothes meld in hot bubbles to the skin on his backbone. Through an avalanche of exquisite pain, he had the final thought of a man who gave twenty-two years of his life to protecting and serving his community. There were thousands of kids sleeping in Token-Oak. Most of those were little, just toddlers. As he watched the flaming backs of the crowd sprint down Halstead, he thought about protecting those little kids.

Suddenly, the pain was gone. Unable to move, he looked down Halstead Street and its mansions that lined the road. He looked on in breathless horror as the crowd gravitated towards the center of town. 

__________________________

Deputy Sheriff Jackson Gillatrout screamed into the CB sitting on his desk in the Token-Oak Police Station. There were four squad cars that patrolled the county that surrounded the town. He had lost contact with McMillian and Brady in squad car three at the Pain Clinic. A team of three officers went into the High Rise searching for a shooter. Two squad cars had driven to the overturned fire engine on MLK to investigate the wreckage. He clicked the CB and called for an answer, an update, anything but dead air. Not one of his officers was responding. It was the damndest thing he had ever experienced.

The lights in the police station flickered and then died. He heard a series of booms from outside.

He grabbed a tactical shotgun from the rack and hurdled the front desk. Jackson threw open the door of the Police station and stepped out onto Main Street. A few of the telephone poles on Main were laying down. Oddly, they were not stuck by a vehicle, they looked like chainsawed tree stumps. Every tall, wooden structure in town was burning: the High Rise, the grain elevators, the bell tower of the courthouse, and the steeple to Zion Lutheran were all on fire. Even the 400-foot cell phone tower in the field by McClintock’s tree farm was torn down into a flaming wreckage. Mother of God, Jackson thought as he surveyed the wreckage.

The Walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life. It was officer Betty Ripsome. She was in the old Bronco out in Chickamaga Basin at the water treatment plant. Before things went to shit, the first call they received as darkness fell on the town, was an alarm trigger at the plant. Probably a break-in.

“Jack, its Betty out in Chicamaga.. There are barrels of chemicals poured into the water treatment pits. Jack, the water is poisoned. It needs to be shut off ASAP. Over”

Jackson didn’t answer officer Ripsome. His eyes were drawn to a row of houses just past Main. There was a group of people crouched outside standing around a burning home. A person from inside ran to escape the flames. One of the crouching figures grabbed the runner in a chokehold and cut the man from his intestines to his throat. Jackson watched as a group of three pulled the man’s organs out and threw them on the street. Jackson stood in frozen horror as the man died on the cement sidewalk, leg twitching gently, outside his burning home. The crouching figures stood over the dying man while he writhed on the pavement.

Jackson tightened the grip on the shotgun, and he thought about racking it. But as he watched, the group of people moved to the next house on the street. They lit porch of the home on fire and threw flaming debris in the windows. They all stood crouched waiting for the next runner.

As Jackson looked around Token-Oak, he saw flames everywhere. The telephone lines were down. The two major roads in and out of town were blocked. The gas station he could see was a smoldering pile. He realized there was no way out, and no one to call.

A vast shimmer northwest of town caught his eye. He saw a massive blanket of black move down from the rolling hills. The grass field that separated Token-Oak from the Hollows glimmered with the movement of metal flashes. It took Jackson a half minute to realize that this blanket of movement was people. Hundreds of them. And the metal flashes were the things they carried in their hands. And they were all coming from the dead trees of the Hollows. The Token-Oak Police had to fish a body out of that dead forest every few weeks for as long as Jackson could remember. An occurrence that was so common that the officers called the hills and all the dead trees surrounding Kill Hollows. He didn’t believe all the bullshit stories about Kill Hollows; the thousands of dopers living in the woods in makeshift shanties, or ancient Indian burial nonsense. To Jackson, it was a place where people went to smoke dope and cause trouble. Those stories where just spooky gossip that teenagers spun to their friends. Nonetheless, all the dead fingers of those trees gave him the heebie-jeebies. And he never investigated the place, even when it was his job to do so.

When he looked into Kill Hollows now, he felt something different. It was like he was seeing it all for the first time. Really seeing it. Just behind the people sprinting into town, up on the bald hilltop at the highest point of the Hollows, Jackson saw a fire on the rocks burning bold. It was a huge bonfire, and he swore there were little shapes dancing around it. He felt it then, the pressing suffocation of fear. And all those old stories rose in his mind again. 

Jackson slipped back inside the police station and locked the door. He threw the deadbolt and slid a few desks across the floor to block the entrance.

“Jack?” Betty Ripsome yelled into the CB.

Just then, a flaming bottle broke the front window of the Police Statio and broke into a river of fire on the wooden wall beside him. Outside the window, he saw the exaggerated shadows of crouching people through the flames. The fire on the wood paneling started to spread. In another minute, Jackson would have a choice to make.

He grabbed the CB, and clicked it to life. “Betty, don’t come back here,” Jackson said, “The town is burning. There are fires everywhere.”

The CB in his hand made a gurgling sound. There was a loud hiss of static with gun shots in the background. A hundred whispering voices bit through the white noise until there was a strange silence. Jackson held the CB receiver to his ear to listen. It sounded like a guitar amp, turned all the way up, right before the first cord was struck. It was a magnetic void of noise. In the middle of that void, a single voice started to speak. Deep and resonate, the voice said a single phrase. “Poison the water.”

Jackson blinked as he looked at the CB. The voice began again, even louder. “Cut the power, poison the water, light the gas, burn all the wood. Then peel the skin from their faces when they run from their holes. The lucky ones will die clutching their chest. Filet the rest.”

The whispers returned. Even more this time. Hissing a chorus of applause until the CB went dead. The fire on the wall hit the ceiling tiles and spread like sound. Everything was burning in the station. And Jackson, as he felt the heat hit his cheeks, looked at the crouching shapes waiting for him outside.

[split-n-splice]

This arc is for introducing some faces around them. Everyone's got their problems to contend with~

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

28. Aura of Others – 2

She knew the morning was off to a good start when a scream followed the frantic beeping of an unfamiliar alarm clock, and she cracked her eyes open in time to see a familiar blue someone flail and tumble out of bed. She was glad the lamp was on so she could catch the spectacular fall from grace.

She barely kept the laugh to herself as the startled man picked himself up, staring at her wide-eyed over the edge of the bed. Panic-stricken and stammering, he welcomed her to sleep in for another half hour, or an hour, or all day if she pleased, but she had to decline no matter how tempting. She had places to be, unfortunately.

The second Drakken excused himself hastily to his own private bathroom, she threw back the sheets to check for any sign of burnt fiber. She was pleasantly surprised and gave herself a pat on the back for making it through the night without incident, even as her face burned as she quickly dressed. She hoped the gambler wouldn’t push his luck next time either – and then banished the thought from her mind. There wouldn’t be a next time. This was a one-time occurrence. A simple test of will.

She had the feeling she was lying to herself as she wore another of Drakken’s sweaters to Buckley’s to hide the fact she hadn’t exactly changed out of yesterday’s outfit. And she knew she wasn’t fooling anyone else either when he was the first customer of the day, smiling pleasantly as she served him joe to go. When he turned to leave, Shilo had to tear her stare away from the green elastic band holding the ponytail he’d taken the time to neatly put up himself.

Eyes of future-henchgirls drove daggers into her back. She heard the low voice of Buckley in the kitchen muttering to Chester, but couldn’t make out what she rumbled. No doubt something displeased, and Shilo was sure it was about her. If it weren’t for the generous tip Drakken slipped into the jar, the baker might have said – or done – something to him to chase him off.

As it were, Drakken was in no hurry to leave, courteously holding a door open for a blithe young man with a pep in his step that made Shilo’s blood run cold before inciting the dreaded fire once again.

She felt suddenly far too small for the sweater hung around her. If only she could disappear into it. If only it wouldn’t be so childish to duck behind the counter to make Gail take the order. It was too late for hiding now anyway.

Ignoring Drakken lingering at the open door was just as hard as looking up at the next customer. She forced a smile for the increasingly familiar boy beaming back at her, and she warmed over as if standing in a sunray from heaven. She couldn’t say she liked it, but she couldn’t say she didn’t either.

“I, um. H-hey—,” she clamped her mouth shut and gave a small cough to clear her throat. She tried again before Abigail could shove her aside to take over, and managed to utter a coherent greeting the second time. “What can I get you, angel boy?”

Angel boy smothered his grin and glanced to the case. “Caramel latte and a cinnamon roll to go today, please,” he answered promptly as if he’d rehearsed it. If he was uneasy, he disguised it well.

It would have been an easy enough task if she weren’t aware of Drakken still standing in the doorway, watching with unnerving interest. She almost spilled the latte when she handed it over. As she fumbled with the register, she caught a glimpse of the felon pointing at the angel boy, almost as if aiming a finger-gun at his back.

Drakken’s raised brow and inquiring gesture didn’t help the heat spreading across her face or building in her chest. She was eager to get them both out of the shop. She even considered calling for Buckley to scare the rogue doctor away, at the very least.

For as much as he stared and beamed at her, angel boy didn’t seem to notice the peeks she shot past him, or the dismissive flick of her wrist in a vain attempt to shoo Drakken off. She didn’t need to squirm under the analytical stare of a rogue scientist when she was already caught in the radiance of an angel boy, and she was all the more convinced she needed to get a grip on herself and Lady Fate’s gift.

“Hope to see you soon,” said angel boy warmly as he left, but Shilo could only spare the tiniest wave in goodbye before hiding her hands behind the counter once more.

Dr. Drakken was still rooted in place, continuing to hold the door open and let the heat out. The young man cast a perturbed glance up at him and another glance over his shoulder to Shilo before going on his merry way. It took Drakken another moment of standing there, watching the blond depart, before he turned his eyes back to Shilo. She tried to ignore the arch of his brow or the smile that split across his face.

“Interesting,” he piped, grinning smugly her way. Her face burned and she had to wring her hands under the counter to snuff out the heat in her palms. “I didn’t take you for a nervous Nellie.”

A small hand curled around Shilo’s shoulder. Abigail was a fraction of Buckley’s size, but with a little genetic manipulation and training, she could one day compare to the role model. She’d taken lessons from her, and must have been able to replicate the baker’s sneer perfectly because Drakken took a step back out the door when Gail curtly snapped at him, “There something wrong with your order, sir? No? Then get outta here. No loitering.”

Effectively told off, Drakken left with haste.

Later that day, when Shilo was at last relieved of duty for the afternoon, she almost made a beeline for the lair, compelled to chew out the man for stirring trouble with her at Buckley’s Brew, which had lived up more to its unscrupulous underground name of Jackass Joe’s on this fine day. Between customers, she’d suffered critical glares, poking, prodding, elbowing, and snide comments like two-timer and skank. On an average day, she could take every name in the book in stride, but it hadn’t made getting through this day easier when she was already fighting to put out the hellfire stoked by an angel.

She hadn’t made it far before the chill in the air wicked away the heat, and she breathed easier than she had all day. A misty drizzle fell, and she was convinced to go home instead when she missed the bus. She had better things to do than get herself worked up over a smug man who found her plight interesting.

Better things, such as going home and sweeping up the glass she’d left scattered across her bathroom floor.

When Shilo entered her dingy apartment, she jumped, spying a large rat dart behind the fridge. Swearing aloud, she raised a hand, drawing up energy into her palm, and readied a blast fit for a rodent as she shoved the fridge back. The vermin disappeared through a hole chewed in the drywall before she could take the shot.

The ball of plasma still crackled in her palm, bubbling and dripping, and Shilo found herself unable to recall the glow still desperate for an exit. It was abnormal, but not the first time she’d been faced with the predicament, and it was an unwelcome reminder she didn’t have as much control of it as she wished she did.

She realized as she washed the sizzling alien fire down the sink that she hadn’t done much to relieve herself of the bottled energy lately. She stared into the sink, hoping that washing plasma down it wouldn’t make the pipes any leakier, and optimistically added to herself that maybe it would unclog the drain.

She mulled it over while cleaning the neglected bathroom. With no glass door to hide behind anymore, the special prescription stared her down from its perch on the shelf in the medicine cabinet. She considered, between the lack of suppressant and lack of an outlet, maybe she was spilling over. Could she overflow? She knew she could get riled up and overcharge – there was even emergency protocol for that – but she couldn’t recall a time she’d ever gone more than a week without throwing a few plasma balls for target practice at the very least.

