The Stone Sett

My Yuletide letter

2009-11-12T03:25:56Z

Dear Yulegoat,

First of all, thank you for taking part in this! This is my first year participating in Yuletide, but I've had my eye on it for a while now and I love the concept, the resultant fics, and the attitudes of the participants. I hope that you enjoy writing for me as much as I will doubtless enjoy reading your story, and I hope that the one you recieve from your Goat is just as awesome.

In talking about some of the things I do and don't adore in fanfic, I'd like to start with a quick note about what my requests all have in common: I am all about character relationships -- not just romantic ones, but all degrees of friendly, familial, and working feeling. All four of my requests are for two (or three) characters who don't get used together as often as I wish they were in canon or in fic. I want to see them play off each other in the absence of the other characters who usually serve as a buffer between them. Most of them are combinations that I 'ship, but don't feel pressured to write a 'shippy story if it doesn't strike your fancy to do so. I love gen just as much, especially about these characters. The one exception is my Middleman request, where two of the characters involved have a canon romance; I'd like to see that at least acknowledged although you don't have to make it the focus.

Generally, I like stories with a sense of humor. The banter and sense of fun inherent in each of the canons I listed is a big reason why I love each of them, and I'd love to see that come across in a fic. Introspection is always enjoyable, slice-of-life is great, action is fun, stories designed to read like an episode aren't something I seek out on my own, but I'd happily read one. I think the ideal length for a fic is however long it needs to be to tell the story; I'll be equally happy with a short as with an epic.

COMPLETELY ABSURD REQUEST THAT I DO NOT EXPECT YOU TO FILL BUT IT NEVER HURTS TO ASK: I'm a needle-toting fiber addict. If there is a reasonable way to incorporate knitting into your story, that would be amazing.

I don't like porn. Feel free to consider this bizarre, but please consider it. And while I like non-canon pairings and am aware that taking a 'shippy route would break up a canon couple in some of these requests, I really hate when that's done by vilifying either party's canon partner. I love everyone in these shows; none of them deserve that. I'm not a fan of AU fic; I'd prefer that the setting and premise stay close to canon. I also don't like character death, and would rather not have anything tragic or angsty. (Once again, the Middleman request is an exception since the death and tragedy are canon, although you certainly don't have to focus on the actual "death and tragedy" part if you don't want to.)

I've relisted my prompts below, for convenience's sake.

Fandom: Burn Notice
Characters: Fiona Glenanne/Sam Axe
Details: I would love to see something lighthearted involving the snarky, banter-y, love/hate relationship between these two. Arguing in the car during a stakeout, doing a job together with or without Michael, dancing around each other after a one-night stand, whatever strikes your fancy. 'Shippy would be awesome (though I'd rather not have porn), but I'd be equally happy with friendship/strictly business as well.

Fandom: Chuck
Characters: John Casey/Sarah Walker
Details: I just really want to see these two working together as a team, whether it's on an actual mission or just during their downtime. I'd love an acknowledgment of the professional respect they have for each other even when their personalities are conflicting, some friendly banter would be great, and I wouldn't say no to a little sexual tension, either.

Fandom: Leverage (tv)
Characters: Eliot Spencer/Parker
Details: I'd love to see an exchange of knowledge between these two, Eliot teaching Parker to fight and/or Parker teaching Eliot a few of her little tricks. I like these two for the "older brother/crazy little sister" vibe I get from them, and I'd like to see that in a fic, but if a 'shippy version strikes you I'd certainly be interested in how that plays out.

Fandom: The Middleman (tv)
Characters: Raveena Rao/Roxy Wasserman/The Middleman
Details: What I'd really love to see here is something about the Middleman's early years, based on what we know from the thirteenth episode graphic novel/table read. Something about his life with Raveena, maybe even something about coping with her deterioration and death. I'd also love to see Roxy interacting with the Middleman during his apprenticeship.

Thank you for reading, thank you for writing, and may your days be merry and bright.

Fic: Minutes and Years

2009-11-04T07:38:21Z

My contribution to 1sentence, no prizes for guessing that it's Drakken/Shego. Non-chronological.

Title: Minutes and Years
Fandom: Kim Possible
Rating: PGish, maybe slightly higher for mild suggestiveness
Spoilers: None, really.
Summary: It's all about the bits and pieces.

#01 – Motion

One of the things Shego loves about her job is that Drakken never stands still; it’s a long time before she realizes that half of the time it’s because she’s pulling him along.

#02 – Cool

She strides into the lair on her first day, all sleek grace and smooth confidence, and suddenly he’s back in high school, praying for the cool girls to look his way just once.

#03 – Young

The age difference that had Drakken so worried when he first fell in love with her doesn’t seem to enter into Shego’s thinking; the way she treats him like one of her young men would be flattering if it weren’t so exhausting.

#04 – Last

The conversation about their respective dating histories keeps circling too close to the one relationship Drakken will never tell anyone about, until he finally stuns Shego into silence by asking why she’s so concerned about his first love when all that really matters is that he wants her to be his last.

#05 – Wrong

He shouts, he argues, he bargains, and he cajoles, but it takes giving up his stupid pride before he figures out what he needs to say (and what she needs to hear): “Please come back, Shego; it doesn’t feel right doing this without you.”

#06 – Gentle

It feels just plain wrong to describe anything Shego has ever done as ‘gentle,’ but on the night when she sits beside his bed for hours, talking softly and stroking his forehead until the fever breaks, no other word feels right.

#07 – One

There have been a lot of villains she’s worked for in the past, but as far as she’s concerned he’s the only one who’s ever had the right to call himself her boss.

#08 – Thousand

At one point he gets it into his head to tally up how many arguments they have in one week; he loses count on Tuesday afternoon around the same time she finds out about it and starts quibbling over his definition of ‘argument.’

#09 – King

It’s a cynical thought even for her, but sometimes Shego turns off the news in disgust and reflects that one good reason to help Drakken take over the world is because he can’t possibly screw it up any more than the guys who are already running it.

#10 – Learn
She gets in the habit of touching him whenever she can, cupping his chin or toying with his hands or running a finger down his ribcage; when he reacts with confusion she simply shrugs and says that she’s still learning him.

#11 – Blur

There was a kiss that left him reeling, a whispered suggestion, a mad race to the bed, and past that Drakken’s memory of last night begins to run together in a pleasant blur; the look on Shego’s face this morning tells him that he’s going to enjoy sifting through the details.

#12 – Wait

He waits for her to make the first move because he’s afraid of pissing her off; she waits for him to make the first move because she’s afraid of scaring him off.

#13 – Change

Drakken expects a certain period of adjustment now that there’s a woman around the lair, but it’s really not all bad; the bottleneck in the laundry room and Shego’s sharp comments when he lets the dishes pile up on a busy day are a fair price for having someone around who’s willing to do half the cleaning and – on rare occasions when she’s bored and desperate – actually talk to him during some of his late-night ‘puttering around’ sessions.

#14 – Command

Their chain of command is so ingrained – he gives the orders, she decides whether or not she wants to follow them – that when she starts deferring to him in regards to their public appearances (“I’ve already done the ‘celebrity hero’ thing; this one’s your turn”) he’s really not sure how to handle it.

#15 – Hold

It’s months of friendly movie nights and hours spent together on her couch before he’s bold enough to reach over and rest his hand lightly on hers; she pulls away (as he expects) but only long enough to reposition her arm so she can twine her fingers through his more securely.

#16 – Need

He hires the strange, caustic young woman because she’s competent and clever – and, okay, in some small part because she’s stunning – and because there’s something behind that proud bearing that tells him she needs this job just as much as he needs her to take it.

#17 – Vision

Drakken glowers at her over the neat wire frames of his new reading glasses, and Shego realizes that if he hadn’t fixed his original vision problems before they met, it would have taken her a lot less time to figure out that she was attracted to him.

#18 – Attention

The day she realizes that the thing he wants most is for someone to listen to him is also the day she realizes that the easiest way to drive him nuts is to pretend not to.

#19 – Soul

It’s a cruel and terrifying thought for a woman in her profession to have, but Shego sometimes suspects that somewhere, deep, deep down, Drakken has a truly good and noble soul…and that the part of her that fell in love with him first is the part that misses when she used to have one, too.

#20 – Picture

Drakken doesn’t actually tell his mother they’re engaged, just e-mails her a vacation photo where Shego’s left hand is visible and waits for the phone to ring.

#21 – Fool

“Maybe I’m just not that smart,” she snaps during a fight when he peevishly demands to know why she doesn’t just leave if he’s as useless as she keeps saying he is; his response – silence, then laughter, then a crushing bear hug that’s actually kind of nice – is so unexpected that she forgets what she was yelling about in the first place (which she later realizes was probably why he did it, and then she really does feel a little stupid).

#22 – Mad

“Mad genius” may not be a recognized mental condition, but when he pulls her close and growls – in a voice that would make her forgive any number of vile puns – that he’s madly in love with her, she thinks that he’s definitely got some kind of insanity going on.

#23 – Child

“I am not robbing the cradle, Mother; she’s twenty-seven, for God’s sake!”

#24 – Now

She’ll probably regret this tomorrow – hell, she’s mentally scribbling ‘regret this’ onto her to-do list in between ‘pick up dry cleaning’ and ‘buy stamps’ – but right now all that matters is the taste of his lips, the heat of his skin, and the surprising, gentle strength of his hands.

#25 – Shadow

When she starts to suggest – mostly through careful body language and stumbling smiles – that she’s attracted to him, he balks; he wants this more than anything, but the memory of the chip on her neck and what happened the last time she went after him still looms over him.