Rubbing her throbbing head, she tried to recall the last time she’d let loose at all. She’d used her glow as a light source a few nights ago on the way home from Vegas, but that was a low-level energy release with hardly any power behind it and no heat to the flame. She’d worked on hand-to-hand combat with the henchmen, but she’d played fair. The last time she could remember really giving her glow the slightest workout was the day Drakken gave her the new gloves. That had been weeks ago.

Bathroom clean enough to stand barefoot in again, she was dressing down to settle in for the evening when she emptied the pockets of her jeans out of habit. The bracelet and note she pulled out nearly caught fire – and she once again found herself unable to extinguish it without a little help.

This time she was rinsing the plasma down the bathroom sink though, and this time the suppressant was staring her in the face. She’d circumvent it if she could. And she would. She had to – because relying on the medication would only hamper her, and that just wasn’t happening anymore. It would only put her under GJ’s thumb and at their mercy.

Shilo forgot about her PJ’s waiting for her on the bathroom counter and dressed into a new pair of jeans, one of her own sweaters, and the slicker jacket, and headed out the door into the rainy evening.

She had energy to burn off.

It was only a hunch, but it was worth a shot. Besides, she had to try, or she might never make it through a date with an angel boy capable of thwarting her self-control and setting her on fire with a single look.

So she skulked through the rain as the twilight fell, her feet carrying her to a bridge over the river that ebbed and flowed like the tide. She cast a look around before stepping over the guardrail into a prohibited area of the canal, pushing her way through branches and bushes on her descent down the muddy slope to find flat ground beneath the bridge.

The river was a safe enough target. It swallowed each blast, the green blobs of molten plasma gulped up by the muddy water. Steam rose, and not just from the water, but from herself as well. She soon shed her slicker and her sweater, and she briefly considered that she might have been better off wearing her gear out here, but it was a little late in the evening to go back for it now.

She only stopped when she heard a vehicle stop on the bridge above. She realized, with a sudden frigid wave of dread, that a fogbank was flowing out from the downstream end of the bridge. It was sure to have caught some eyes.

Heaving for breath, she held her fire – and was glad she could finally recall it – as she pressed to the wall and waited for the curious witness to leave. When they didn’t move along, she held her breath and listened for a car door. Something. Anything.

The warmth burned down her arms again, and she was second-guessing if she really had her alien fire back under control after all – when finally she heard wet tires rolling. But the vehicle didn’t go far. She heard the engine cut, a door, and soon heard the squelching of footsteps coming down the muddy bank.

If it was an officer coming to investigate, her things were simply too far away to risk diving forward and grabbing. She’d be seen for sure. So she bolted the other direction, hooking around the wall and glancing back under the bridge before staring miserably up the embankment thick with vegetation above her.

Passing through it silently was hopeless, but she did her best, glad the recent rains had at least saturated the sticks and leaves enough to soften the sound of her slippery passage.

She ducked as she reached the top, fully expecting an officer or two, or at least a police cruiser – and felt her face heat when she saw the furthest thing from it.

An old brown station wagon with a taped-up back window was parked on the side of the road.

And behind her down the hill, someone was clearing his throat.

“You know there’s a flash flood advisory, don’t you?” Dr. Drakken called up at her, although he was the one presently standing in the danger zone by the water’s edge. He held her abandoned sweater and slicker draped over an arm. He nodded to the fogbank rolling slowly downriver and added, “Lovely work, by the way.”

“What are you doing here?” she snipped down at him as he began the awkward climb up the overgrown slope after her.

“Errands,” he answered curtly. That was hard to believe when he had henchmen to run errands for him.

“What kind of errands?”

Drakken shook his head in exasperation and snorted. “Must I tell you everything?”

“Yes.”

Halfway up the slope, he paused and looked up from watching his footing. Shilo didn’t like his silence, and she had the feeling the awkward reply, “Post office,” was little more than a bluff if not a total lie.

“Have you been spying on me again?” she pressed when he reached her at the top.

“Wh—nngg! No!” he sputtered, his face turning a funny shade she knew wasn’t from the nippy weather. She might have liked to see him flustered and choking on words if she weren’t still skeptical he wasn’t lying to her face. He shoved her things at her to free his hands for flailing. “I was just – I was – I heard it was supposed to rain. I was going to give you a ride from Buckley’s, but then I got distracted and ran a little late and—”

“Try four hours late,” Shilo snorted.

His lips pressed into a flat line and he grunted and glared away toward the car. “Better late than never though, right?” He skulked off for the vehicle.

Shilo was hesitant to follow, but the rain was coming down heavier by the moment. “I’ll forgive you for being creepy and stalking me – on one condition,” she haggled.

“Which is…?” he wearily prompted with a roll of his wrist.

“Cow-n-Chow drive-thru and swing by the movie shack,” she said as she came around to the passenger side. “Those are my demands.” She should have asked for a target range, but she didn’t consider it in time. At least she was good and cool now. Burning off some energy might have done her a fair bit of good after all.

“A small price to pay,” sighed Drakken. Meeting her inside the car, he added, “And I wasn’t stalking you. I was on my way to knock on your door like any respectable – uhm – to ask you—nngh!” He curled his lip and pushed his glasses up to rub his eyes.

“Any respectable what to ask me what?”

“Nothing.”

A few minutes later, the cross man was eating fries from a bag between his knees, and the sloshing windshield wipers couldn’t keep up with the downpour. They hadn’t spoken outside of placing an order at the window and were now cutting through town to find the rental shack before closing. She hadn’t expected Drakken to strike up conversation – or if she had, she’d expected some jeering about angel boy – but instead, he gave a morose hum and looked over at her.

“What was that about anyway? Under the bridge?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t give me that. You want me to be honest with you. And I told you, so it’s your turn.”

“No, you didn’t. You didn’t give me a full answer,” Shilo retorted, hopeful to divert the subject away from poorly-managed alien fire she couldn’t keep contained.

“I was coming to see you,” Drakken shot back at her. “I thought – geez, Shego! I thought that was clear already.”

“Why?” Better yet, why was she raising her voice?

“Because I – I don’t know. Hoping I can change your mind about – what was it you called him? Angel boy?”

Shilo pressed against the door. “What?”

“I was just hopeful we’d get out Friday, alright?” Drakken grouched. “Just us. Maybe a henchman. Or not. I thought we’d go do something thrilling and dangerous, like crossing state lines in this piece of crap. Because you’re right! You’re absolutely right. I need to get out sometimes. And it turns out, I do enjoy getting out with you.”

She watched him swallow and his brow knit into deep creases. And she gave a frustrated sigh, deciding not to fault him. At least he was being honest. Or at least she had to trust he was. She hugged herself. “Next Friday night. I promise,” she said. “But you’re gonna let me do this with – with what’s his face, and you’re not gonna stop me. You got that?”

Drakken was quiet. She didn’t miss his knuckles turning white as he gripped the wheel. “Loud and clear,” he grunted.

“Don’t be such a sore loser, Doc,” she grumbled, reaching into her own bag to pull out a pinch of overly-salted fries. “It’s not what you think.”

He scoffed. “Then what is it?”

She slumped back and kicked her muddy heels up on the dash. “I have a score to settle.” She couldn’t give him any more detail than that. She’d figure it out when she crossed that bridge. She knew only one thing – she’d make angel boy pay retribution, one way or another.

Drakken was quiet for a moment before he grumbled, “I am not a sore loser. I didn’t lose anything.” Shilo couldn’t help laughing a little at his frown. “I’m just – it’s nothing crucial – I’m just a little pissed off to have Friday plans pushed off the table, that’s all.”

“Live and learn,” she said around a mouthful, and shrugged. “Don’t set your heart on anything involving an us without consulting me first. ‘Kay?”

She had to take his harumph as a grunt of agreement.

There was no reason to nod up to her darkened apartment and suggest he come upstairs. It wasn’t a feeble attempt to butter him up – because there was no reason to be apologetic for the clash of plans, much less apologetic for the existence of a boy who could stir something wretched in her. She had a movie, and movies were better with company. That was why Drakken followed her up the stairs.

The heater was kicked into operation and shoes were kicked off. Drakken’s jacket hung next to her slicker on the rack. He grudgingly agreed to the chore of popping the tape in while Shilo made the popcorn as the previews played.

She couldn’t help stealing a peek over her shoulder at the man kneeling before her television balanced on a small shelf. He was a decidedly better sight on her shaggy rug than the hoodlum with the mutt. And unlike the hoodlum, she might have been at least a little compelled to be a good host to the rogue doctor presently threatening to disassemble her malfunctioning remote from his spot on the floor.

No sooner had the stray thought of inviting the man onto her bed – to make up for lack of a couch – crossed her mind did she come to the jarring realization that she had in fact not burned herself out. A soft popping sound wasn’t coming from the microwave – but rather the bubble and ooze of her glow escaping her palms.

A small gasp slipped out, and Drakken’s tired stare turning back at her didn’t ease the flush of heat. She hid her hands behind her back and slunk off to the bathroom.

There, she locked the door and wrung her hands.

She still felt watched, but she knew it was only her imagination. She found herself facing the sink. She squeezed her eyes shut and doused the licks of plasmic flame crawling over her hands and up her wrists under a stream of icy water, and all the while the orange bottle stared down at her.

There was no reason for her nerves to spike now. She wanted to blame it on the medication’s side-effects, or withdrawals, or something. Because it couldn’t be Drakken sitting in the other room, ready to watch a movie with her. That would complicate things.

Fire barely subdued for the moment, Shilo gripped the edge of the counter, telling herself she wouldn’t – yet one hand pried away, and the other had a pill in the palm a moment later. She drew a shaky breath, broke it in half, and nipped a piece off that, just like she used to on the average rough day in between classes. It was only a fraction of a dose. Unless big brother had upped the potency, it should be just enough to take the edge off without the risk of knocking her out cold. She’d get a little drowsy at the very most, she assured herself.

Just as bitter as she remembered, the crumb dissolved on her tongue before she could swallow. She resisted the urge to retch.

The smell of burnt popcorn all but yanked her from the bathroom then. She swore as she burst out the door, and startled to find Drakken dumping the remainder of blackened kernels into the trash. Her face heated, but no more than it should have.

“Most of it survived,” Drakken informed with a nod back to a bowl on the counter.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, and ducked back into the bathroom for another moment to change. She returned once and for all a minute later, dressed in full cotton PJs of a dingy shade of green, feeling just a little overdressed after last night and twice as flustered to consider it now. She almost wished she’d been under the influence, just for something to blame the rash decision on.

She tugged at the hems of her sleeves as she passed the man sitting on her floor again, and took up a spot at the head of her bed. He made no comment on her jammies. Good. She’d thwack him if he did.

As the movie opened up to the sound of sirens, Shilo shifted in place where she sat on the edge of the mattress, just close enough for her company to hand the bowl of popcorn up to her. She nibbled for a few minutes before shifting slightly again and stopping herself from patting the spot next to her. “Why don’t you sit up here?” she blurted anyway.

Drakken slouched, his legs kicked out and crossed at the ankle, arms folded over his chest. “Thank you, no,” he said stubbornly. “I’m good.”

Her eyebrows knit together at the blatant rebuff. Without pausing to think, she reached down to grab him by the hair at the top of his head, giving it a small tug as she crossly ordered, “Get your stupid ass off the floor.” At the first tingle, she snapped her hand away in time for sparks to glint at her fingertips. She wiped her hand on her shirt as if to erase the sensation.

Grunting, Drakken hefted himself up to slouch on the edge next to her, and he only sat straighter to accommodate the bowl relocated to his lap. Shilo migrated away to the corner, a pillow behind her and another to hug. As the new release rolled on, the unhappy blue man relaxed, inching backward until his feet were off the floor and his back was against the wall. He made headway on the popcorn, but she didn’t complain. She didn’t have much of an appetite at the moment anyway with arcs of blood spraying onscreen. Not that she could trust herself to reach for any popcorn with her hands still threatening to bloom with green embers.

In vain hope of resisting the siren call of the suppressant, she worked up the nerve to lean over and reach under her bed, fishing out the stylized glass water pipe. She cleared her throat, and just barely saw dark eyes flick her way past the massacre reflecting off his lenses. “You wanna break this in with me?” she quipped as nonchalantly as she could.

Drakken didn’t seem particularly alarmed or impressed by the paraphernalia she presented, but he’d seen it before. His only reply was a withering look.

Indulging anyway with or without him crossed her mind, but Shilo sheepishly tucked it back beneath the bed instead. “I’ll take that as a no,” she mumbled, and scoffed. “Pssh. You’re no fun.”

Drakken opened his mouth to argue, but a scream from the television cut him off. He didn’t look like he was enjoying the movie, but he’d yet to leave or suggest any other tape in her meager collection.

Sighing, Shilo relaxed into her bed and wriggled a bit to get comfortable, trying and failing to make the best of her limited space with her guest in the way. Uncomfortable or not, the weight of the day settled over her, weighing her eyelids down soon enough. Or maybe it was the fraction of a pill doing her in. She wondered if the supposed villain would be courteous enough turn off the TV and lock the door on his way out when the movie was over, but she didn’t let herself count on it.

After a while of watching the blurry shapes through her lashes, movement in the dark from the corner of her eye drew her sluggish attention.

She almost lifted her head to ask if he was leaving, but kept her silence as she watched him pull a square of paper from a back pocket. Her drowsiness slowly lifted as he unfolded the slip and frowned miserably. He chewed his lip and cast a fleeting glance her way, only to jump when she croaked, “What?”

He blinked back to the television, paper crumpled and hidden between his knees. “It’s nothing – ow!” he yelped when she drove her heel hard into his hip. “For fuck’s sake, Shego. It’s personal.”

“Whatever,” she mumbled, relaxing back into the pillow she hugged beneath her. Feigning acceptance or disinterest didn’t last long. Soon she was sitting up again, making a snappy grab for the wadded note he couldn’t hold out of reach in time.

He barked her alias again in annoyance as she scooted back to her corner to unfold the slip. She stuck a heel out again to keep him at a distance. “That is none of your business!” he spat at her.

“RSVP! You’re invited,” she began aloud with flair, and settled to mumbling along, one hand precariously lit to read the hand-written invitation on floral-print notepaper smelling of powder and flowers of a variety she couldn’t place. A polite invitation to thanksgiving dinner at Mrs. Lipsky’s home in Middleton, California, finished with a guilt-tripping dig, P.S. We miss you.

Her eyes glanced over the plus-one invitation once more before she arched an eyebrow at the purple-faced man resigned to sitting on the edge of the bed, gripping his head.

“Mrs. Lipsky? I didn’t know you were married—”

“That’s my mother,” he spat venomously.

Shilo almost winced, but instead she nodded. “Ah. That makes more sense, I guess. Um. Here.” She passed the invitation back. He snatched it and stuffed the crumpled paper back into a pocket, and she stared for a second too long before sitting back against the wall. “So. You gonna go?”

“No,” he grunted, barely audible. He’d gone back to clutching his head.

“Is the cooking that bad?” Shilo quipped in a meek attempt to make light of his disturbance.

Drakken’s nostrils flared and his glare bore down at her, and she had to take a wild guess he was deeply offended on his mother’s behalf. She made a mental note not to insult the woman she knew nothing about, or her cooking. He didn’t bite back at her for the comment though, and instead grumbled, “I can’t go.”

“Why not?” she pressed coolly. She relaxed back down on her side, pillows bundled under her.

“I haven’t seen Mother since—,” he groaned and deflated. By the light of a stormy night scene glowing from the television, he looked bluer than she’d ever seen him before.

“Since?”

He heaved a defeated sigh, and she barely heard him mumble, “Since before the incident.” A small gesture to himself sufficed. It shed a little light on why he was having such a bad day.

“Oh.” She quirked her mouth and shrank down a little. She had nothing to be guilty for. The chain of events wasn’t her fault. “How’d you get mixed up with Gemini anyway?” she blurted, and immediately considered that maybe she should have kept her lips zipped.

“I don’t want to dredge up – alright! Stop kicking me,” he groused, shoving her heel roughly away. “I suppose it all began in a Hellhole I bussed when I stole the game plan from one of his agents. And then after you – after I let you go.” He glowered and chewed on something bitter for a moment before spitting it out with some more frustrated gestures thrown in. “Right after. They tried to intercept but got me instead. I was interrogated, and he was about to off me himself until I pled for my life and offered my services and allegiance. It was not my proudest moment. Are you satisfied?”

She knew Gemini. She knew he could be cruel and merciless, holding little regard for human life. Drew Lipsky of four years ago must have shown promise, whatever he’d done to sway the head of the criminal spy organization. She tried to imagine her bumbling rogue doctor, still pasty-skinned and stinking of pickles, walking on eggshells around the leader of the pack. How he’d survived more than a day without being dropped down a chute to be fed to piranhas or crocodiles was a wonder. It had to be a sore spot.

A mousy little, “Sorry,” was the only thing Shilo could think to say.

“For what?” he grumped.

She shrugged halfheartedly. “For getting you mixed up with villainy?”

Suddenly the dismal man’s shoulders shook, but before she could suspect a sob, he threw his head back and a bitter chortle erupted from him. He was well on his way to maniacal laughter, and Shilo was taken aback as he laughed in the face of her sentiment. She wished she could take it back as he shot a nasty sneer over at her. For a fleeting moment, there was something sinister behind his eyes to remind her there may have very well been something to his self-proclaimed villain title after all.

“Sister, I was born twisted. You and Gemini were just the breakthrough I needed,” he stated with a growl like corrosive acid, maybe the same acid burning a hole through his soul. She’d like to believe he was more resilient than that – but that wouldn’t make him very evil, would it? That was what she was with him for, wasn’t it?

She felt rather foolish now for lying down so comfortably. For being comfortable in his presence at all. Too stubborn and jaded to let him know he was capable of worrying her though, she kept herself in check and maintained a deadpan stare on him until the darkness behind his eyes lightened up a little.

“Twisted, huh?” she jibbed with a small chuckle. “You seem like just a big softy to me.”

There was a hint of something genuine in the smile he cracked. “Oh, I’ve got skeletons,” he assured. “You should see my basement.”

She rolled her eyes at his misuse of the expression.

[split-n-splice]

"I'm weak on the whole dating thing. Seriously, that whole Drakken business didn't leave a lot of time for socializing." Gee! I wonder, why was she so quick to blame Drakken? ;D

Also, song in mind for Drakken is Thunderstruck...which will come back next chapter in a really corny way because I love bad puns apparently.

[Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3]

30. Aura of Others – 4

Angel boy greeted her with a handshake, which she declined. Her palms were sweaty but that wasn’t their worst offense. She kept them hidden behind her back, too struck by the spike of nerves stinging her palms that she almost didn’t catch his name. Thomas Thompson. His friends called him Tom, Tom Tom, or Tommy. She decided on Tom.

She forgot her own name, and her condition was worsened when she realized the rockhound was waiting for it in turn. Torn between spitting up an alias and her real name, she nearly blurted the wrong answer, barely managing to stutter out, “She— Shilo. It’s Shilo.”

Angel boy – Tom – let his outstretched hand fall. He gave a small awkward laugh and got the door, gesturing her in. “Hope you weren’t waiting long,” he apologized. It sounded strangely sincere. She almost believed it was.

Shilo took a deep breath and willed the heat away from her skin, wishing it could just stay locked away burning in the pit of her stomach. “Just a couple minutes,” she fibbed with a meek shrug. It had been more like twenty, but at least half of that was on her for showing up early.

She lingered at an awkward distance as she faced the cause of the hellfire threatening to burn her alive. Tom threw glances over his shoulder at her, flashing wavering smiles, until she was forced to face him head-on once seated at a table for two. Directly beside the stage, no less. She tried to find her voice and suggest elsewhere, but options were limited as the place was packed tonight.

She gathered the extra bustle was due to a portion of the town’s power grid going down due to the weather. Her part, by the sound of things. Something about a downed tree taking power poles with it. She was too caught up in eavesdropping on the table over and avoiding eye contact to immediately notice Tom was fishing for her attention until he fanned his menu at her.

Going rigid at the breeze, she snuck a glance at the aquamarine eyes sparkling at her. She barely heard him inquire on her age. She barely remembered what it even was with him looking at her – but the age he gave her in turn sent a strange swell of nerves mixing around in her stomach. He was twenty. Less than a year older than her – that was perfectly acceptable, perfectly normal, she assured herself inwardly. He only asked because he was curious if she drank. As Shilo’s eyes strayed across the establishment to locate a familiar mullet at the bar, she lied and said she didn’t. It was a poorly executed joke, as it turned out, and Tom ordered her a diet soft drink before she could order a coke for herself.

She tried to ignore the technical difficulties occurring on stage as she skimmed over the menu, and tried not to peek over the top of it toward Tom or the rogue doctor who’d resigned to slumping at the bar a ways behind him. She saw Drakken knock back at least two shots, and there was no telling how much he’d downed when she wasn’t looking.

Too unfocused to give the menu any real consideration, she ordered something she knew they had and she liked – chicken strips with a side of jojos. And a salad, she added under Tom’s studying stare. He’d been vegetarian for nine months, she learned. She couldn’t care less about his grilled eggplant.

Participants began taking the stage again. As each sang their number and moved along, she dreaded whoever might come next. She nibbled uneasily on her jojos, only half-listening to Tom’s criticisms of the wannabes. He boasted about being a soprano in choir. She’d heard Drakken sing at quite a high pitch too, and she wasn’t eager to hear Tom anytime soon – but unfortunately, Tom had other plans. He’d signed up and was patiently waiting his turn.

“You should try it,” he suggested. “It’s fun,” he promised.

She almost bought it. Wouldn’t that get under Drakken’s skin, to take the stage just because some angel boy urged her to? She had to shake her head. “I’ll pass,” she said. “I can’t sing.” According to the curious blue man now eyeballing her from the bar, that was a lie. She kept her head down, wishing she hadn’t worn her hair up so she could at least hide her flushed cheeks a little behind it.

Tom went on to make a meager attempt to egg her on but got a clue quick that it was futile. “Maybe next time we can try the bowling alley,” he said sheepishly.

Next time? She almost laughed but the incredulous noise that escaped her in its place was laced with nerves. “Y-yeah,” she stuttered. “Maybe. Where’s that at?”

Angel boy arched an eyebrow at her. “You’re kidding me?” he said, blinking incredulously at her. Shilo’s smile was strained. “Everyone knows about the bowling alley. It’s practically a historical building around here.” She really wasn’t thrilled to have ignorance rubbed in, but kept her mouth shut. The talkative boy wove his hands under his chin and leaned over the table toward her, a dazzling smile scorching through her. “You’re really not from around here, are you?”

“Is it my accent?” she guessed awkwardly. She wouldn’t even say she had one – but maybe a Nevadan local might notice she was from out of the area.

“No,” said Tom, lowering his voice. “You were on TV. You’re—,” he shut his mouth, eyes flicking around the crowded room. A wise move – now if only he’d shut up completely. Shilo sat rigid, none too eager to hear her alias from his mouth. He bit back a nervous chuckle and sat back, fighting off the grin. “I think it’s amazing what you do.”

Discerning what she was being praised for wasn’t exactly rocket science. Whether he was amazed by the heroic acts of her former life or the misdeeds she’d indulged in since arriving in this oasis town, she forced on a smile and turned her nervous eyes down to poke at her salad. “What gave it away?” she wondered uneasily, though she really didn’t want to continue the subject. Maybe he’d spell it out for her what aspect appealed to him – though she already had a pretty good idea which side of her some religious vegetarian with a stance against alcohol would fancy.

“Lucky guess,” he whispered above the ending wails of a karaoke participant, and Shilo decided trick-or-treating in uniform had definitely been a foolhardy thing to do. “Um…We shouldn’t talk about this here, huh?”

She narrowed her eyes on him, a little more hostile than she meant to be. “Take a guess,” she suggested. She cleared her throat then, trying with difficulty to reclaim some of the fluster that had dissipated. His charm was wearing off fast. “Um. I mean, yeah. I’ve, um. Come out west to take a break. Get some me-time in,” she fibbed. “It was pretty demanding work.”

“So you’ve given it up?”

Her eyes flicked up to the almost crestfallen young man. “Classified,” she said shortly and stuffed tasteless salad in her mouth. As he watched her, she realized that she really should have denied everything from the get-go.

She should have known better, but disappointment still got the best of her. So that was it. Thomas Thompson’s interest in her wasn’t in her – it was in a superheroine who went by a stage name. It had to be. A chill sank into her bones, smothering the inferno that had been straining to flare and flow freely until now. So what? So what if he liked some nonexistent supergirl? She was Shilo tonight and Shego wasn’t the superhuman she used to be, and she wasn’t going to go out of her way to clean up the town no matter what sad look he gave her. And if he dared to blow her cover, then she’d just have to find something even worse to do to him than steal some stupid valuable rocks.