#26 – Goodbye

Even the way she leaves changes as they get closer; there are actual goodbyes before she gallivants off on a vacation now, and even when she stalks off because he’s done something stupid or a ‘help wanted’ ad is too good an offer to pass up, there’s always something hanging in the air behind her that says I’m coming back.

#27 – Hide

“No wonder you have to hire someone else to do your thieving,” she quips when she catches his clumsy attempt to sneak a piece of sesame beef off her plate, but he notices that she doesn’t make any move to stop him (although he doesn’t notice the way bits of his barbecued pork keep disappearing).

#28 – Fortune

“‘Your hard work will soon be rewarded,’” he reads, and looks at her expectantly; she makes a “Tch!” noise as she cracks open her own cookie and incinerates the paper without reading it: “I make my own fortunes.”

#29 – Safe

She gives in and nestles against him on the couch, tucking her body under his arm and resting her head on his chest, forcing him to wrap that arm around her, and he suspects that holding her like this for the first time makes him feel safer than it does her.

#30 – Ghost

The longer he knows her, the more amazed he is by her ability to float through a room as silently and invisibly as if she’s haunting it; her usual presence and personality is such a force of nature that he can’t imagine how difficult it must be to turn it off.

#31 – Book

She graciously accepts an advance copy of his memoirs, although she insists she’s only reading it to make sure he isn’t writing lies about her (which it turns out he is; he writes about her like she’s the best thing that ever happened to him).

#32 – Eye

“It’s kinda sexy, actually,” she mumbles when she catches him fretting over the new scar under his eye, and she looks so sweetly mortified to have said it that he has to believe she meant it.

#33 – Never

She doesn’t understand why he seems to think it’s tragic that she’s never really had her heart broken; he doesn’t understand why she doesn’t think it’s tragic that she’s never let anyone get close enough to break it.

#34 – Sing

Not that she’ll ever tell him, but he really does have a halfway decent voice – his terrible taste in music notwithstanding – and she can think of worse ways to spend her Friday nights than slightly buzzed and listening to mediocre performances… but if he ever tries to get her up on that stage, she’s outta there.

#35 – Sudden

“You’re a very attractive woman,” he says without any apparent provocation, and she realizes with great embarrassment that he’s figured out that she’s still hanging around the lair because her date cancelled on her.

#36 – Stop

“Not one word,” he growls through chattering teeth as they duck under a stand of trees while his homemade weather machine explodes behind them; for once she actually listens and just leans against him, stealing some of his body heat, and waits for the rain to stop.

#37 – Time

“You started working here a year ago today,” he explains when she stares blankly at the anniversary card; half of her thinks, ‘it’s really been that long?’ while the other half thinks, ‘it’s only been that long?’

#38 – Wash

She’s practically vibrating with barely-restrained fury and embarrassment as she sheds her clothing and squeezes into the decontamination shower with him, her voice barely audible over the lab alarms and the rush of water: “If whatever you just spilled doesn’t kill you, I will.”

#39 – Torn

It’s the jacket in the hovercraft’s storage compartment that convinces her to go home after this latest fight, the ragged, torn, moth-eaten thing he insists on keeping around ‘for weather emergencies’; the smell of him is something she doesn’t think she’s ever even noticed before, and now it’s making her miss him with an intensity she’s not sure she likes.

#40 – History

Considering that she has a history of taking liberties with the job, undermining his authority, and ignoring pretty much everything he asks her to do, maybe it’s not that surprising when she walks off with his heart without so much as telling him she’s done it.

#41 – Power

There’s a soft growl and a violent glint in her eye, and he backs down from the challenge before the green starts to flicker around her hands; if this is going to get that serious then he’d rather just let her choose the movie.

#42 – Bother

He snores, he steals the blankets, he cuddles her way too close, and he wakes up at odd hours, none of which is annoyance enough to keep her from staying the night every time she winds up in his bed.

#43 – God

Shego’s mother sizes Drakken up the first time she meets him and immediately shakes her head, muttering something about her daughter ‘living in sin’; Shego bites her lip to keep from pointing out that if God hasn’t already disowned her for years of armed robbery and assorted violence, a little premarital cohabitation is unlikely to be a deal-breaker.

#44 – Wall

As one of nature’s rant-and-ravers, Drakken never knows how to react when Shego gets really mad; she closes down and walks away, and no matter how loud he gets he can’t break through until she lets him.

#45 – Naked

She has a way of looking at him sometimes that strips him bare: peels back all his genius, all his accomplishments, all his pride (which he’s earned, dammit), and leaves nothing but an insecure college dropout who’s way out of his depth…and then the slow grin as she runs her hand through his hair promises she’ll never tell anyone what she sees, provided he never tells anyone that she likes it.

#46 – Drive

“It’s a little bit touchy,” he starts, and gets no further before she shoulders him aside and grabs the hovercraft’s controls with a grin: she taught herself to pilot the Go Jet; this little scooter will be no challenge at all.

#47 – Harm

Shego’s eldest brother gives Drakken the ‘what will happen to you if you hurt my baby sister’ speech, and Drakken has to laugh; the ‘baby sister’ in question is more intimidating than this overgrown dope could ever hope to be (and the fact that he’d rather die than hurt her is too obvious to mention).

#48 – Precious

The first ‘I love you’ tumbles out of her mouth in a rush, surrounded by a flurry of unrelated sentences as if the words themselves are so valuable they can only be delivered covertly and with an armed escort.

#49 – Hunger

She wakes up starving, no doubt because of the heavenly smells drifting through his apartment, and over the sudden growl of her stomach the first thought to rise is, “of course he cooks; why am I even surprised?”

#50 – Believe

She hates to admit that she still gets taken in every time; he grabs her hand and gets that look in his eye, and she can’t help listening and really believing that maybe this will be the global domination scheme that works.

Fic: Father's Day

2009-10-17T03:24:59Z

The first move in this round of Fic Tic-Tac-Toe is complete! And in a brand-new fandom for me, to boot!

Title: Father's Day
Prompt: 07: "Ache"
Fandom: Darkwing Duck
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Summary: There's something Gosalyn needs to do.

In his first June with Gosalyn, Darkwing was still so overwhelmed by just being someone’s father that Father’s Day would have completely passed him by if she hadn’t remembered. And if he had remembered, he’d have spent the previous day privately bracing himself for the inevitable well-meaning mayhem and destruction.

Surprisingly, that wouldn’t have been necessary. The surprise breakfast in bed was only slightly burnt, and by the time Darkwing made his way to the kitchen, Launchpad had already cleaned up whatever mess Gosalyn had made. Darkwing swept both of them into a hug before – at Gosalyn’s insistence – retreating to the couch with firm instructions not to do anything for the rest of the day.

That lasted about as long as expected. Gosalyn’s pigtails peeked over the back of the couch some time around late morning, the rest of her head following with a worried expression. “Hey, Dad.”

Darkwing quirked an eyebrow and muted the television. He’d grown to recognize the voice of a kid who wanted something. “Hey,” he said slowly. “Something on your mind?”

“I need a favor,” she mumbled, voice muffled against the fabric.

He gave a fake sigh. “What, I don’t get one day off?” he teased. Her face fell. “Kidding, kidding,” he reassured her, startled by her reaction. It wasn’t like her to be so uncertain about anything. He ruffled her hair. “What do you need?”

She told him. His heart broke.

*

It was the most uncomfortable drive the two of them had ever taken, worse than the strained silence the first time he’d driven her home, worse than the tension that had followed them back from the parent-teacher conference after the incident with the jellyfish. Darkwing kept taking his eyes off the road to watch Gosalyn, who sat perfectly still and stared out the window. Several times he tried to say something, but stopped himself as he realized he had no idea what to say.

The low, neat gates of the Saint Canard Memorial Cemetery rose before them too quickly, the green behind them deceptively still and peaceful. Darkwing eased the car to a stop at the entrance. “Do you want me to stay here?”

Gosalyn shook her head quickly, coming out of her daze. Darkwing nodded and got out of the car. She waited for him to cross around and open her door before exiting, something Darkwing had never seen her do. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and led him through the gates.

They weren’t alone. There were plenty of others in the city who had lost family, who trickled into the cemetery in ones and twos to honor missing fathers and father figures. No one Darkwing saw was as young as Gosalyn, or looked quite so small among the tombstones. He let her lead him, although he knew the way himself. The location of her grandfather’s stone had seemed like an important thing for Darkwing to know when he had first started adjusting to life with Gosalyn, and more than once he’d been tempted to visit on his own, though he didn’t know what purpose he thought it would serve.

It was a small stone, with no inscription other than a name and a date, probably paid for by Waddlemeyer’s university colleagues when they realized there was nobody else to do it. Gosalyn’s grip on Darkwing tightened as she approached it, and when she crouched down to touch the face of the stone he was forced to kneel himself. She eventually let go of him so she could rest her other hand on the ground to keep her balance. He leaned away a little to give her her space, but didn’t want to move unless she asked him to.

It was a long time before she spoke. “Hi, Grandpa,” she finally whispered. “Happy Father’s Day.”

Darkwing sat back and let her talk, only half listening so he wouldn’t feel like he was eavesdropping. She poured her heart out in an uneven but continuous stream, soft in places and animated in others. She told him everything about her new circumstances: school, friends, her new family. Most of all, she promised him a thousand times that she was okay, and for what might have been the first time Darkwing started to think that they both might be.

Eventually the flood ebbed as Gosalyn ran out of words and sat back on her heels with a little sigh. Darkwing took his cue to reach out and wrap an arm around her, letting her lean against his side. “You all right?” A nod. “You wanna go home now?” Another nod, more emphatic. “All right, then. On your feet.”

As she stood, Gosalyn patted the stone one last time. “Goodbye, Grandpa. I miss you.”
Darkwing hugged her close as they walked away, casting a look over his shoulder when he realized what he’d always meant to say. “Don’t worry, Professor. I’ll take care of her.”

Challenge Table: Fictactoe

2009-10-08T11:00:45Z

Having discovered the fascinating idea that is fictictactoe, I had no choice but to con vertelemming into a game.

01. Fever.	02. Battered.	03. Delirium.
04. Hysteria.	05. Broken.	06. Convulsion.
07. Ache.	08. Bruised.	09. Nausea.

Fic: Epilogue

2009-07-30T08:16:37Z

Yet another fandom, here I come. A million and one plotbunnies in my head for it, and of course the first one to hatch is the short, angsty one.

(Also, I trust most of you to get this, but just in case: This is a one-shot, not the end of a longer fic.)

Title: Epilogue
Fandom: Burn Notice
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None; theoretically set post-series.
Summary: Michael is reinstated, but what about the ones he leaves behind?

Michael actually says goodbye before he leaves this time. Goodbye, and that he’s sorry, and Fiona can see him biting back I love you because it’s the cruelest thing he could possibly say right before walking out of her life again.

It doesn’t help. Neither does the hand on her shoulder as she walks away, she tells herself. Nevertheless she lets Sam steady her, both of them moving with the same proud, stiff-backed precision that doesn’t break until they’re well away. By the time they’re out of sight of the extraction point, they’re leaning on each other.

Within a week, they’re talking about Michael as if he’s dead.

There are attempts to console Madeline. Fiona keeps her company just until Nate is able to make it back to town. Sam stays with the two of them for a few days, and for a while it’s just like old times: he’s protecting her under the guise of borrowing her guest room. But even his tireless warmth can only last for so long in the face of a hurt that intense, which Madeline understands and Nate doesn’t. Sam retreats, and somehow finds that in this case retreating means going back to Fiona. Maybe he’s accidentally grown to like her, the way she did with him, or maybe it’s just because they’re used to seeing each other in pain.

Days, they try to live as they have been: They cultivate a working partnership based in mutual respect and verbal abuse, and take on enough work to keep themselves active and financially comfortable. Sam makes decent backup on most of Fiona’s bounty hunting jobs, even if he won’t touch the gunrunning. And saving the world one innocent person at a time is more difficult as two people than as three, but they make it work because neither of them can imagine giving it up now.

Nights, they mourn quietly together. ‘Quietly’ because there’s so little they can say. ‘Together’ because they’ve almost forgotten how to be alone. There are long evenings of alcohol – courtesy of the master drinker; Sam knows how to fuel the perfect combination of warm reminiscence and the need to get good and numb for a while – and long silences punctuated by soft voices that mix fondness with anger. Michael is the elephant in the room. When his name does come up, Fiona praises and curses him in the same breath.

Sam tells stories about him, funny ones and grim ones and ones he should be ashamed to repeat in the presence of a lady. He never quite reaches Fiona’s level of outward emotion, save for one soft, impassioned God dammit, Mikey that she probably wasn’t supposed to hear. His voice holds the same heartache she so frequently hears in her own, and for the first time she wonders if it has the same source. It’s not something she ever suspected, but it doesn’t particularly surprise her.

Eventually they fall into bed together. Sam proves that his reputation is more than justified, but however affectionate and attentive he is Fiona can tell he’s reaching for the part of her that’s also a part of Michael. She doesn’t judge. She’s doing the same to him.

He tries to apologize the next morning, as if she wasn’t the one who initiated everything. She kisses him lightly before he can get out a full sentence, brushing off his apology with the assurance that it’s not needed. They’re adults, they’re friends, they were both looking for a little comfort. No reason to let a one-time thing affect them.

After the fourth or fifth time it happens, they finally agree to stop calling it a one-time thing. Still just friends, still just comfort, but as long as they both understand that why should it be a problem? Fiona’s given up on lying – to herself or anyone else – about caring for Sam, especially now that he’s all she’s got.

They actually sit down and talk about it, putting words to the unspoken understanding that, even if he’s not exactly what she wants and she’s not exactly what he wants, they’re going to be there for each other for whatever length of time and in whatever capacity is necessary. Sam seems surprised that she needs to say it or hear it said; she became part of his family the second he agreed to be part of her team. She knows. She’s met rottweilers with less loyalty than Sam. It’s half the reason she stays with him, the knowledge that he’s going to stay with her no matter what.

Truthfully, Sam is a valuable asset and a good choice almost every way she looks at him. It’s the city that she’s surprised she stays with. The first rule of nearly every career she’s ever tried is “If the job goes bad, get out of there.” And if the job this time was to build a life with Michael, it certainly went bad.

But if the job is just to build a life...

She likes Miami. Likes the sun, the shopping, the people, the unique business opportunities. She’s carved out a place for herself here. The people who should know her name do, and the people who shouldn’t don’t. This city is hers; all she has to do is take it.

And if Michael ever comes looking for her, he’ll know where to start.

Fic: The Holiday Homecoming Intervention

2008-12-25T07:03:07Z

Christmas fic! And just in time, at least in my time zone.

Title: The Holiday Homecoming Intervention
Fandom: The Middleman
Rating: G
Spoilers: none
Summary: Lacey has the same wish this year that she's had every Christmas. But this year, she just might get it.

By the time Wendy got home, the flyer she’d picked up on campus – honestly, did Reitman University have some kind of magnet program for budding mad scientists? – was a crumpled mess. Partly because it had been in her pocket when she’d been swarmed by a nest of hyperintelligent lab mice, and partly because every time she looked at it her fist clenched unconsciously. She’d been rehearsing a few variations on the conversation she was about to have with Lacey, a conversation that included lines like, “Maybe you could try another phone call,” and, “You know that all of us here love you,” and in one moment of real anger, “I know people, you know. We could settle all this now.” God, she could practically feel her boss glaring at her when she just thought that one. It’s not like I’d actually offer. And it’s not like she’d say yes.

Okay, so at this point neither of those was a sure thing. But still.

Lacey was folded up on the couch, or rather, her lower half was. She was writing frantically in a notebook resting on the floor, her left hand splayed out beside it to keep herself level, headphone cord dangling. Wendy knew better than to interrupt.

It was a good five minutes before Lacey finally looked up and slid off the couch. “Didn’t hear you come in,” she said as she pulled off the headphones.

Yeah, I’m like a ninja that way, Wendy intended to say. What came out was, “Lacey. Hey.”

Lacey gave her a dubious look. “‘Hey’?” she repeated.

h God, I’m even starting to sound like him. All the carefully crafted words left her, and she held out the flyer with a sigh. “Unexpected addition to the university’s winter Lunchtime Lecture series. If you need to yell, I can handle a little abuse.”

To her credit, Lacey only paused for a moment in reaching for the flyer. “They’re not bringing that animal testing advocate back, are they?”

“Slightly bigger catch than that.”

Lacey sank against the couch like a rag doll as she read the paper. “Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD,” she said hollowly.

“Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD,” Wendy repeated.

“Guest lecturing on the long-term effects of the sorority environment on the social development of professional women.”

“Guest lecturing on the long-term effects of the sorority environment on the social development of professional women.”

“Twenty minutes from here.”

“Twenty minutes from here.”

“By invitation only.”

“By invitation only.”

“On Christmas Eve.”

“On Christmas Eve.” Wendy knew she was repeating like a crazy person, but she couldn’t tear herself away.

“Without telling me.”

The tiny wobble in her voice snapped Wendy out of it; she settled to the floor and put her arm around her best friend. “Like I said: If you need to yell…”

“I wouldn’t aim it at you if I did.” Lacey offered a weak smile and leaned against Wendy’s shoulder. “It’s okay,” she said in a voice that was anything but. “I’m used to it.”

*

“She’s used to it,” Wendy fumed as she studied the dials on the central console. All of them were holding steady, as they had been for the last hour. “Her own mother acts like she doesn’t exist, and she’s used to it. Can you believe that?”

“It’s appalling,” Ida agreed. “How can people treat each other that way without stopping to think about the poor defenseless androids who’ll have to hear you complain about it later?”

“Since when are you defenseless?”

“My programming prevents me from shutting you up as thoroughly as I’d like to.”

“Ida,” the Middleman scolded gently from somewhere behind the HEYDAR. “You know I can’t complete the recalibration properly if you insist on getting agitated.” A beat. “And don’t antagonize her, Dubby.”

“She does that by existing,” Ida growled.

The Middleman responded with a light tug on the wires extending from her back. “I don’t want a repeat of 2004’s recalibration. There’s only so much Russian film commentary one man can take.” He gave Wendy an apologetic look as he rounded the HEYDAR to reach a panel on the side closer to her. “Please don’t think I’m ignoring you. Obviously I’m both interested in and concerned about your problems—”

“Especially when Lacey’s involved?” Wendy couldn’t resist teasing.

“Can’t exactly deny that one,” he said sheepishly. “But this is a delicate operation that requires a great deal of concentration.”

“I know. I’m not looking for a deeply engaged ear, I just need to vent a little.” A sigh. “And normally I’d vent to Lacey, but I can’t say anything because whatever kind of person Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD. might be, she’s still her mom.”

“The only thing harder than knowing an unpleasant truth about someone you love is hearing someone else say it,” he said with a nod of understanding.

It was spoken like someone who knew what he was talking about, but Wendy knew better than to ask. “Something like that, yeah. I just don’t get how anyone could walk away from Lacey.”

“Everyone has their reasons.”

Would it kill him to be a little judgmental? “Yeah, and I guess being a freaking—”

“Dubby.”
“...workaholic is technically a reason.”

“It’s not as if I have much room to disapprove of someone who’s devoted to their job,” he pointed out. “The best thing you can do for Lacey is remind her that, family troubles or no, there are people who love her and want to keep her safe. Along with the rest of the world,” he added pointedly.