Another thought crept over her, churning her stomach and obliterating her appetite completely. If he’d figured it out, some small-town nobody, who else had? The damn Team Go jet had been parked out on the front lawn all day, for crying out loud. It was a dead giveaway. It had even made local news! Hugo couldn’t learn the meaning of subtle if it was engraved on a brick and chucked at his head. How he ever went so long with a secret identity was a mystery.

“Nothing wrong with time away to find yourself,” said Tom eventually, sounding awfully disenchanted. Good. “Have you thought of finding—?”

“Thomas Thompson, if you say Jesus, I swear to God,” Shilo hissed, pointing a lettuce-laden fork at him. The young man looked taken aback. Remembering why she was wasting her time on this absurd date in the first place, she forced another smile and a small laugh. “I’m kidding. It was a joke.”

“Hah,” he said in lieu of a real laugh, still visibly unsettled. He shifted in his seat. “I’d still like to get to know you better. If that’s cool with you.”

Movement behind him caught her eye, and whatever he was spieling about movie tickets went in one ear and out the other now. She tried not to look straight at Drakken swaggering across the room, weaving between tables and nearly knocking into a busboy. Shilo realized he was heading for the stage – but first, the tipsy man took a few paces past the steps to make an odd gesture behind Thomas. Her eyes narrowed on the smirking rogue doctor fluttering his hands behind the angel boy like a pair of little wings.

His secret mocking didn’t help the warmth creeping back to the surface.

Tom turned to glance back and Shilo snapped her eyes back to her half-cleared plate. Drakken was already marching up onto the stage.

The screen to feed him the lines was snubbed with a haughty laugh and he cleared his throat, or maybe he was just choking on spit. She knew the boozy rogue doctor was going to go all out when he scooped up the microphone. He gave a thumbs up to whoever was in charge of the system, and the track started. Shilo leaned forward on her elbows and squeezed her eyes shut as the man on stage took the moment to exercise his vocal cords, rocking on his heels and nodding along as he fell into the rhythm before stomping to a thunderous rock beat , effectively earning attention of diners. It wasn’t as good as the original, and he’d had a bit too much to drink to perform at his best, but no one could say he wasn’t enthusiastic.

If her eyes were open, she would have rolled them at the blatant attention-seeking, but she was bound and determined not to give him the time of day.

“This guy,” huffed Tom. There was something less than holy in angel boy’s tone as the current drunk participant began wholeheartedly reciting verses by heart while Shilo’s stomach knotted up.

She risked cracking her eyes open, raising her brow at Tom. “You know him?” she wondered as the volume rose.

“No, it’s just!” Tom waved off toward the stage, though Drakken was all but jigging directly above them now. He spoke behind his hand then. “Every time he’s here, he totally hogs the mic.” She could picture that.

She tried not to glance toward the oxfords skittering nearby. “You come here often?”

Tom shrugged one shoulder in an ambiguous answer and sat back to sip his diet soda and watch the soloist rocking out. As Shilo was gauging him, his critical eyes turned curious and back on her, flicking upward and back. “Do you know this guy?”

“Nope,” she said with a pop, fidgeting with her straw to swirl the ice in her glass.

“He’s sure looking at you a lot.”

She didn’t need to look up to see for herself. She could feel it. Playing it off, she shook her ponytail from side to side. “What can I say? I’m hot stuff,” she quipped as cooly as possible.

Tom stared at her for a long moment before a genuine grin cracked across his face and a chortle broke out. “Is that because – because of—?” He held his hand up and wiggled his fingers as if to imitate her fire. Her face heated, and if the angelic moron wasn’t careful, he’d soon be treating burns. So he got the joke. It wasn’t that funny. He could quit giggling about it any time now.

He reined it in, wiping the smile off his face. “Why don’t we get out of here?” he suggested. “This guy’s creeping me out. He’s kind of a freak.”

While Dr. Drakken was rightfully off-putting, boozy and jamming out on stage mere feet away, thoroughly humiliating her, she still shook her head. She let the freak comment slide – this time. “We can leave after I see what you can do,” she said.

Drakken’s number ended. He put the microphone back on the stand and left the stage without making a scene. Some applause followed him, but if Shilo was being honest, he was a pretty far off his game tonight. It had to be the shots he’d been knocking back.

Once Drakken had disappeared, angel boy excused himself, eager to jump up and hurry across the restaurant to have a little chat with a young friend who seemed to be in charge of karaoke tonight.

Shilo jumped when a hand brushed her shoulder, whipping her head one way and then the other to face Drakken as he leaned down on her other side. “How’s the, uh, heh. Date? Going?” he chuckled, speech slurred and broken, leaning heavily against the table on one elbow. He pointed to her unfinished plate. “Are you going to eat that?”

She snatched the chicken strip he was eyeballing and stuffed it in his mouth. “Here. Choke on it, will you?” she hissed.

“Mmph—thank ya, ma’am.” He drug himself away from her, taking his musky tobacco and alcohol scents with him. “He ain’t got nothin’ on me, you know. You really should bail while you have the chance.” He gave an awkward wink that looked more like he was trying to blink an eyelash out of his eye.

She’d love to punch him, or at least shove his face away. She had to squeeze her untrustworthy hands between her knees instead. “Drakken—”

“I’m just saying,” he grumbled. “I’m sorry I don’t have earplugs for you.” He tossed the last bite of chicken in his mouth as he backed away and saluted her. “I’m out.”

“Good,” she spat after him. He’d embarrassed her enough. She didn’t need him going the extra mile to tempt her fire to the surface. She glared as he disappeared through the restaurant, and cast a nervous glance across toward Tom, who was still unaware “ the freak” had been all but draped over her seconds ago.

She shouldn’t have taken Drakken’s warning with a grain of salt. She should have questioned her decision to stay when Thomas had been boasting about being a soprano. The notes he hit could have hurt dog ears, and like his jokes, his number was poorly executed. The deity worship she could take, but if he sang any louder, glasses would be the next thing to start cracking, after his voice.

She had half a mind to dine and dash. She even grabbed her purse off the floor from between her ankles and began looking for an escape route. But Tom was right above her, watching her with a gaze more unnerving than Drakken’s, and sneaking out was sure to ruin any hope of a second date.

As she suffered through the insufferable performance, she weighed how badly she needed a straight-laced young man any father would approve of. Not that she needed her father’s approval. What she needed was for her brothers to turn a blind eye to Drakken and assume him gone from the picture.

“Do it for Drakken,” she mouthed to herself dryly as Thomas Thompson finished his indiscernible gospel spiel and received undue applause. She glanced toward the exit Drakken had departed from. She wished she could walk out that easy. He didn’t seem happy with her arrangement with Tom tonight, but big deal. He had nothing to worry about, as far as being shown up went. And it wasn’t just for his sake anyway. She was scoping out valuables. She closed her eyes and tried to replace the aquamarine eyes seared into her brain with a wealth of gems in any color but blue.

She’d endured the heat boiling below the surface this long. When Thomas kindly covered the bill and brought up movie tickets again, she smiled and nodded. A movie. How bad could that be?

As soon as he surmised it, she realized she didn’t want to find out. She would have expected some romantic comedy with religious undertones from the young man walking her out of Westinger Grill, but a sci-fi shouldn’t have been surprising either. Something about it twisted in her stomach though. Aliens and space travel didn’t set great with her on a regular day – not since Lady Fate anyway – but the description the overeager boy beside her gave sounded right up Drakken’s alley.

Leaving the juniper-lined walkway, she caught sight of the brown station wagon still sitting off in the dark parking lot, a window now down despite the chill, and a wispy cloud rising from it drawing her eye like a smoke signal.

“Actually, I should really head home,” she said suddenly, interrupting the boy she’d tuned out several seconds ago. “I have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Oh,” Tom uttered, stopping to stare at her. “I can give you a ride—?”

“Um. No thanks.” She tucked her hands behind her back and backed away quickly. “You’ll be late for that movie. It sounds like you’ve been looking forward to it for a while, so. I’d hate to make you miss it.”

Perched on his little white moped, Thomas scuffed his sneaker on the blacktop. “Can I get your number?” he inquired hopefully.

Her gut twisted. No, she wanted to say. She’d really rather not hand that out. Yet somehow, “You got a pen?” made it out of her mouth instead. His crystal eyes lit up, and he patted himself down to find a ballpoint in one of his pockets. How convenient.

She didn’t expect it to be handed to her. Her mouth was cotton, and her hands were instantly hot enough she could feel the plastic start to squish between her fingers. To make matters worse, Thomas offered his palm, utterly oblivious to the alien fire building beneath her skin. Her stomach lurched as she reached out with trembling fingers to hold his hand steady and scrawl the string of numbers across his palm.

“I can give you mine?” he offered when she passed the pen back.

“Not a good idea,” she blurted, wringing her hands behind her again and taking a quick step back once more. She didn’t need Drakken finding it that much easier, for one. Second, she didn’t need to burn ink into her skin for a temporary tattoo. She’d done that before by mistake.

“Okay…see you around, Shilo,” said Tom, offering her a warm smile. “Maybe next time I’ll get you up there with the mic. Or bowling. Or whatever.” He shrugged awkwardly and smiled again. “We’ll figure something out. Is next Friday good for—?”

“Can’t,” she said shortly. She combed her fingers through the ponytail flopped over her shoulder. “I mean I have – uhm. I’m busy Friday.” She didn’t know what she’d be busy with, but she’d figure something out.

She breathed easy again when Thomas Thompson gave an awkward goodbye and rode off. She hadn’t been keen to climb onto the back of a puttering moped anyway, let alone hold onto him. Not yet anyway. “Dodged that bullet,” she muttered to herself, relieved for now. She wondered if she could keep up the charade though. She’d probably have to ride the stupid little thing eventually, even if she couldn’t say she was eager to see the angel boy again. “Do it for Drakken,” she repeated silently to herself like a mantra as she retreated.

A weirdly off-tune and sluggish wolf-whistle acted as a summons, though not one she particularly appreciated.

With Tom out of sight, she was safe to storm up to the station wagon. Slumped behind the wheel in the dark was Drakken, a cigarette between his lips, cherry burning bright like a beacon.

“What is wrong with you?” she hissed at him, leaning in through the window. Her eyes darted down to the fidgeting in his lap, and she would have reeled if freezing weren’t her second instinct.

Drakken held the revolver he’d pulled on her weeks ago in Go City. He was idly popping out the cylinder, giving it a spin, and popping it back in. The chambers were empty. He seemed disappointed by that. She relaxed a little and held out her hand. He sighed and surrendered the firearm.

“Doc—”

“Don’t worry about it,” grumbled Drakken, cigarette bobbing as he spoke. “I’ll feel better after…I dunno. It’ll pass.” He shrugged miserably.

“You’re sure this isn’t about Tom?” she pressed skeptically. She really hoped not. If it was – he was being a huge baby for no reason. She’d have to address it eventually, but preferably not right now when she was at risk of burning up.

Drakken snorted. “That’s his name?”

“You’re one to talk, Drew,” she retorted.

He gave a withering sigh and answered her question, admitting, “Not at all, but it doesn’t help.”

“Then what is it?” Shego groused and plucked the half-spent cigarette from his lips to flick it out on the wet pavement and take a drag herself.

Drakken pouted at her, but shook his head and crossed his arms. “Let’s just say, my mother is not happy with me,” he grumbled.

“Your mama?” She was surprised until she recalled last night and the invitation to a family reunion for Thanksgiving from his mother. “What’s wrong. Is she disowning you?” Maybe she came off just a little too cold because the frightened look the glum man shot her burrowed through her skin to make her wince a little and regret the remark. Bitter resent for her own deadbeat mother was no reason to wish anyone else to be on bad terms with theirs.

“Don’t even kid like that!” Drakken blurted, looking on the verge of tears. “That’s – that’s – that’s evil, Shego. Low blow.” He pawed his eyes, and she passed the smoke back. Maybe he needed it more than her.

She tossed the revolver into the back and opened the door. “Move over, baby. I’m driving.”

“No,” he grunted, too stubborn to move his butt. “You don’t even know how to drive stick.”

“Shit,” she hissed under her breath. He had a point.

“Shego, please, there’s a restroom inside,” grumbled the man. Now wasn’t the best time for witticism, but the miserable man got a giggle out of his own immature quip nonetheless. She’d heard enough bad jokes tonight, but kept her complaint on his bathroom humor to herself and shoved him aside.

Shego climbed in, taking his warm place on the bench behind the wheel. “Guess it’s about time I learn, right?” she huffed. “Too drunk to mentor me?”

As she cast a glance across to him, he was already raising a bottle of something to his lips. She wondered if he’d stolen it from the bar. Thinking twice, he screwed the lid back down and lowered the bottle to the floorboard. “Uhm…”

“Of course you are,” she sighed.