Wendy mimed surrender. “Point taken, Boss. I am in business mode.” She returned her attention to the assorted readouts of the HEYDAR’s functions, occasionally stealing glances at the Middleman. If he hadn’t been concentrating so hard, he probably would have been whistling while he worked, he looked so content to be elbows deep in wires and gears with a screwdriver in his teeth. A little smile crept across Wendy’s lips. You were totally a car guy when you were a civilian, weren’t you? How much of the Middlemobile did you build yourself?

His momentary possessiveness, not letting anyone else touch his machine, certainly spoke to a ‘car guy’ mentality. He’d assured Wendy that it was just because she didn’t know the HEYDAR’s tendencies yet – once it was calibrated properly he’d promised her a much more active role in its maintenance – but his relegating her to “monitoring the readouts” still made her feel like the token girl on the starship’s bridge, existing only to repeat what the computer was telling her. “So what are the odds that something weird is actually going to happen while you’re doing this?”

“Pretty slim, really. The couple weeks before Christmas are traditionally the closest a Middleman gets to downtime.”

“Seriously?” Wendy snorted. “I thought you’d have all kinds of lunatics trying to steal Christmas.”

“A common assumption, but an incorrect one. True holiday theft attempts are considerably rarer than commonly assumed, and they’ve fallen out of favor in the past few decades. There are theories as to the cause of both the prevalence of the myth and the decline of the real thing, but...”

“‘Please don’t ask why; no one quite knows the reason’?” Wendy guessed.

That got a chuckle out of him. “As good a way to phrase it as any. The villains lay low, supernatural episodes tend to be of a more personal than aggressive nature, and…well, there has been an upsurge in alien activity in and around London these past few Christmases, but for some reason that’s the only job we leave up to someone else.”

“Who?”

“Not something I can answer, I’m afraid. But the end result is that December is the safest time of the year to leave a human in charge of gathering information while the HEYDAR and Ida go dormant for a few days.”

Wendy smirked at Ida. “Merry Christmas to me.”

“I’ll give you merry, you little—”

“You’re only hurting yourself if you throw off your baseline readings,” the Middleman reminded her. He turned his attention back to Wendy. “So I’ll be here on sentry duty on Christmas, and you will be on call at home just in case this is the year something does happen.”

Wendy raised an eyebrow. “You’re going to be alone at work on Christmas?”

He gave her a shrug and a little smile. “Could you imagine me being anywhere else?”

*

The challenge was set. The field was prepared. The moment was now. Wendy exhaled slowly, found her calm center, and brought the knife down in a series of quick strokes. The silk-ribbon sound of a clean cut split the silence.

Lacey leaned over her shoulder. “Will the patient recover, Doctor?”

Wendy elbowed her gently in the ribs. “I don’t make fun of your artistic experiments. Not to your face, anyway.”

“Most of my experiments don’t involve radical painting surgery.” Lacey examined the strips that had been Wendy’s most recent work. “What’s the plan for this one?”

“Just a little puzzle for someone to figure out,” Wendy said with a smile. “Promise I’ll show it off once it starts working.”

“You’d better. And speaking of showing off...”

“You need an invitation? Show off already!”

On cue, Tyler stumbled up the stairs, grey and gaunt and looking like something that should have been left for dead months prior. “Oh, my God,” Wendy breathed.

“I know.”

“That’s...pretty much perfect, Lace.”

“It would be better if someone knew how to hold still.”

Tyler rolled his eyes. “I get why I let Wendy get away with stuff like this. Why do I take it from you, again?”

“Because the Non-Denominational Holiday Zombie may be Dub-Dub’s shambling undead baby, but effects makeup is my thing. And I don’t do it without a trial run first.”

“Right. And I agreed to the makeup because...?”

“Because everyone loves the Holiday Zombie,” both girls chorused.

“Besides,” Wendy said, “you’re the one who wanted to be part of our Christmas traditions. It doesn’t get more traditional around here than the Christmas Eve Art Crawl slash block party, and it’s just not a Christmas Eve party without the holiday edition of Stump The Band, Lacey’s modernized retelling of The Snow Queen, and the undead personification of the holiday spirit.”

“Three guesses as to who started that one,” Lacey added. “I’m surprised to see you spending so much time on something other than this year’s Holiday Zombie painting.”

“Oh, I finished that one last week. I was inspired.” True, the mad scientist they’d had to fight off had had nothing to do with either zombies or the holiday spirit, but the grey-green of his skin had bypassed her conscious brain entirely and gone straight for the zombie lobe.

“You are inspired,” Tyler said. He turned to Lacey. “Am I free for the moment? Can I wash this off? ‘Cause I’d kinda like to kiss my girlfriend without leaving weird marks.”

“Get used to them now,” Lacey said with a smirk. “I’ve seen the mistletoe Valerie is building.”

“‘Building’?” Tyler repeated. “I know nothing should surprise me anymore, but…”

“What, you didn’t see the framework at the end of the hall when you came in?”

“The scaffolding? That has to be at least seven feet across! I just figured someone was painting the ceiling.”

Wendy grinned. “We like a lot of ‘under’ to our mistletoe.”

“Say no more; I’ll look forward to the practical demonstration.”

“Go,” Lacey teased. “Rejoin the land of the living. There’s only so much of you two I can take.”

“With pleasure.”

Lacey sighed as he left the room. “Still just a little jealous over that boy,” she confessed.

“He snores, he eats meat, and his tastes in literature are questionable at best.”

“Sounds just like someone else I know, and I still love her.”

“Touché,” Wendy said, hugging her. “Look, I know this party is a big thing for all of us, but nobody’s going to hold it against you if you’d rather be somewhere else on Christmas Eve.”

“Absolutely not,” Lacey insisted. “It may have crossed my mind to get the gang together for an impromptu protest on the steps of the lecture hall, but I’d rather spend my night here with the people who really care about me than in jail for the sake of someone who doesn’t.”

“Don’t be silly,” Wendy scolded. “You know we’d bail you out.”

*

The week was, as predicted, uneventful. Well, ‘uneventful’ in the sense that nothing was happening that needed a Middleman’s attention. Ordinary, everyday crime was running rampant according to every frequency the Middleman could pick up on his own and, as he did every December, he missed Ida.

In addition to being a constant... ‘companion’ felt like the wrong word but it was the closest he could get, Ida was an excellent partner in the war against information overload. She was designed to sift through everything and lay it out in order, identifying what was important and what might be important and discarding or re-filing everything else. Even with his prodigious memory and observational skills, the Middleman found following radio chatter on his own a challenge. To say nothing of the depressing nature of the task, following the endless lists of arson, threats, and armed robbery for several days and reminding himself that the perpetrators were only a small portion of the populace he’d sworn to protect. By the twenty-fourth, he’d have been happy to get word of an alien threat, just to feel like he was doing something. Ida would have mocked him for the thought, pointed out the irony that even another human couldn’t deal with human failings the way she could. It was a victory he would gladly give her.

“Have I told you lately how much I hate hibernating?”

At times like this, when she’d been absent for a while, or when she managed to look and sound half-conscious as she stumbled into view, the Middleman almost forgot that Ida was anything other than human. “Good to have you back.”

“It’s a little sad how happy you always are to see me,” she told him. “I’d tell you to get a life, but having to hear about your sidekick’s is bad enough. Limited core systems are back online, and I do mean limited. The HEYDAR and I are operating at twelve percent capacity, with full functionality expected in approximately...fifty-four hours.” The fact that she had to stop and think about it was indicator enough that all was not running smoothly. “God, it’s like somebody stuffed my head with wool. This must be what the little stoner feels like all the time.”

The Middleman ignored the remark. “Everything running smoothly so far?”

“Got maybe a third of my usual radio frequencies, and the search engine’s currently only slightly more powerful than the original Google. Before NASA made them scale it back.”

“Should at least be enough to get us through an emergency if anything crops up before you’re back at full power.”

“Better test it now if you’re expecting an emergency.”

“A Middleman who doesn’t expect an emergency doesn’t stay a Middleman for long.”

Ida rolled her eyes. “Spare me the lecture and give me something to find.”

“Get me a location on Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD.” The words were out of his mouth before he realized he’d thought them, but after a moment of reflection he decided he would have said them anyway. Something was brewing. Not a plan yet, but something like one. “And a list of anyone local who owes us a small favor.”

“Your funeral,” Ida growled. “And God help us all when that girl realizes just how tight she's got you wrapped around her little finger.”

*

Even in the middle of the day, even on Christmas Eve on a college campus, and even by invitation only, a lecture with Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD drew in a full crowd. She was politely unsurprised, shrugging off the praise from the university officials as they escorted her to her hired car. “Of course I’d be open to a follow-up engagement, schedule permitting. Just keep in touch with my home office and we’ll see what we can do.”

The driver gave her a nod in the rearview mirror as she buckled into the backseat. “‘Schedule permitting.’ A handy phrase.”

She gave him a tight smile. “It’s served me well.”

“A wise woman. A wise woman who’s going to the airport, yes?”

“And quickly. I don’t have a lot of time.”

“Got something special planned? Visiting the family for Christmas?”

Another lecture, actually. Or an awards ceremony. Or a summit. She couldn’t even remember anymore. Francis would remind her when she got there. She slumped back in her seat. “Sure, let’s go with that.” Fortunately, the driver caught her warning tone and didn’t comment further. Didn’t say another word, in fact, until they reached the barricade almost twenty minutes later.

It consisted mostly of a few very large vans and a lot of uniformed men, but it was still effective. “What on Earth is going on?”