Drakken objected to that statement and followed it up asking if she had a doggie bag. She sighed and forked it over, the boozy man happy to snack on greasy potato wedges and the remaining chicken strip.

Sitting quietly in the chill, she finished off his cigarette as he finished off her leftovers. Just as it had earlier, Drakken’s mood seemed to improve the longer she sat beside him, and he was humming almost happily as he licked his gloved fingers and finally wiped his hands on his jeans.

“Up for California?” he wondered, almost blithe.

Shego sighed. “With you drunk? Don’t think so. Besides, I’m tired. It’s been a crappy day. I wanna go veg out and crash, dude.”

“Can we at least push the car off a cliff first before you call it a night?”

Shego looked across at the hopeful blue man staring back at her. A small smile weaseled onto her lips, mirrored tenfold on his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[split-n-splice]

And now for a series of events following the previous fics Bad is Good and Good is Bad and The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie. Step back and give those a read&review if you haven't yet!

This fic explores the younger years with Drakken and Shego, from slice-of-life to the life-threatening, set before the meddling of any nosy redhead teen hero. Beginning with an introduction to villainy after forsaking heroism, and rolling with the punches with a splash of family ordeals, substance abuse, enemies, rivals, thrills, woes, baking, killer plants, little brats, jealousy, grudges, and trust.

More info in the end notes!

Chapters: ??? Word count: ???,??? Warnings: violence, language, and substance abuse in the forecast, scattered showers of fluff and a chance of lewd, guaranteed Drakgo!

[ Chapter Guide | FFn | Ao3 ]

1. Runaway or Abduction?

The turn of events didn’t feel real.

This time last Friday, Shilo had been mopping up the art project her three younger brothers had made of breakfast. Her herculean older brother had made up an excuse that he was running late, which she didn’t call him out on because he would have caused more messes than cleaned if he were to crowd her in the kitchen.

She could be doing it all again, or she could be loitering around her hometown, or she could be paying the private gym a visit at the island base of a superhero team she’d forsaken.

Had she stayed, she might not be feeling so wretched from medication withdrawals or side effects. In the same vein, abdominal pain could have been explained away as cramps related to the experimental drugs.

Numb and mute from the shellshock of it all, she stared out the tinted window at the blur in her daze and let a hand flutter lightly over her tender stomach, but she withdrew it quickly and grimaced in discomfort. She’d hurt herself with her own freakish superpower earlier, worse than any punch to the gut she’d ever received.

She didn’t want to think about what that meant for the skull that had been caught in the middle of it.

The fresh image of her huge brother’s body crumpling at her feet flashed behind her eyelids every time she shut them or so much as blinked. Whispers behind her back were a distraction, but they were unappreciated, and she shoved the grisly thought from the forefront of her mind long enough to shoot a glare back at the gossipers.

“…looking greener,” a henchman was muttering to Dr. Drakken, to which Dr. Drakken concurred in a grumble she didn’t quite catch. The runty subordinate clad in a red jumpsuit took notice of her frown, and sat back in sheepish silence under her glare.

The unkempt blue man behind the wheel let his scowl drift across to her then, and Shego didn’t like his eyes roaming her over so thoroughly. “Please don’t tell me you’re carsick,” he called over curtly.

They’d only left Go City behind half an hour ago, and it was far too soon for chitchat or remarks. She grunted in lieu of an answer before slumping against the window. She couldn’t honestly say she wasn’t feeling sick.

Her palms burned, but not in the way that was second nature to her. Just in case, she tucked her hands safely into her armpits. Having a list of warning signs memorized, she racked her brains for any serious withdrawal symptoms, but came up with nothing too explosive. She was just being paranoid, she decided. Paranoia was a withdrawal symptom too after all, wasn’t it?

The fear of combustion lingered as she tugged her sweater to let some air reach her clammy skin, the unbuttoned collar of her uniform beneath doing little to aid in cooling her down. A cracked window helped, but not much.

Straining to ignore the trapped heat rising beneath the layers she wore in addition to the worries plaguing her mind, she focused intently on watching the passing scenery. Flocks of birds, the blur of trees, fields, and small towns slid by uneventfully.

Inevitably, the growling stomachs and dreary huffs of the three moody henchmen behind her became hard to ignore. Her own stomach was starting to feel particularly hollow by now, but she prepared herself to ignore it too. Despite her stomach’s disagreement, her appetite was shot.

Ultimately it would be Dr. Drakken who would dictate when breakfast would be served, and no whimpered complaints from his crew would make it come any sooner. A stop at a Cow-n-Chow drive-thru was in order mere minutes before the noon menu change.

The blue boss took it upon himself to order for his cronies without consulting them. Shego remained slumped against the window, content with keeping her silence. She could give him a hard time later if she changed her mind, she decided. If he needed her talents that badly, he’d just have to comply.

Her mouth was watering anyway, but not in anticipation of food. She had to swallow back bile. The driver said something, some sort of inquiry, but it went in one ear and out the other as she fixated on little birds in the hedge, too busy steeling herself against the wooziness that came with the smell of sausage and egg wafting into the rig.

There was the snapping of fingers and she cast a peek at Dr. Drakken from the corner of her eye before realizing she was being addressed. “For future reference, I expect to be listened to when I speak,” he groused.

“Sorry, did you say something?” she deadpanned, blinking lazily over at him as she turned.

He grunted curtly and gestured to the menu board outside. “Choose something already, or I’ll pick something for—”

“I’m not hungry.”

The man scoffed in exasperation and shook his head. “How am I not surprised?” he mumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Despite her refusal, a bag of hot food was plopped in her lap a minute later. It wasn’t until the henchmen had already wolfed down their meals that she finally took a nibble of a hash brown she’d been allotted. It took the edge off the hunger pangs, but certainly not the nausea. She didn’t touch the muffin sandwich she’d been given. Keeping down the hash brown alone was tough enough, but it was decided she’d better eat while she had the chance.

She didn’t know how long they would be on the road. She never asked.

Come evening, the interstate had taken them across multiple state lines and she’d grown painfully bored of staring out the window at the ever-changing views and of listening to the latest twisted rendition of 99 Bottles of Beer on the Wall. Before another droning round of chants could recommence in the back, Shego commandeered the radio, finally shooting Dr. Drakken a hostile glare when he tried to stop her. His demand for quiet time went ignored.

The blue man groaned miserably as if she were subjecting him to torture as she scanned for an appealing station with the least static. It seemed everything was bound to get under his skin right now. “Put a sock in it,” she carped in reply to his noises of displeasure.

Done tweaking the radio, she idly investigated rest of the dashboard, switching on the air conditioner – it was a hot evening, and she’d never stopped burning up – and peeking in the empty ashtray in hopes of finding a cigarette butt to salvage. Curiosity drove her to poke around in the glovebox, maps and napkins hiding a few trivial items like a disposable camera, pocketknife, aspirin, pens, and a lighter.

The camera was quickly confiscated for flashing the man, which was to be expected. He was still blinking away the spots when he shook at it her, chiding her not to mess with his things. He threw the camera back in the glovebox and slammed it shut, only for her to pop it open again a second later to fish out the next item of interest.

He grunted his disapproval and grimaced, but otherwise kept his complaints to himself for the moment as Shego sat back to turn an old pocketknife over in her hands.

It looked like some novelty item a boy scout had dropped in a parking lot eons ago, and by some turn of events had found residence in Dr. Drakken’s glovebox with the rest of his junk. The aged handle had a dull finish and the metal was tarnished by rust, the blade’s hinge no exception. The edge was blunt, chipped, and bent.

Something flitting in the darkest reaches at the back of her mind eluded her efforts to call it forth into the light. Like a word on the tip of her tongue, she couldn’t put her finger on it. Her brow knitted together as she brushed her thumb back across the worn blade.

Dr. Drakken’s agitation got the better of him suddenly and he reached over to pluck it from her, grumbling, “Give me that. It’s not a toy.” He stuffed the dingy pocketknife into his pocket instead of tossing it in the compartment with the camera.

“It’s dull enough it might as well be,” Shego retorted, and kicked the glovebox shut herself as she threw her heels up on the dash. She expected the man to make another complaint as he watched her with narrowed eyes, but he kept his mouth shut.

She heaved a sigh and turned up the radio, sitting back to nod to the beat of any given song it had to offer.

As she listened, watching evening thunderheads build ahead, she couldn’t help picking out the occasional song she knew her brothers enjoyed. With nothing else to occupy herself, the drudgery of the trip was making her crack, and she caught herself humming and muttering along more as time drug on. She could only hold fast to her reservations for so long.

“You got a fast car. I want a ticket to anywhere. Maybe we make a deal,” she mouthed along idly, and her eyes stung with the unanticipated threat of tears. The memory of her dweeby brother Milo strumming along on their mother’s guitar filled her daydreams and made her chest ache.

Glaring at the console, she swallowed the lump in her throat and changed the station, but it was no better. Finding another was a lost cause when clear stations were few and far between.

She skewed her eyes shut, recalling videotaping Hugo just last year, standing before a foggy mirror in a towel with her hairbrush substituting for a microphone as he sang and danced with Cyndi Lauper playing over a boombox. She’d played hooky that day to catch him for blackmail. The home video was still hiding somewhere in their VHS library in the living room.

No matter what tunes came on, fond memories of her family came with them. There wasn’t a single hit on the air she hadn’t heard in their company.

As an electric guitar resounded over the speakers, Shego leaned back with a heavy sigh and mouthed, “Oh my god,” as she accepted the defeat. There was no way she was about to hit any high notes at a time like this, so she nodded along and mumbled to Welcome to the Jungle under her breath. She smirked to herself, thinking back to a time when her brothers had been too sheepish and uptight to admit to liking it.

Reciting the opening lines to herself, she turned up the volume and watched Dr. Drakken’s brow furrow in silent aggravation. Becoming a thorn in his side helped her forget about her brothers now. A devious smirk crossed her as nodding turned to rocking. She strummed the air playfully, but he was set on being a stick in the mud and refused to join in, so she threw a look back at the henchmen, taking notice of the youngest among them squirming just slightly with a knee bounce, a slight nod to the rhythm…

She’d found a new target.

Eyes on the henchman and nodding to him, she waited for a response as she tried to impishly coax out the young man’s playful side, but he only fidgeted with his hands as his face flushed red. She wasn’t sure if she was honestly flirting with the poor disciplined fellow or if she was doing it purely to push the driver’s buttons, gauging how much she could get away with.

She found out pretty quick – less than two minutes in, in fact – where the line was drawn when a particular sound slipped out while miming the suggestive utterance of the vocalist, aimed at Bobby or whatever his name was.

Dr. Drakken might have been busy watching the road, but he must have been keeping an eye on her antics too because he switched off the radio in the next instant and snapped his fingers with his glare fixed in the rearview mirror at the henchman directly behind him.

“Hey!” Shego objected in reflex, turning a sharp scowl at the grouchy blue man.

“Do you remember what I said last night?” Dr. Drakken asked suddenly. “About appropriate conduct?”

Her face heated. “Uhh,” was all she could utter. She found herself crossing her arms and frowning out at hay field, unhappy with reprimand and embarrassed to have last night’s near misconduct brought up.

Dr. Drakken made another of his weird grunts and rolled his eyes, shooting her an incredulous look. “I wish you could behave like a lady,” he said almost pleadingly. Shego couldn’t decide if it sounded more like a nice way of telling her to grow up or a request for modesty.

In any case, just for that, she slumped ungracefully and threw her feet back up on the dash. “Chill, geezer, I’m only playing,” she retorted.

His brow furrowed deeper at the comment and he flicked another frown her way. “I’m sorry, but I’d like my men focused on their tasks, not on getting a piece of ass from a coworker,” he bit back crudely. “And I know there’s someone back there with just that on his mind.”

Bobby or whoever shrank shamefully while the other two cocked their brows at him as if this were news to them.

Dr. Drakken flapped a hand dismissively. “They can cloud their heads on their own time,” he said with an air of distaste. “Same goes for you, but my men are off limits. Remind me to put that down in the contract.” He rubbed his temple with a pensive frown.

Shego raised her brow at him. Since when did wrong-doers abide by contracts? She didn’t question it aloud. Instead she snorted, “Wet blanket, much?”

He didn’t dignify it with a response.

After a minute of uncomfortable silence, she dropped her seat back a bit, a mischievous thought in mind as she leaned back. If messing with the boys was out, that left one man he hadn’t specified. She stretched her arms above her head and wrapped them around the headrest behind her, arching her back as she stretched and let a completely innocent sound slip from her lips a second time. The man beside her remained unfazed, though she felt a few roaming glances from those in the back, and she hastily realized with certainty that they weren’t the eyes she wanted checking her out after all.

A sense of shame set in quickly in the absence of interest in her puffed chest or the little wiggle of her hips. Heat bloomed over her face. What was she doing? She suddenly felt childish. In some small aggravating way, it was humbling to be reminded that she wasn’t as irresistible as she liked to believe. A little reassuring as well that the rogue doctor wasn’t some common pervert with the predictable shifty motives for spiriting a girl away.

The embarrassing display wasn’t worth it anyway. Her abdomen ached more than before, the throb reminding her of her treason. More than her ego was bruised.

Feeling dumb and frustrated, Shego didn’t wait for Dr. Drakken to decide when they’d earned radio time again. She pulled her go-bag from the floorboard, digging into the bottom of the backpack to find something to ease the silence. A walkman wasn’t exactly an essential, but she was glad she’d brought it along anyway. She pulled on her headphones and turned her eyes up to the sky.

Thunderheads were roiling overhead now, ugly and dark and turbulent, and looking much the same way her stomach felt. A bleak darkness had fallen with the downpour they were heading straight into now, which meant there would be even less to see.

She hadn’t heard the end of it from Dr. Drakken yet apparently, because when she dug into her bag again to find a pack of smokes he turned a challenging glare on her, which she glanced at and ignored. Popping a stick in her mouth and lighting it up with her own flame, she drew out the first drag and watched his eye twitch as she found yet another of his buttons to push.

Before she could react, he’d snatched the squashed pack of smokes from her hand and tossed them in the back, uncaring that it nearly struck one of the henchmen in the head.

Shego pushed her headphones back, shooting daggers over at the man. “Got a problem, dude?” she snapped.

“It’s impolite to smoke in the confined presence of non-smokers,” came his cold rational answer.

Slumping, Shego groaned loudly. “You have got to be kidding me. You’re all a bunch of pansies.”

“You can take a smoke break at the next gas station,” Dr. Drakken promised.

She groaned again in disdain, yet she took a last puff and smothered the cigarette in the unused ashtray without another word in complaint. It just wasn’t worth the effort. “Does anyone have any gum?” she asked instead.

The youngest henchman timidly pulled something from a pocket of his overalls and glanced to Dr. Drakken for a nod of approval before he handed Shego a stick. She was sure to make him regret it, abusing the small gesture by popping the gum as loud as she could for the sole purpose of grating the blue man’s nerves.

She had to be bored out of her mind if she was this dead set on harassing a guy who’d just bailed her out of her own personal hell and offered her a job with perks, but she decided he’d just have to excuse some misbehavior. It served him right anyway for shutting off the radio and spoiling any entertainment she might find on this damn trip.

At one point he had to push her back over to her seat as she was hovering too close for comfort, leaned too far over the center console to study the needle of the illuminated gas gauge creeping closer to E. Granted, she was also fishing for a reaction whilst smacking on gum.

One of the henchmen leaned forward then, and she heard him mutter to Dr. Drakken, “Are you sure you can take on a kid?” The comment stung, but blasting the henchman in the face would prove nothing.

Dr. Drakken rubbed at his temple. “It’s a phase,” he responded in a grumble, speaking about her as if she weren’t even there.

Shego passed up the smoke break offer at the gas station, just as hesitant to leave the rig as she’d been all day.

There did come a point amidst a break in the storm however when she finally willingly climbed out, taking advantage of the stretch break in the parking lot of a roadside coffeehouse on the way out of a small town they’d detoured through. She’d only been comfortable enough to leave the vehicle without fear of being ditched when the crew boss walked off to the order window, his men following eagerly like a line of ducklings.

She shouldn’t have reflexively turned down another offer for sustenance, and she was inwardly berating herself for it. After a minute of watching the crew dilly-dally and contemplate the selection, she gravitated toward them.

Cutting the line, she went straight to Dr. Drakken’s side at the window. She didn’t sugarcoat her demands. “Can I get an apple fritter?” she asked flatly, giving his sleeve a tug.

His eyes narrowed unjustly at the barista rather than the source of his agitation. “I don’t care what you buy,” he dismissed.

She snaked an arm around his elbow then. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

“You and I both know that’s a lie,” he dismissed, and Shego shifted her stance to lean against him and waited. After another moment of scowling at the menu as if in a tense standoff with it, he breathed loudly through his nose and looked over to her. “Nnng, fine. Whatever you want, I don’t care. Just get off of my foot.”

Obliging, Shego smirked, feeling quite pleased with herself. “Apple fritter and medium latte,” she chirped to the barista.

“And I’ll have a co—hot chocolate,” he stuttered. “And a scone…”

Shego was about to remark if he had a caffeine aversion too to go with his anti-smoking policy when snickers from the crew broke out, and she glanced over her shoulder instead. The muffled laughter didn’t go unnoticed by Dr. Drakken, because he shook her off his arm and whirled on them. “Is there a joke you’d like to share with the class, Lux?” he sneered at the larger man, arms crossed and fingers tapping.

The men clammed up and the middle guy – Lux – muttered sheepishly, “No, boss.”

Shego took in the sight – three cringing men dressed like janitors submitting to a guy no more threatening than themselves with his rumpled blue suit and disheveled mullet – and she wondered what Dr. Drakken had ever done to earn the respect. He could put on a fierce villain-worthy glare, but besides that, what could they have to fear other than being fired?

She probably should have taken their ducked heads as a warning sign, but she smirked up at her blue escort instead. “I’d like to know what was so funny,” she egged as he turned back to the window to pay.

He waved her off with a grunt. She took her half of the order from the barista as Dr. Drakken stalked off to scarf down his.

As she followed, one of the goons gave her a tiny tap on the shoulder, and she paused to shoot a look back at the youngest of the henchman.

“Cocoa moo,” he whispered behind his hand with a nod to Dr. Drakken, and she got the sense there was an inside joke she was missing.

The inside joke had infected her brain in the time it took her to cross the parking lot. She was sure she’d never heard the term before, yet it rang a bell, and the bell continued to toll as she leaned in through the passenger-side window.

The blue man was back behind the wheel, leaned against his own open window as he watched passing traffic and sipped his hot chocolate. Shego watched him and the lights flickering off the lenses of his glasses, and she chewed slow and pensive as the bell chimed away from the back of her head.

Shego finished her apple fritter before wondering aloud, “What’s cocoa moo?” Sure, she had a hunch, but hearing him say it might prove entertaining.

She smirked at the man’s tensing shoulders, but then he rolled his eyes and huffed. “Chocolate milk,” he answered flatly.

“And that gets your goat?” she scoffed, but the bell was ringing louder.

As she raised her latte to take another sip, the sleeve of her sweater slipped down, and the bruising of her restraints from this morning became hard to see past.

Shego didn’t hear his answer. Her heart was beginning to pound, and caffeine wasn’t to blame. The blood drained from her face like the tide before a tsunami. He said something louder to get her attention, something questioning, and her eyes darted up to his face.

She dropped her latte on the ground and was yanking open the door in the next instant, climbing in on her knees as she had last night to grab his face. He shouted in surprise this time, nearly spilling his hot cocoa when she grabbed him to snatch off his glasses.

“Excuse me!” he spat beneath her, offended, but she barely heard his protest as she stared at the ugly twisted scar curving beneath his left eye, the old stitch poorly healed over.

A long-forgotten fever dream rushed back to her.

“You!” was all she could sputter. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled and she leapt away when he grabbed for her sore wrists. She slammed the door to put something between them, hands flaring with a green blaze oozing between her fingers, a misfire leaving an ugly dent in the door.

From a distance now and ready to fire, to shoot to kill or whatever it took, she shouted, “Who are you!”

The blue man rubbed a cheek where her nails had left little indents. “Dr. Drakken,” he slowly enunciated, palms exposed in peace as he eyed her hazardous hands. “That hurts, you know,” he went on, not sounding too wounded. She could change that. “I introduced myself and gave you my card and everything – I thought you’d know my name by now. You’ve only been riding shotgun with me the past few days.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught the henchmen abandoning their orders as they took notice of the commotion. They weren’t charging in to Dr. Drakken’s defense yet – good – if they did – they’d regret it, if they lived.

Blood thundered in her ears. “That’s not what I mean!” she spat at the wide-eyed blue man. “Stop fucking with me. What is this? Some kind of revenge scheme? Where are you taking me?”

“Put those away, Shego,” he coaxed, gently gesturing with his hands for her to lower hers. He didn’t need to talk slowly to her like a damn mental patient. “We’re going back to my office—”

Henchmen sneaking up on her didn’t go unseen, and she took a leap away from them, jumping back toward Dr. Drakken and the SUV as he shouted at them to halt.

Her heart was hammering, chest heaving, her breaths coming in short erratic gasps. Panic was fire in her blood. She’d fought alone before – what was so she so afraid of now? Maybe it was the fact a man had just stepped out of one of her worst nightmares, and she’d been foolish enough to throw her life away for him – and now she was surrounded and hundreds of miles from help. But she had her fire this time, and combat training. She wasn’t helpless.

She whipped back around to the blue man. “You kidnapped me,” she accused, reeling.

“What are you going on about?” he nearly laughed. “You came with me on your own accord. Remember?”

“I remember how you got that scar,” she spat venomously. “I didn’t forget that.” Well, maybe she had a little – the memories of the worst days of her life were awfully dim. But now, it came back to her in broken bits and pieces – namely being smuggled out of a laboratory by a young doctor only to deliver gratitude in the form of a blade to the face in a blind panic. The whole ordeal had long been chalked up to a bad dream, and no one ever talked about it after that because there were more important things to worry about than how she’d come to be found in a rest stop hundreds of miles from the lab where she’d been sent have her newfound freak powers studied.

Shego swore she could feel the knife in her clutch, sticky with blood as it had been all those years ago, but there was only glowing plasma seeping from her fists now.

Dr. Drakken’s eyes went dark now as he touched his face again, and she was braced to blast his head off when he reached for the floorboard – but it wasn’t for a gun or anything harmful. Only his glasses, which he pushed back up onto his nose. He fixed a glare on the henchmen still looming behind her and gave them a wordless nod to send them off. When they’d retreated out of earshot, he leveled his dark stare on her.

“Shego, get in. I think we need to have a chat.”

She was hesitant to approach, but the man kept his hands in sight, placed on the wheel. She didn’t get in though. Only leaned through the window. “What do you want with me?” she asked lowly, hating how her voice shook as she crossed her arms to reign in the urge to blast him.

“We’ve been over this. Nothing’s changed,” he said evenly. “I’m not out to double-cross you—”

“That’s exactly what a double-crosser would say.” Her paranoia wouldn’t be brushed away so easy with smooth talk. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“Why do you think?” he said with a sick amusement in his snort. “I was only curious how long until you figured it out yourself. I didn’t mean anything by it. It took you a little while, but well done, Shego. Do you want a gold star with that?”

She remained impervious to the dry flattery. Her nails dug into her arms as she growled her displeasure and glowered harshly at him.

Dr. Drakken’s eyes flicked down to her hands, but then a toothy smile crossed his mug anyway. “Honestly, I should be thanking you,” he chuckled, turning to inspect gnarly scar in the rearview mirror. “Sure, it hurt like a son of a bitch, but it’s helped to pull my look together quite well. So, it was a fair trade.”

“Repaying you for busting me out by stabbing you in the face was a fair trade?” she scoffed skeptically.

He shrugged. “For starters, someone feared me for the first time in my life,” he said casually. “One might say you gave me a taste for it.”

Her skin crawled as she digested his statement. She wanted to blast him for the remark, but she recoiled instead, gripping the door as the jade glow began to bubble from her hands again. “Are you saying you get off on preying on helpless girls?” she hissed. “You molested—”

“Hey, now! I never laid a hand on you,” he shot vehemently, quick to snap back in defense. “Not in that way, anyway.”

“You were breathing in my face and touching me when I was unconscious,” she retorted with a hostile lilt. She wasn’t the only one raising her voice now. She didn’t remember everything – but she remembered that much. It was a long time ago. The details were sketchy.

Dr. Drakken flung his hands above the wheel in exasperation. “You sleep like the dead! I was afraid you were dead! You wouldn’t wake up. I was doing you a favor by taking off that damn electric collar. Ungrateful brat.”