“I don’t think it’s Earth they’re concerned with,” the driver said. “Those are NASA uniforms.”
“That’s insane,” Dr. Thornfield started to say, but insane or not it was obviously true. One of the uniforms had broken away from the knot of people and was waving them to the side of the road.

“Sorry, folks, but this entire area is being blocked off. We’ve got an extraplanetary device ready to make an unexpected landing, and we need all civilians off the streets.”

The driver nodded. “Okay. What’s the detour?”

“There’s no time for a detour!” the uniform shouted at him. “The sky could come crashing down at any minute! Everyone within a five-mile radius needs to be indoors and out of the way now. If you’re local I can escort you home, if not I’ll be taking you to the high school gym until this clears up.”

“I’m not local,” Dr. Thornfield said coldly, drawing herself up to her full height in a seated position. “And I have a plane to catch.” Did she not have enough to worry about already?

“Shame you’re going to miss it. Look, I don’t want to be the guy ruining everyone’s holiday, but this is a serious situation. So if you don’t have anywhere else to go, you’re coming with me.”

Bad enough that this was going to destroy her schedule, now she was going to have to spend the night crammed into a high school gym? Dr. Thornfield squared her shoulders to launch a protest at the man, but a sudden thought made her hesitate. Was this even the right city? It was hard enough remembering where she was some days, let alone finding anyone else. “I have a daughter,” she said. “On Northwood, near the old coffee company.” Was that right? It sounded like the description Lacey had given her the last time she’d tried to visit.

“I know that place,” the driver said. “With all the arty kids, right?”

That sounded even more like the right description. “Yes,” she said, relieved to know she’d remembered correctly.

The uniform didn’t comment, just nodded and gestured towards one of the vans. “We’ll follow you.”

When the car was back on the road, Dr. Thornfield pulled out her PDA and sent a quick message to Francis explaining the change of plans. He’d figure out some way to reschedule, and doing so would keep him occupied for a while and distract him from calling her to pitch a fit about the situation. “Turns out you were right,” she told the driver as she typed. “Apparently I am going to visit family for Christmas.”

*

A fight had broken out over Stump The Band. Well, more of a very heated argument, but in a crowd of eggnog-fueled artists, a heated argument about music was a half step away from a fight and two steps away from a full-on brawl. “It’s not a Christmas song!”

“Have you listened to the lyrics?”

“No direct references, no Christmas release, no December radio airtime.”

“Guys.”

The sound of pure Zen cut through the noise as the man himself spoke. “It’s cool,” Noser said. “I know it.”

A riot of applause. That was the most important aspect of the debate settled.

Lacey shook her head. “Every single year.”

“All great art is controversial.” Bedecked in the finest tattered rags a zombie could ask for, Tyler raised his glass to the master of the craft. “Even if sometimes it’s very odd controversy. And that’s totally a Christmas song.”

“Don’t you start,” Wendy warned. She was sporting a little of the undead chic look herself, although not intentionally. Tyler’s concerns about the makeup rubbing off on her had been well-founded in that it happened, but unnecessary in that nobody seemed to notice or care. Hey, even a simple walk across the hall involved a lot of time spent under the wire-and-fabric mistletoe, and who was she to argue with tradition? “We’ve already had a Christmas Eve House War once, and the excitement is not worth the cleanup.”

“You think she’s kidding,” Lacey added when he laughed. “The laundry room hasn’t been the same since.”

“Hey, I have seen entirely too much around this place to doubt you. Or to want to be on the opposite side if anything goes down.” He gave Wendy a speculative look. “Although after seeing you breeze through every first-person shooter known to man it would be interesting to see you react in a non-cyberspace firefight.”

Wendy nearly choked, torn between scoffing and panicking. She stifled both, covering her reaction with a quick swig of her drink. “Believe me when I say that you really don’t want to see that.”

Before Tyler could respond, there was a disturbance further down the hall. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“Remain calm, folks. There’s no need for concern.”

Oh, great. An official-sounding voice. In Wendy’s professional experience, those were never helpful. Even worse was the chatter that was building among the residents. “Hey, is that NASA?”

Oh, no. “Hang on; I’m gonna check this out.” You wanted to see me in action, Tyler Ford? Stick around and you just might get that wish.

A small group of uniformed men was blocking off the front door, accompanied by a worried-looking blonde woman. One of the men was addressing the crowd. “All we need is for you folks to spend the rest of the night indoors until the probe makes a landing and we can collect it. I assure you that you are in no danger provided you remain here. This is a routine procedure; we have no reason to believe that the probe has evolved artificial intelligence and returned to Earth to judge its makers.”

Wendy froze. “Oh, you have got to be kidding me.” She hadn’t said a word about the season being peaceful, or about her being unofficially off duty. She’d made a point not to even think it! What was the point of not tempting fate if fate was going to go ahead and drop in on her anyway? She pushed her way to the front of the crowd and, with the air of authority that was second nature to her by now, grabbed the man at the furthest end of the line, the one nobody would be looking at. He was young and scrawny and slightly familiar, and he fought to keep a professional calm as she snarled at him. “What.”

He took a deep breath and launched into what was obviously a coached speech. “Ma’am, if you will remain calm—”

She cut him off with a gesture, holding her Middlewatch up to his face. “Right,” she said in response to his look of recognition and relief “Gonna assume my boss sent you.”

A nod. “He told us you’d be here somewhere. Didn’t describe you very well, though.” A leer. “Didn’t say you were cute, for one thing.”

The pieces fell into place and Wendy where she recognized him from. Incubus. It at least explained what kind of favors her boss had called in to get someone to impersonate NASA on Christmas Eve. “You do realize I could kill you with very little effort.”

“Hey, you try going cold turkey,” the barely-reformed incubus in the NASA uniform – My God, my job is weird – snapped. “All he said we had to do was lock down the building and deliver the passenger, and that you’d understand what was going on.”

“Then he overestimated me! What passenger?”

The incubus pointed to the blonde woman. “Her.”

Wendy waited for a spark of recognition to dawn, but there was nothing. “Honestly, I have no idea who—”

“Mom?”

She barely recognized Lacey’s voice. It was the tiny, scared sound of someone afraid to believe she was right. The woman brightened. “Lacey! There you are.”

All of it, this entire setup.... Oh, Boss. You didn’t. You wouldn’t.

The man who had framed her for arson rose in Wendy’s mind. You would.

Years of anger and frustration, all the tears and shouting that would have to come eventually, stepped aside for a moment and allowed Lacey to step forward and hug her mother. “I missed you.”

“Me too, honey.”

You totally did.

Grinning, Wendy touched the “leader” of the group on the shoulder. “I think I can take it from here,” she said, turning to face her housemates. “Listen up! Anyone have any intention of leaving this building tonight?” The chorus of shouts that followed indicated that this was unlikely. “Anyone have any objections to inviting Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD to the party?” The ‘no’s were even louder this time. “Then what are we all standing around for?”
As the rest of the house took their cues to return to the usual celebration, Wendy nodded to the line of incubi. “Your work here is done, gentlemen. Thank you, tell the man who sent you ‘mission accomplished,’ and have a merry Christmas. If you’re allowed to celebrate Christmas; I don’t know how it works for you guys.”

Lacey looked all of six years old, clinging to her mother’s arm and beaming like a lit Christmas tree. “Mom, this is—”

“You hardly have to tell me,” Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD said, extending her hand. “Quick, authoritative, and covered in paint? This can only be Wendy.”

She was technically covered in secondhand zombie makeup, but the principle still applied, probably. “And of course Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD needs no introduction,” Wendy said, returning the handshake.

The woman gave her daughter an odd look “‘Barb’ is fine, thank you.”

Further introductions were made, and the air of welcome was instantaneous. The same as they had with Tyler, Wendy’s housemates immediately accepted Dr. Thornfield – in her head, that was as informal as Wendy could get – as part of the family. It was while she was trying her hand at Stump The Band that Lacey broke away from her to whisper in Wendy’s ear. “What did you do?”

Wendy blinked. “When? Concerning what?”

“Don’t play games with me, Dub-Dub. This can’t be a coincidence.”

“Why not?”

Lacey just gave her a Look. “NASA and my mother, and this is the place where they happen to converge? That’s textbook impossible weirdness of the kind that only you can supply.”

Wendy couldn’t help smiling. Thank God you’re too smart to ask more questions about that. “I promise you, if there was any kind of plan or setup involved I had nothing to do with it.” And the best part was that it was perfectly true.

Just a little bit weaselly, though, and Lacey was also smart enough to pick up on that. “Okay,” she said in her best ‘I’m humoring you’ voice. “But if you happen to have some idea of who did, and you ever meet them...say thanks for me, okay?”

Wendy nodded. “I will bear that in mind, should I have the opportunity to talk to Santa Claus.” She gave lacey a hug and looked up. “Oh, boy. Looks like your mom found this year’s painting.”

Dr. Thornfield was indeed standing in front of Wendy’s canvas, wearing a very bemused expression. Especially as she caught sight of Tyler. She looked back and forth between the painting and the live version for a few moments before tilting her head at Wendy. “Is that...a zombie drinking eggnog out of a human skull?”

“Oh, excellent!” Wendy burst out. “I was worried that it wasn’t immediately recognizable as eggnog.”

“No, it’s very well rendered,” Dr. Thornfield assured her, in a ‘that didn’t really answer my question’ voice. “Dare I ask why?”

The response was like a flutter of birdsong from practically everyone in earshot. “Because everyone loves the Holiday Zombie.”

A slow nod. “Well, I did ask.”

“There are three things you can’t have Christmas without,” Wendy said. She nudged Lacey. “Speaking of which, you should be in costume.”

Dr. Thornfield brightened. “You mean I’m actually going to get to see you perform, Lacey?”