Collar – she vaguely remembered a collar, but not so much how it came off. She tried to rekindle a rage. “I warned you they were coming and kept my mouth shut about you,” she defended. At least, she was pretty sure she did. “Don’t fuck with me, Dr. Drakken, because I’ll have you know—”

“Yes, yes,” he interrupted impatiently. “You’re far more potent and dangerous than before. I know this. That’s part of the appeal, frankly.”

Taken aback, her heating hands cooled and her brow smoothed just slightly. “If you know I’m a bigger threat, then why are you coming back for me now?” she uttered, bewildered.

The man shook his head in exasperation. He took his hands off the wheel, and she almost snarled at him to keep them where she could see them, but he only crossed his arms over his chest to slump back.

“I didn’t come to Go City for you,” said Dr. Drakken. “It just so happened that you caught my eye again. Only this time I think I’m ready for you. I’d still like to have your firepower on my side and you need somewhere to go. We both have something to offer the other here.” He gestured to the air between them, fixing her in his deep scowl. “What do you say? Do we still have a deal, Miss Go?”

She eyed him, weighing the risks and how trustworthy a villain could be. If he’d wanted revenge – well, he could have done something by now. He’d had opportunities but he hadn’t taken advantage of them. She didn’t rule out the possibility he was only biding his time to get her back to his lair, where most villains kept their contraptions that passed as torture devices.

Time would tell.

In the end, she decided she’d extended her trust in him this long. A little longer, a few more state lines, or however long it would take, wouldn’t hurt. She was a big girl and she had an innate means of defense. She could handle herself if this decision lead her into trouble.

“It’s Shego,” she reminded crossly.

Dr. Drakken hummed pleasantly in lieu of a laugh and turned the key in the ignition, signaling it was time to go. He’d won, and the bastard knew it.

Shego laid claim once more to the shotgun seat beside him.

 A/N:

So this chapter was amputated from the last fic, but then it took root and took off.

It's meant to be ups and downs in their younger years, because I really like the idea that they were friends (or more? ;3) before they toughened up and got serious, like they legitimately were the old married couple by the time show took place. LOL I have my reasons. Selfish selfish self-indulgent reasons, because this was never meant to see the light of day.

It's sort of a everything's-the-same-except-AU inspired by a few minor details in the show, although I'm trying not to go against anything that the show itself could disprove. I take info from interviews with a grain of salt.

[split-n-splice]

i’m too lazy to make a new header yet oh well

[Chapter Guide]

13. The Nature Of – 1

No arrangements had been made, so Dr. Drakken didn’t count on a visit over the weekend, much less hope for one. Not after the cold shoulder he’d given when he’d locked her out of his quarters while he stopped a bloody nose, and later grunting in wordless dismissal when she popped into his office to inform him she was borrowing Lux and his Beetle for burgers and a ride home.

She’d given him a fleeting opportunity to take her instead, jokily recommending a liquor store and movie rental, and like a fool he turned her down with a scoff that he was in no mood to abet in her underage drinking. His face was still sore from the wrench, and he didn’t need her finding a way to bruise his ego further.

He went to town that Friday evening anyway, long after dark, to do his shopping for fresh ingredients as the phantom voice of his mother insisted. A balanced meal for a change didn’t lift his spirits as long as he was slumped alone at the kitchen island though. His appetite was too far gone to finish his plate. The extra serving was wrapped up in foil, bound to be forgotten at the back of the fridge until he threw it out next week.

Given he’d braced himself to spend his weekend in his usual solitude, Drakken was in for a surprise Saturday morning. Whether it was a pleasant surprise was debatable.

Slumping out of his bedroom, bundled up in a soft navy blue robe, he paused on his way to the kitchen and snapped his head toward the living room instead. The television was on. He just barely recognized the blurry colors and shapes of Scamper and Bitey on mute. He never tuned into that channel, and he was certain he hadn’t left the TV on.

He blinked blearily to a figure clad in all black on his couch, fetched his glasses he’d forgotten on the kitchen counter last night, and crept over to take a better look.

It was Shego, of course, so not a total surprise. She was roughed up. Dirt on her cheeks and clothes, autumn leaves in her hair. One pant leg was rolled up to just below the knee, paper towels wrapped around a bloodied ankle which left a stain on the corduroy couch cushion he might never get out. A paper sack of cash and coins had been dumped out on his coffee table, some of it counted and stacked, but most of it in a loose pile and spilling onto the floor.

He had half a mind to shove her awake and demand answers.

He made coffee instead.

A few minutes later, he was given a start, as he hadn’t heard her get up. She brushed by behind him as she sidled into the kitchen, and popped up onto the counter nearby to put her dirty foot in the sink, hissing as she peeled away crusted paper towels that had dried to her ankle. From his spot by the stove, Drakken cast a wary glance back at her rinsing away dried blood and stuck tissue.

Watching her tend to the injury wasn’t conducive to making breakfast, and it sure didn’t help his appetite. It was the ingrained voice of his mother compelling him to cook at all, and if he didn’t have company, he likely would have skipped the most important meal of the day entirely.

He wanted to snap at her to take care of herself in the bathroom – he put eating utensils in that sink, for crying out loud – but she spoke before he could find the nerve to tell her off.

“Smells good,” she said blithely without looking back at him, as if she weren’t picking at scabs. “Whatcha cookin’?”

“Omelets.”

“Can I get extra cheese?”

“I didn’t say I was cooking any for you,” he bluffed, and flinched as cold water was flicked at his cheek, some of it sizzling in the pan. Cross-contamination crossed his mind and he grimaced, giving her a curt, “Fine,” in the hope she wouldn’t do it again.

“And extra mushroom.”

“Only if you tell me what you got up to last night.”

“I dunno. I got high,” she answered airily. Her tone was hard to read and he saw her shrug in his peripheral.

Drakken turned to her now to study her drying off with yet more paper towels, but, “High on what?” somehow took precedence over his uneasy curiosity of how severe the lacerations were even as his eyes darted down to her ankle. He could think of only one medical clinic in this town, and it wasn’t open on weekends. Otherwise, it was a forty-five minute drive to the nearest hospital if she needed stitches from a licensed professional.

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.

But he did. He even screened his henchmen every so often. Thoughts of the newspaper clippings came back to him, the nasty rumors of meth use and other dubious substances in particular. He narrowed his eyes at her. “If you don’t remember what you did last night, then I feel I should worry about it,” he retorted as he stepped over to inspect her ankle for himself. “It’s not going to get in the way of—?”

“Chill out, dude. It was just weed,” she swore irritably, and it was a wonder she didn’t kick him for grabbing her leg to take a look. He swore he caught a trace of the odor on her then, and crinkled his nose. She shot him a dirty look in return and yanked herself free. “It’s not a big deal.”

Whether she meant the lacerations or the dope, he wasn’t sure if he completely believed her. As he glowered at the sheepish girl slipping down from the counter beside him, favoring one foot, he had the sneaking suspicion what half of her too-high-to-remember claim had been a lie. “How did that happen anyway?”

“You really need to give me a key to the gate,” she grumbled.

“You tried climbing the fence, didn’t you?” he guessed, and took it as a yes when she quickly shoved away from the counter to keep her back to him while she got into the fridge. He shuddered to think of her getting snagged in the barbed wire topping the fence, but it didn’t explain the leaves in her hair or why she was barefoot with dirty feet. He sighed and unthinkingly picked out some debris from the snarls of hair as she set about slicing creminis, at least until she shot him a testy sidelong glance that reminded him to keep his hands to himself.

Shego came clean on her own as he went back to tending to the stove, though Drakken had the sense she wasn’t telling the whole truth. She regaled getting high with her new posse from the café, eager to explain how they’d dressed up in black, complete with balaclavas, and worked as a team to rob a convenience store. She only came away with a couple hundred dollars, but she was content with it, while her friends had been high enough to be content with armloads of snacks they’d looted. Following the heist, she’d lost her shoes in the dark and fell in the woods while avoiding the road. When Drakken tried to scold her for making trouble, she cut him off, quickly blaming him for putting the idea in her head in the first place and justifying the mischief by accusing the 24-Seven clerk of being a creep and a pig. Then she chastised him for not being there for her when she needed a getaway driver.

The account didn’t ease his worries much.

Nonetheless, Drakken fetched her the first-aid kit from his bathroom after breakfast and left her to tend to herself properly and crash on his couch again as he started his day in the tech lab.

Just having her asleep a room away on his couch was enough to ease the loneliness somehow. It was better when she woke up and migrated to the chair behind him as he worked.

It was a shame it only lasted for the day.

Setting her up outside the lair was feeling like a mistake, Drakken decided as he took her home that evening. He reminded himself like a mantra that it was for the best. He had to protect himself, although chaperoning her so often was bound to be counterproductive. Her do-gooder superhuman family was bound to show up sooner or later, and it was best he kept them as far as possible. Which meant her too, as much as he was coming to hate the very thought.

When it came time to drop her off in front of the apartments, she offhandedly promised to see him Monday, but Drakken involuntarily let yesterday’s soreness show in his tone as he asked if she’d be waiting for him behind Buckley’s. He knew he’d made a mistake when she narrowed her eyes at him before giving an ambiguous shrug and jumping out.

Keeping her at a distance may have been his idea – but all reason and logic aside, he was certainly regretting it as he was left by his lonesome once again. He had to pull off a glove to be sure he hadn’t turned a shade bluer.

Technically, he did see her Monday – just not at the usual meeting place. She was already walking down the sidewalk a block away from Buckley’s Brew, walking a happy-go-lucky brown dog all but dragging her along and chatting with a scrappy young fellow with bad teeth and patchy stubble. Drakken tried coasting slowly as he passed, but the civilian Shilo shot him a dirty look and a rude hand gesture. Grudgingly, he took the hint to bug off. She didn’t turn up later, much to his disappointment.

The next day, he debated even bothering to make the trip to pick her up, as per their agreement. But he was glad he did, because she was waiting for him this time. She was with one of her café girlfriends again. It was decidedly a better sight than yesterday’s, and he was rewarded for his effort this time when she climbed in, though she didn’t bother to put out her cigarette this time, choosing instead to wryly hold it out his way as if to offer him a drag. He glared and shoved her outstretched arm back to the passenger side.

Back at the lair, she performed the task she was given of honing his henchmen’s skills and keeping them sharp, although not very professionally today. Drakken was working on plans in his office when he glanced up to the CCTV across the room for the umpteenth time, spotting a commotion on the screen dedicated to the gym. He was surprised it took her this long to give one of the new henchmen a black eye and a knee to the groin.

Before he could consider going to the gym to break it up, the video feed informed him she was already making a hasty departure. So he sat back down and scooted up to his desk to resume working on the blueprint for his latest pet project – or at least pretending to do so. His feigned focus didn’t last long.

Drakken didn’t hear her enter, but remaining oblivious to Shego’s presence beside him was impossible when she grabbed him by the arm and hoisted him out of his seat at the risk of stretching his sleeve.

“Come on. I wanna get out of here,” she said coldly as she all but drug him from his office.

It didn’t sound like he had a say in the matter. He pried her fingers from his arm to give himself a little more dignity as he strode along behind her. “Did something happen?” he pressed, throwing a glance back down the stairwell. Reviewing security footage for misbehavior wasn’t an option right now.

“No,” Shego scoffed. “I’ve just got somewhere to be.”

“But—”

It came out whinier than he’d meant, and she shot him a glare over her shoulder, interrupting, “But what?”

Drakken cleared his throat and slipped around her to the step above. “It’s not time for you to go,” he said, straining to keep his voice level.

Shego offered a mere shrug as she pushed him aside to pass. “The boys and I came to an agreement to take a break for a few days,” she explained. “They’re sore, and I’ve got better things to do than spend my afternoons beating them up.”

“Like what?” slipped out in a scoff.

“Like hanging out my friends in the park and being a hoodlum,” she offered as if it was the obvious answer. “You never want to do anything fun, Doc. It’s boring here. Call me when you’ve actually got something for me to do.”

Recoiling from the sharp sting of her words, Drakken shied back as she finished her ascent up the stairs ahead of him. He wasn’t boring – he was blue for Pete’s sake – and – and he squeezed his eyes shut, recalling the amount of time she spent idle and lounging around. He supposed he really hadn’t given her much fulfillment lately.

Treading slowly after her, he scratched the nape of his neck with a frown as he considered viable avenues to appease her.

Shego was quiet on the ride into town, and he himself was a little too sore and deep in thought to be much for conversation either. An autumn thunderstorm loomed, owing to the thick humidity, which didn’t make the silence any less suffocating. As the first raindrops hit the windshield, Drakken was momentarily glad he hadn’t been so cross as to tell her to walk, though he was still inclined to give her a cold shoulder for the earlier insult.

He doubted the cold shoulder was all that effective though when he was the one feeling snubbed and chilled.

When the civilian Shilo finally piped up, waving a hand out toward him to signal him, it was to tell him to stop the van – and then she was shouldering her go-bag and hopping out, something down the street ultimately more important than a courteous goodbye or thank you for the ride. As the door slammed behind her, thunder cracked with a dazzling flicker of light, and Drakken had half a mind to order her to get back in the van as he blinked away the spots.

It was just his luck she was jogging down a one-way street in a direction he couldn’t follow. He idled a moment too long, watching her go, and the honk of a horn behind him alerted him he was holding up traffic. He just barely caught a last glimpse of her ducking into an alley as he drove on.

Back at the lair, he got back to business, a new determination fueled by her insult urging him to work overtime. He impatiently ordered his scant crew of henchmen to do the same, visiting the workshop in the basement himself to hand over documents detailing precisely the parts he needed to complete an order.

The behemoth Lars overseeing the shop was none too impressed by Drakken’s deadline. He turned away with a howl of laughter that reverberated through the room and gave him a dismissive answer, “You’ll get ‘em when you get ‘em.”

As the head honcho, it wasn’t the treatment he was used to. He left with his face hot and hands balled into fists, and with the creeping suspicion that his closest subordinate’s presence of late had been gradually undermining his own authority worse than he could have anticipated. It was high time he quit letting her push him around and regain some control around the place. Keeping her at a distance was all-around for the better.

Regardless of whatever pep talk he gave himself as he straightened his spine and squared his shoulders to assume a respectable posture, he still found himself out of the lair first thing the next morning. He’d thought it through. It had been hard to sleep with the storm outside raging, the thunderclaps heard all the way in his bedroom in the lair. The resonating booms had echoed through the ventilation system all night, a good portion of which he’d spent in the lab plucking away at the latest ridiculous order that ought to earn him a small fortune.

Though the thunder had moved on, the rain illuminated in his headlights came down in sheets, quenching the parched landscape. By the flow of water on the road, washing away mud and debris, Drakken didn’t doubt the flashflood warnings broadcast on the radio. He was surprised the ceiling back at the lair hadn’t begun to drip yet, and could only cross his fingers for another year that the architect’s guarantee was worth anything. He hoped to be out of the hole soon, and idly contemplated the sort of lair he might invest in next. He wasn’t much of a beachgoer, but an island in the tropics sounded awful nice about now.

It was still dark out – especially dark given the unyielding cloud cover – which made the single front window of Shego’s studio apartment in the upper right corner easy to spot despite the distortion of the rain streaming down his windows. The light was on, which he hoped meant she was home and awake.

He weighed the options of waiting for her and going up to fetch her. He supposed he should have called, but if she had phone service yet, she’d yet to give him her number, he realized.

A minute later, he was ringing her doorbell. He really hadn’t thought it through. He’d taken a leap out of the van and made a mad dash through the driving rain, soaked through by the time he reached the staircase. The breezeway roof above offered no protection from the rain blowing in sideways, and for a second he was relieved his accomplice answered the door so quickly.

She was buttoning up a clear plastic raincoat, uttering, “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” when she suddenly leapt back and stared at him as if she’d seen a ghost. “What are you doing here?”

What was he doing here? He stood staring at her slack-jawed for a moment too long, a cold gust of rain striking his back making him jump forward. Civilian Shilo stepped aside to let him take shelter in her doorway, but waited for an answer. He cleared his throat to kick-start intelligent thought again. “I thought I’d give you a ride to Jackass – I mean, to Buckley’s,” he said, and tacked on the excuse, “I was in town anyway for, uhm. Some parts.”

“That’s…nice,” she said warily, and flipped up her hood. She peeked past him into the dreary morning. “But I already have a ride, so…”

Drakken glanced back. The only vehicle in sight was his old white cargo van. “Really? Because I don’t see it.”

“Well, yeah. He’s not supposed be here for another five—”

Suddenly he was very cold, and sodden clothes weren’t to blame. “He?” slipped from his mouth before he could think to respectfully excuse himself for impeding. “Who’s he?”

“My getaway driver,” she answered curtly with a roll of her eyes. Her hand clasped around his wrist then, and he was being towed back out into the rain.

“I thought I was your getaway driver?” he uttered stupidly as she turned to lock the door.

“Only when you need me to be your errand girl,” she reminded with a note of resent, voice rising above the clamor of the heavy rainfall.

“Oh.” Drakken blinked at the blurry shape of the girl in the clear slicker ahead of him as she let go of his wrist so they could both safely descend the slick staircase. He couldn’t accurately recall the number of times she’d tried coercing him out to do something, particularly activities that could get them into trouble. The image of her lying across his couch last weekend came to mind, her ankle torn up but the thrill involved in obtaining the meager sack of cash evidently worth it.

Whoever this getaway driver of hers was, it was evident to Drakken he’d need to step up his game if he wanted to compete.

He couldn’t shut down the anxious tumult at the thought any easier than he could the stir of warmth nearly blotting out the cold rain chilling him to the bone as he watched her take shotgun of his van. He told himself hypothermia was to blame for the odd sensation, but his companion negated the thought just as quickly.

As he climbed in behind the wheel, she plucked the glasses from his face and wiped them dry with a rag from the console before he could fuss with his own impaired vision himself. He thought his, “Thank you,” came off as polite and genuine, but he might as well have insulted her by the way she crossed her arms and huffed.

It could still be hypothermia, he decided with a nod to himself.

Before turning a corner ahead, he couldn’t help noticing a pair of headlights stop where he’d been parked moments ago. He cast a glance to Shego – she was watching the side mirror, her mouth quirked into a wry smile, and he swallowed bile and kept his mouth shut to keep curiosity to himself. Even if he did feel entitled to know what game she was playing with him.

“Shall I pick you up today?” he wondered as he pulled up to the curb in front of the corner shop café. The windows of Buckley’s Brew were already lit up as the large baker and a couple of girls moved about inside, setting up shop.

Shego hummed, but then she shook her head dismissively. “Not unless—”

“Unless I have a job for you,” he predicted, and gave a nod. “Roger that.”

“I will literally take anything,” she practically groaned. “Even sneaking into a movie or spray-painting the welcome sign into town.”

“That’s too juvenile,” Drakken whined back at her. “It’s not even that evil—”

“Fine!” she said, throwing her hands up. “Be a stick in the mud.”

“I’ll have something for you!” he blurted out just as she popped her door open. She glanced back at him with a raised eyebrow, and it took all his resolve at that moment not to shrink back under the weight of her inquiring stare. “I’ll have it finished – you’ll – look, you’ll just have to wait, okay? That whole downsizing thing really set me back. So just be patient, Shego.”

She stared for another moment as if sizing him up before giving an indignant huff. “Well, you know where to find me. I’ll be waiting.” 

[yourdevilwolf-blog]

Hexes and Fangs

“It has ta leave, Etta...” 

Violet orbs snapped up at the troll mid-wife, lips curled over snarled fangs as he began to hiss and spit; how dare this woman? 

He had invited her to assist in the birth, to bring the souls of his Papa’s ancestors closer to him and his baby boy as he brought him into the world. 

How dare she? 

Ether saw the way the Shaman moved around Zael, that look that he himself had received from others so many times for his cultural differences, or his dress, or even simply the way he acted; that look of pure disgust.

The hexxer understood: To the Shaman, Zaelius was unnatural. 

But her mouth could be kept silent on such manners in the event of his birthing a son, and Ether had no time, nor patience at this moment to deal with such insolence and bigotry.  To say he was in a fair amount of pain, was a minor assumption, and his temper was never too docile to begin with. 

As much as Ol’ Ra’jin had taught him to respect his elders: he was willing to make an exception to his Papa’s teachings this one time. Silently he wondered if this old female troll knew how lucky she was, considering the man he considered his GUARDIAN, BROTHER, AND BEST FRIEND was holding one of his hands, while his husband had the other - rendering them both restricted. If they hadn’t been holding on to him, there was no telling what the hexxer would have done...pregnant or not. 

“Shut your mouth, OLD GOAT. ETHER WILL COME OVER THERE AND STRANGLE THAT WRINKLED NECK OF YOURS IF YOU DON’T LEAVE HIS ZAEL ALONE!” 

Fox tried to stifle a chuckle, golden eyes following the hexxer’s errant movements, still squirming and wiggling in bed despite the fact he was having severe contractions. Zael and Dey both knew well enough; Ether wasn’t kidding. 

“Z-Zael, d-don’t listen....stupid old thing, she not understand you...” 

A warm smile spread across the man’s alabaster pale features, and he nodded in agreement with his tiny friend, but silently he appreciated Ether’s words. Never had he expected a family; let alone one that would accept him. Now not only did he have guardianship over this tiny brother of his, but a wife and Boss he considered just as much family as the rest. 

Fox gave Ether’s little hand a tight reassuring squeeze, the dancer’s eyes seemed a bit fearful that the old Shaman might drive Zael away, but he wouldn’t leave Ether’s side over the opinion of a backwards old troll, and he’d honestly like to see her try to remove him herself.

“I’m not going anywhere Ether, Dey and I are here....we aren’t going anywhere.” 

As if on cue, the hexxer turned his worried, and quiet pained expression to his husband, blonde hair matted to his forehead as it poured with sweat. 

“D-Dey..” 

The cry was more of a whimper, and Zaelius knew the pain was worsening, despite Ether’s exceptionally high pain tolerance in most regards. He inclined his head to carefully watch the exchange between husband’s and took note of how Dey’s expression changed to match Ether’s; to console him even though he too must be worried out of his mind. 

“It will be alright, little love...Dey isn’t going anywhere. I’m right here, we are right here...just hold onto my hand, baby. I know, but try not to hex the mid-wife until she’s done with her duties, please? For Dey?” 

Ether nodded in response as best he could, blonde lashes half closed in a deep wince, his breath hitching up and down, and Fox could hear the small man gritting his fangs against each other.

“W-Well...Ether would not want to hex old cow if she was not so stupid, Dey. Why so...s-stupid..?” 

Dey responded easily to Ether, smoothly as a trained Ether handling professional would, and it took everything Zael had not to laugh at the pair.

“I know, Ether. I’m really not sure, baby. Don’t worry, we’ll get another mid-wife next time...”

“Next time??” Ether’s panicked answer came, “WHAT NEXT TIME? ETHER NOT DO THIS AGAIN, DEY!! NO, NO!! DEY CARRY NEXT TIME!! ETHER NOT DOING IT!” 

A giggle came from the priestess, Dess, who had come to assist in the pregnancy, as she had Sol’s and Shin’s before, and he was sure that the white haired woman was glad her face could not be seen from it’s place behind the woman’s hood. Dey’s smile was patient and understanding, but Fox could tell his husband’s antics amused him, it was in the curve of his lips that he reserved only for Ether. 

“Alright, Ether...please...I need you to calm down.” 

There was a sudden jingling of jewelry, tribal in fashion and heavy with silver and organic gemstones, as Ether’s head hit the back of the pillow with a loud grunt. He had refused to take off any of his necklaces, earrings, or other such embellishments, citing that the “Loa” was imbued with each one; made for easy child birth. Well, that didn’t seem to be helping him much as he continued to groan, and Zaelius could make out a spec of fear in Dey’s eyes as they caught the light.

“CALM DOWN? ETHER IS CALM! BESIDES! HOW DOES ONE REMAIN CALM WHEN EVIL DEMON CHILD IS BANGING TINY EVIL FOOT AGAINST ETHER’S PELVIS?? OW, OW, OW!! THIS IS ALL DEY’S FAULT! ETHER IS GOING TO BITE SOOOO HARD IN MORNING!!..” 

Again, his Boss handled everything in stride.

“I know, little love.” He saw Dey clench Ether’s hand a little harder, “You can bite your Dey as hard as you want, I promise. I will let you. Just...Just a little longer, my husband..” 

Ether began to kick his feet, which earned a worried look from the priestess as she turned her gaze to Zael, as if to wordlessly ask him for assistance. Fox leaned his body forward, not letting go of Ether’s hand while catching his feet in his free hand, gods only knew it was only manageable with trained and certified hexxer practice, and from the glare he got from the tiny one now he silently hoped he still had all his hair in the morning....

Shilo...

As he had been told was to be the name of the soon born child...

“You are going to have one HELL of an upbringing boy..” 

((TBC))