The sudden start, the little frozen moment, was the closest Wendy had ever seen Lacey come to stage fright. “Uh-huh,” she finally managed. She drew herself up with a deep breath. “It’s what I do.”

Wend squeezed her friend’s hand. “You’re gonna do great. You always do. Now go get changed.”

“I hate the thought that I make her nervous,” Dr. Thornfield confessed as he daughter retreated to her apartment.

“You’re just the biggest audience she’s had in a long time.” There was a mistrust that Wendy still couldn’t shake – this was the woman who’d done a serious number on her best friend’s heart, after all – but she was starting to warm up to Barbara Thornfield, the woman who wasn’t being a doctor at the moment. She genuinely seemed to love Lacey; she just wasn’t around to show it as often as she should be. “She really has missed you, you know.”

“I know. And I’m glad that you’ve been here to take care of her.”

Wendy shook her head. “Hey, she takes care of me just as much.”

A smile. “That’s my girl. I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to meet someone so important to her. I was afraid you’d think I didn’t approve of you.”

“Of course not.” I was starting to wonder if you approved of your daughter, though, Wendy added in her head.

“That’s a relief.” Dr. Thornfield laughed. “My God, how long have you two been dating, anyway?”

Naturally, the moment before Wendy could correct her was the moment the lights chose to dim. The hall was smothered in darkness, and in that darkness, silence. What little light remained focused on the only thing bright enough to reflect it: Lacey. She was dressed in what almost looked like a coat of white and silver fur, which floated through the crowd like mist as she made her way to the stage. “The story is different every time,” she intoned as she stood onstage and faced the crowd. “But it’s always a story of love, and of finding what’s been lost. And it always starts the same way: In darkness.” Slowly, slowly, the lights rose, turning her into a blaze of fire. “And it always ends in sunlight.”

*

Headquarters was quiet on Christmas morning, so much that Wendy paused at the door and took a furtive look around, even knocking on the doorframe in the hopes of attracting someone’s attention. Nobody answered, but nothing leapt out at her either. She realized after a minute that there was sound, although much softer than usual. There was none of Ida’s usual running commentary or the Middleman’s customary greeting, and the normal clicks and beeps and occasional static of the HEYDAR were reduced to an electronic buzz. Still offline, apparently.

Her boss was at his desk, wearing headphones and staring into the distance. Every so often his expression would focus in a look of concentration, but mostly it was just an absentminded look as whatever he was hearing washed over him. Wendy didn’t interrupt, just sidestepped into the corner of his vision.

It was all that was necessary. He blinked, with a quick shake of his head, and pulled the headphones off. Wendy recognized the garbled, staticky sounds: radio chatter. “Good morning, Dubby. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I couldn’t leave you all alone on Christmas, could I? I had to drop in, especially since the Paranoid Android isn’t even up to keeping you company.”

He shook his head. “Don’t think I’m not happy to see you, but—”

“‘But’ nothing. I’m here, I brought hot chocolate, I’m staying.”

He perked up a little at the mention of hot chocolate – there really were some bribes that were universal – but he held firm. “You don’t need to be here. Today of all days, you should be with the people you love.”

Wendy rolled her eyes as she perched on the edge of his desk. “And when are you going to get it through your head that that’s a group that includes you? I’ve got the entire afternoon and evening blocked off for Lacey and Tyler, and Mom’s not flying in until New Year’s; there’s no reason I shouldn’t spend part of my morning keeping one of my people company.”

Okay, however much the clean-cut, square-jawed, boy-scout look wasn’t her thing, Wendy had to admit her boss was a special kind of cute when he was being flattered. He let out a breath that was almost a nervous laugh. “And I suppose I can’t object to that.”

“Or the hot chocolate?” Wendy suggested, sliding the thermos across the desk to him. “Thank Lacey’s mother,” she said as he pulled a pair of mugs out of a desk drawer – she wasn’t even surprised that he had them handy; there was the boy scout thing again – and filled one for her. “It turns out that on top of everything else, Dr. Barbara Thornfield, M.D., PhD makes incredibly good hot chocolate.”

“Lacey’s mother? Really?”

“Yeah. You’ll never believe it, but she just happened to be driving through the neighborhood when it was briefly and inexplicably locked down by NASA.”

The Middleman tilted his head innocently. “What an unexpected coincidence.”

“You’re a terrible liar when you’re pleased with yourself.”

He broke the thin façade with a grin. “I’m just glad it worked. It was a last-minute plan.”

“‘A last-minute plan’? You put an entire neighborhood under house arrest just to make sure that one girl got to see her mother on Christmas Eve!”

“One street blocked off, a complicit driver, and a building full of people willing to listen to an authority figure telling them to stay in a place they had no intention of leaving anyway. I didn’t do all that much.”

“You made Lacey’s year, is what you did. I can’t remember the last time I saw her that happy.”

“I wish I could have seen it.”

“Come on,” Wendy said teasingly, trying to brush away the note of sadness in his voice. “With all that surveillance technology you have everywhere? I refuse to believe you didn’t spy on that meeting just a little.”

“Just long enough to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently set the stage for an unpleasant confrontation,” he confessed. “I do try to give you and yours as much privacy as I can. Besides, it’s not the same as being there.”

“I know.” Wendy patted his shoulder awkwardly. The cameras weren’t the same as standing next to someone you love and watching their face light up, knowing it was you who put that smile there. “I think she kinda suspects you had something to do with it, though.”

The Middleman narrowed his eyes, suddenly all business. “Define ‘suspects.’”

She gave him a gently scolding look. “Lacey’s not a threat and you know it. If she was, we’d have been in trouble long before this. And technically she suspects whatever weirdness magnet I’ve picked up lately, but since that’s basically you...” She was relieved to see him relax. “Anyway. She told me if I ever happen to run into her ‘mystery benefactor,’ I should thank him.” Trying not to tip off the desk entirely, she leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “So that’s from both of us.”

With a smile at the unexpected gesture, he rested his hand over hers and gave it a light squeeze. “You’re both very welcome.”

Wendy raised one finger, a gesture of I’m not done yet as she pulled a thick envelope out of her bag. “And this is from me.”

He gave her a curious, surprised look as he opened the envelope, tipping the contents into his hand. A dozen or so bright strips of card paper, painted and sealed with the best archival-quality materials Wendy could get her hands on. “To make the researching go a little smoother,” she said, the explanation feeling necessary and inadequate. Gift-giving, especially when art was involved, was one of the few things that still always made her nervous.

He wasn’t helping, looking curiously at the little pieces as he thumbed through them with gentle hands. “Hand-painted bookmarks,” he finally said in a tone of...well, Wendy might have said ‘wonder’ if it didn’t seem so dramatic. “Something so simple and so practical, and you turned them into miniature works of art.” Several miniature works of art and one big one, in fact, but Wendy was going to let him discover the big painting on the reverse sides on his own. “A one-of-a-kind Wendy Watson original. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to own one.” He gave her a look of sincere gratitude and appreciation. “There’s not often room in this job for art, but I’ve been fond of yours since I met you.” The hand returned to hers. “Thank you.”

Wendy smiled and gave him a little shrug. “You’re worth painting for,” she said simply.

Phrasing it that way seemed to leave him stunned for a moment before he laughed and shook his head, rising and walking to one of the file cabinets. He pulled out another envelope, about three times the size of the one she’d just given him, and handed it to her. “And I thought I was going to impress you this year.”

The CD case inside was black and blank, with a label across the front reading “AUTHORIZED DISTRIBUTION ONLY.” The letter and accompanying non-disclosure agreement it was packaged with looked equally forbidding, but Wendy recognized the logo on the letterhead. She got about as far as Congratulations on your selection for our preliminary testing panel before her brain froze. She raised her head slowly and gaped at her boss. “You got me into the Gut Wrencher 4 beta test”

He smiled at her. “A good choice?”

“You got me into the Gut Wrencher 4 beta test.”

Now his brow furrowed. “Is something wrong?”

Words left her, and she could only shake her head. She threw her arms around him with a squeak. Best. Boss. Ever.

There was a surprised grunt as she forced the air out of his lungs. After a stunned moment the Middleman hugged her tightly. “Merry Christmas, Dubby.”

“With you around? I don’t think there’s another kind.”

Fic: War Stories

2008-11-16T20:35:22Z

Something slightly different, written for the galpalficathon.

Title: War Stories
Fandom: The Middleman
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Prompt: Wendy and Roxy Wasserman / work-related injury
Summary: When Wendy is temporarily removed from fieldwork, Roxy reveals some unexpected information and makes an even more unexpected offer.

It certainly didn't seem like it at the moment, but Wendy knew she'd been lucky. That mutant eldritch bear thing that had burst out of the wall in the abandoned warehouse the day before – not 'through,' 'out of,' via some weird portal – could have taken off her entire leg or worse, instead of leaving her with a series of gashes along her calf that would keep her off her feet for several days and probably scar up something fierce, but which shouldn't cause any permanent damage. Which was small comfort, considering how much she was hurting at the moment. Or how much she was hating being stuck at Headquarters while her boss tried to hunt the creature down.

But she hadn't been entirely sidelined, at least. The only way to banish whatever the bear thing had been was to find the spell that had summoned it in the first place, something that apparently required more human ingenuity and intuition than Ida could offer. And since Wendy was the only one who'd been close enough to see the fragments of the symbols on the wall before the entire warehouse went black hole, and since she was also the only human in the organization who didn't get touchy on the subject of magic, she was spending the day in a comfy chair in the archive room, accompanied by several stacks of thick, dusty books and a lot of coffee. Her boss had also promised that she'd have expert help available, but he hadn't stuck around long enough to elaborate on that, and Wendy had been alone and in comfortable silence for a couple hours now. Not that she minded; for as sarcastic as she'd been last time they'd been stuck doing research, this was fascinating. The books she'd already gone through were thick with color-coded paper flags: Green for passages that might actually be related to the spell they were looking for, red for the ones she just wanted to go back and read more about later. The red ones vastly outnumbered the green.

"No wonder you need help finding anything. It looks like someone's grandmother's attic in here."

Wendy wondered if the way that voice, combined with the tapping of high heels and the swish of expensive fabric, triggered her 'cornered small animal' instinct had more to do with its owner being demonic, or its owner being in the fashion industry. There were predators, and then there were predators. "You must be my expert help."

"And who better?"

"I certainly can't think of anyone." Wendy didn't have to try all that hard to smile. Soul-sucking and clothes-designing aside, there was something likeable about Roxy. Maybe it was the boatloads of self-confidence, or the fact that she was one of the few people in the world who knew what Wendy did all day.

Or maybe it was the way she considered aesthetic critique a form of punctuation. "I can't believe you redesigned your uniform and didn't call me first. Well, stand up and let's take a look at it."

Wendy tried not to roll her eyes. It was mostly ego that pulled her to her feet – well, foot. Ego and the suspicion that showing weakness in front of a succubus was up there with getting involved in a land war in Asia as far as bad ideas went. "You have to imagine it with the boots, obviously."

Roxy shushed her, examining the ensemble with a cold and critical eye. "It's an improvement, certainly. Clean lines, professional, functional, and just a little bit sexy. Not bad, not bad at all." A decisive nod. "I like it."

Wendy hadn't been expecting a compliment. She'd been expecting even less to appreciate one if it came. "Thank you," she said with a real smile as she fall back into the chair.

"And as pleased as I am that there's finally someone in this building with a shred of fashion sense, that's not why you called me. What horror from beyond the realm of science did you drag up this time?"

"We didn’t –" Wendy shook her head. No point in quibbling semantics. "It was a bear. Sort of. It was about the size of my car and it came through a portal on a warehouse wall. It had curved horns and a spiked tail and there may have been wings. It also might have been purple, but that could just be the light from the portal." Even with everything she'd seen and dealt with, it still sounded like a ridiculous description.

Roxy was taking it seriously, though. "I can think of at least four things that fit that description," she said after a moment. "None of them are good news."

Not what Wendy wanted to hear, but it was better than nothing. "So do you know how to banish it?"

"No. There are a dozen possible permutations on the summoning spell for each of those options, and banishing the creature only works if you find the right one. Did you see any of the spell itself?"

"Just the writing on the wall." Wendy held up a sketch of what she'd been able to see of the portal. Most of the blood-red marks – just acrylic paint, and not even the quality stuff; she had not been impressed – had burned away in the wake of the spell; what had remained was just fragments of symbols arranged in a vaguely circular pattern.

Roxy studied the sketch for a long moment. "Still not enough on its own, but I can narrow down your search." She made soft sounds as she ran a perfectly French-tipped nail down the stack of books, almost like she was talking to a cat. The book she finally pulled out was bound in dark blue leather, the cover stamped with symbols Wendy couldn't read. "Your summoner was definitely using a Ralston technique," she said, laying the book open on the table. "Amateur."

"'Amateur' as in, 'Ooh, he'll be easy to find,' or as in 'He's not gonna be able to control this thing'?" Wendy was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that one. Some people would have called that cynicism. She called it pattern recognition.

Two approving looks from Roxy Wasserman in less than ten minutes. That had to be some kind of record. "The second one," Roxy confirmed. "Which means there are going to be a lot of injuries worse than yours if we don't act fast." She flipped to a page somewhere in the middle and indicated the detailed illustrations, each picture captioned in the same indecipherable symbols as the cover. "Start here and look for anything familiar. I'll translate."

"It’s a little hard to concentrate when someone's just told me there's a monster on the rampage while half of Earth’s best defense force is benched."

Roxy rolled her eyes. "Leaving aside the 'best' part, you’re hardly out of the game. A big gun is just a temporary solution this time around. You and I are going to find the permanent one." There was a pause before she continued, a little softer than before. "Besides, you're not permanently benched. Appreciate that, at least."

Wendy was about to say something appropriately dry when she caught the wistful note. "That's the voice of experience talking, isn't it?"

The only response was the click of Roxy's heels as she crossed the floor. Wendy had barely noticed the sword hanging from the end of one shelf, though she wondered now how she could have missed it. It came up to Roxy's chest when she lifted it effortlessly from its rack, and it was as wide as her arm. The succubus was still as a portrait for a moment, holding the sword with a thoughtful look, and then the dance began. The blade cut through the air like something alive, arcing into fragments of light that Wendy could barely follow. It finally stopped a handspan away from her throat, shining and motionless and not as sharp as the smile that wielded it. It was an angel's smile, from the days when nobody would ever dream of painting an angel without a weapon. "I may love my job, but community service is not where I started when I agreed to buy back my soul."

Wendy gingerly pushed the blade away with the flat of her hand – it had been one of the first things Sensei Ping taught her. There was really not a lot she could say to that, other than 'That was kind of awesome,' which she didn't feel comfortable saying even if it had been. "I’m glad you're on our side," she finally managed.

A chuckle, and the world's best-dressed avenging angel was gone again, leaving a woman who wasn't much less imposing. "You and a lot of others. Half a legion followed me when I reformed, just because they knew which end of my sword they didn't want to be on. Although I’m sure you think I’m exaggerating."

"I really don't," Wendy said sincerely. It was hard to doubt the way she carried herself while she carried the sword, like it was something she'd been without for too long. "So what happened?"

Roxy shifted the sword to her left hand and gave an exaggerated shrug. Her shoulder clicked unpleasantly and she winced. "You give up stealing souls, you give up some of the immortality that goes along with it. Eventually time catches up with you." She returned the sword gently to its resting place, hand lingering on the hilt. "So don't talk to me about being benched."

"Right. And now that my foot and my mouth have gotten better acquainted..."

Roxy waved away the semi-apology. "Water under the bridge. You're young, you're new, there's still plenty that you're excused for not knowing. We'll get together and swap war stories once you've been around long enough to accumulate some."

Once again, there was a pause that Wendy would normally have filled with banter. "You know, I think I'd actually really enjoy that."

A snort. "If you're trying to get on my good side, I should remind you that I don't have one.” She leaned over the back of Wendy's chair and tapped at the book. "Read."

Twenty minutes, countless unidentifiable horrors, and two mutant eldritch bear things ("Not enough teeth" and "I would have remembered a feather mohawk") later, the painkillers started to wear off. "Gotta move," Wendy said, trying to find a more comfortable position while keeping track of the illustrations as she flipped by them. Dragon, blindfolded monkey, alien cow...

Roxy leaned back on her heels, waiting. "You're a rare creature right now, you know."

Oyster with unicorn horn, five-eyed rabbit, not even gonna think about what that might be... "What, a mutant bear attack victim?"

"An injured Middleman."

Wendy laughed. "You're kidding, right? This job makes Alaskan crab fishing look like insurance adjustment."

"Exactly. It's not a job that injures. You either come out of a mission miraculously unscathed, or you get killed. Which means you're either incompetent or well above average." Roxy gave her a speculative look. "Judging by how long you've lasted so far, I'm guessing it's the second one."

Wendy could have let the rest of the day’s praise slide without comment, but that raised her eyebrow. "Now it's just getting weird. You wanna tell me what this flattery is all about?"

Roxy smiled slowly, a look with too many teeth. "I know your current employer does things a little differently, but I find that a few kind words are the best way to lead into a job offer."

If Wendy had been drinking anything, she would have choked. She almost did anyway. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, I don't mean right now," Roxy said with a wave of her hand. "Or any time in the near future, most likely."

Wendy continued to sputter. "You realize that I'm currently preparing for a very permanent job, right? You put this uniform on, you die in it."

Roxy nodded. "Or you retire."

"Middlemen don't retire." It was something that was really starting to sink in for possibly the first time. It wasn't just that the job was dangerous enough that it would probably take you down young, well before you even considered hanging up your molecular stun cannon. It was the way the job infected you, turned into part of your soul so quickly and so cleanly that you could never even dream of giving it up.

"You're half right," Roxy agreed. "Middlemen don't retire willingly. And I can see that you're already starting to understand why." This one was a real smile, the sad and rueful one of someone else who hadn't retired willingly. "But things happen. Time catches up with you. And you may be one of the few who could survive that." She spread her hands. "All I'm saying is, if the spirit remains willing but the flesh grows weak, the exotic consulting business could use you."

Wendy blinked. This was obviously not an offer Roxy extended to just anybody, but it was one she couldn’t even begin to contemplate. She'd barely started adjusting to this new life. It was too much to consider that there might be something after. "I...have no answer to that."

"Good. I didn't expect one. It's just something I wanted you to be aware of." Roxy gestured at the surrounding room. "And if I ever need to repeat the offer, it's not like I don't know where to find you."

Fic: Shut Your Eyes and Sing To Me

2008-08-27T05:56:41Z

Yet another iPod Challenge! Drakken/Shego this time around, and shamelessly fluffy throughout.

Title: Shut Your Eyes and Sing To Me
Fandom: Kim Possible
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Summary: Love is just friendship set to music.

1. "My Heart Skips A Beat," Dwight Yoakam

Lovesick fool though he is, Drakken's neither surprised nor offended when Shego says she's not ready to tell anyone else about them yet. It's fair; they both have their evil reputations to worry about, and then there's the whole employer/employee thing that makes it look a little weird, even if they've professionally been partners in all but name for years now.

But still, sometimes when they're in public he'll find her hand slipping into his, just for a moment. And it's all he can do not to shout it from the rooftops.

2. "The Future Soon," Jonathan Coulton

He's had Big Ideas ever since before they ever met, she knows. Not just the global domination thing, but all the other plots and plans that he rants about whenever she's in the mood to indulge him – and sometimes when she's not. It's one of the things that she finds alternately endearing and annoying about him. Lately, though, he seems to want feedback. He wants to know what she thinks.

It takes her weeks to realize that he's trying to impress her. She smiles then, and starts indulging him more often. And in the back of her mind, she wonders who he was trying to impress before her.

3. "Footloose," Kenny Loggins

One of the first concessions Drakken makes when he realizes how badly he wants to spend more time with Shego is asking her what she wants to do on Friday nights. Half the time, it's staying in with a book or a movie rental, which sometimes includes his company but usually doesn't.

When she's in the mood to go out, though, she's into dancing.

It shouldn't surprise him, given the way she moves on the job. But when she's fighting, it’s with a collected elegance, not a movement wasted. Here, that same grace is let loose, all the joy and energy she usually channels into her sarcasm falling into the swing of her hips and the twist of he shoulders.

He just wishes he wasn't too busy trying not to trip over his own feet to watch her.

4. "This Must Be The Place," Talking Heads

It's been an amazing vacation. A full ten days away from the lair, mostly spent half asleep under the tropical sun, surrounded by gorgeous and contented people who don't get in her way. Even a little bit of a sunburn can’t wash away Shego's contentment, although the plane ride home should have. She's back in the real world now, and tomorrow starts another week of stealing and fighting and taking orders.

Drakken doesn't run to hug her hello or anything, but the smile on his face when he sees her is the warmest welcome she could hope for. "You're home."

She dumps her bags in the doorway and leans against the wall, breathing in the gloom and musty atmosphere with a comfortable sigh. Her smile is at least as broad as his. "Yeah. I am."

5. "Ghost of a Chance," Rush

Fate came to Shego when she was a kid. There was a plan in motion, a plan to create an elite superhero team that fought for truth and justice with the power of love and family. Or so Hego always used to say. She knows better now.

Everything's a choice, and every choice she makes is an effort to subvert the ones she's supposed to be making. But she can't help believing in Fate, just a little bit, because it seems to be trying so hard to punish her for arguing with it. Her career is going nowhere, every day is an uphill climb just to get anything done, and as for her personal life...

She smirks, just a little bit evilly, as she leans her head against Drakken's shoulder and he turns to kiss her temple. Okay, so she's winning on one front. Fate can try as hard as it wants. This is never getting away from her.

6. "Disease," Matchbox Twenty

Sometimes he thinks falling in love with her is the dumbest thing he's ever done. Other times he knows it is.

She's cruel, he reminds himself. Abrasive. Sarcastic. Too smart, and always ready to remind him of that fact. What does it matter that she's the most beautiful woman he's ever met, that when he's not working with her he's dreaming of her? What does it matter that her anger is the perfect balance to his, and if he ever does succeed it'll be all on her? What does it matter that he wants to be in love with her?

This will all pass soon enough, he hopes. It has to.

Right?

7. "Life Less Ordinary," Carbon Leaf

His biggest fear in this is moving too fast. He's barely managed to talk her into a date, for God's sake! How far is too far to go? He's not worried about how physical he’s allowed to get; he's scared enough of her that that's not an issue. But as far as what he’s allowed to say...

He gives her a nervous smile. The weather's always a safe topic, right? And the rain they've been having lately is affecting his plans, and therefore hers, so it's even relevant. So, do you think it’s ever going to stop raining? It's all he needs to say, and they'll be having a real live first-date conversation. He clears his throat. "I'm in love with you."

Okay, so maybe small talk isn't going to be his strong suit.

8. "Valparaiso," Anggun

He's wearing that smile again, the eager one that says he has something up his sleeve. For once, she doesn't think it’s work-related. One hand reaches out for hers. "Come on."

She doesn't know why she hesitates. Maybe it has something to do with the spectacular way his romantic efforts tend to fail. "I'm not sure about this."

He looks surprised, reducing the power on the hovercraft so it dips a little further, bringing them closer to eye-to-eye. "Why?"

She can't tell him why, can't cut him down like that when he's obviously so eager to make this work. "I just want to know what you're planning, is all."

He grins. "I don't have a plan. I just want to go anywhere, as long as it's with you."

She hurriedly closes her mouth, turning her look of shock into a smile to match his. No matter what happens next, for once he's gotten the romantic part right. She grabs his hand, nearly pulling him out of the hovercraft as he tries to sweep her into it. "Then lead the way."

9. "Accidentally In Love," Counting Crows

The scary thing is, she doesn't even realize she's said it. Drakken has to stop the conversation cold and make her repeat herself before she realizes why he looks so shocked. "All I said is, don't think you can get away with that just because I love y... Oh."

His face is morphing into the biggest grin she"s ever seen on him. "You said it first."

"I did not!" She's turning scarlet now, because she knows he's right, and he can't possibly be. "You...I...That..."

The arms around her shoulders slow her protests, and the gentle kiss that comes with them stops her altogether. "Okay," Drakken says with a laugh, humoring her. "You didn't say it." His voice drops to a whisper as his lips brush against her ear. "But I still love you, too."

10. "Falling For The First Time," Barenaked Ladies

He doesn't understand what she sees in him sometimes. He's not handsome, he's not athletic, and it's not like any of his genius plans ever actually work. She could do so much better.

"I don't want to."

He likes to think he has potential, but that's all he has. His only real ability is the strength – or maybe the stupidity – to keep on trying.

She leans against his back, draping herself over his shoulders and pressing her cheek to his. "You ever stop to think that maybe that's the part I like?"

Fic: Just Words and a Tune

2008-08-22T23:29:54Z

My Middleman-themed contribution to the iPod Challenge: Put your MP3 player on shuffle and write a flashfic (I refuse to call these drabbles; I am a term purist!) about each of the first ten songs to come up. The catch? You only have the duration of the song to write it in.

Title: Just Words and a Tune
Fandom: The Middleman
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None
Summary: The sad part is how normal this is all starting to seem to her.

1. "Betty and Me," Jonathan Coulton

"Human cloning? You"re not serious."

The Middleman just gives Wendy a look. "Have I ever not been?"

"Barring your sudden spate of comedy in the Underworld, not that I can remember." Wendy rolls her eyes. "So. Evil clone army? We gonna go all Sith on their asses?"

"Evil clone baby army."

"Now I know you're kidding."

He smiles just a bit. "A little. I highly doubt they've organized themselves into anything resembling a military organization yet. Possibly after naptime."

2. "I've Seen That Movie Too," Elton John

He can tell by the way she's leaning on the banister that it's already hit her. "You really think you can push me around like this, babe?" There's a drawl in her voice, an accent that's never been part of it before, and he has no idea where that hat came from.

"Dubby," he says gently, "nobody's pushing you around. I wasn't even talking about you, and—Mother of mercy, where did you get that thing?!" It probably says something about him that the cigarette shocks him more than the sudden anger from his sidekick.

She sneers as she takes a drag. "I just bet it bothers you. It reminds you of her, doesn't it? That...that tramp! Don't think I don't know about her!"

The Middleman sighs. Of all the settings the film ray could have gotten flipped to during the fight, why did it always end up stuck on film noir?

3. "Flesh 'N' Blood," Oingo Boingo

"I'm only human, Dubby." He says it like it's something to be ashamed of, like admitting that he has his limits is something he should never have to do.

It's the first time she's heard him say it, at least. It's weird: He seems so honest about himself most of the time, never too embarrassed to admit that he's jealous, or worried, or possibly even not perfect. But now that the fate of some dimension he's never even heard of rests on his shoulders, suddenly something is too much for him. Wendy finds herself standing closer to him, leaning her shoulder warmly against his. "Yeah, you are," she says with a grin. "But you're also not alone."

He returns that grin, standing up a little straighter at the sight of her. "That's true. And don't let me forget it."

4. "Déjà Vu," Crosby, Stills, Nash, & Young

"Hope you've got your game face on," he says as she walks through the door. The same way he did yesterday. He spins in the desk chair, flinging a softball at her head. The same way he did yesterday.

She catches it easily. The same way she did yesterday. "You know, you lose the element of surprise when you do that two days in a row."

His brow furrows in a way she does not like. "I didn't do that yesterday. Yesterday I was under the Middlemobile's hood when you arrived."

"No, that was Tuesday."

"Yesterday was Tuesday." He pauses. "Unless..." A button pressed on the desk. "Ida, I need you to do a scan for chronological flux in the area." He raises a hand to calm Wendy, just worrying her further. "Don’t worry, Dubby. It looks like you may have fallen afoul of a time loop. Just stay calm, keep your wits about you, and don't do anything that only seems like a good idea if this entire day gets erased."

5. "Ever Fallen In Love," Pete Yorn

It's probably the worst thing that's ever happened to him in this job, and that's including the thing with the goats and the transtemporal antimatter explosion. The antimatter didn't make him stutter.

"You okay, Boss?" Wendy raises an eyebrow. An adorable eyebrow.

He's grinning like an idiot. He can tell by the way she's looking at him. "Wendy, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever lain eyes on. Now please tell me the label on that love potion you just dropped says 'temporary.'"

6. "Valentine’s Day," Linkin Park

She leans on the window without even sighing. She can't muster up the energy to express what she's feeling, just slumps against the sill, staring out at the street.

Even Ida is silent for once. Or not snarky, at least. "You knew this was what it was all leading up to," she says quietly.

"Mmph."

"I know." Ida stands next to her, so subdued it's eerie. "But him being gone doesn’t stop the world from needing saving, Boss."

She winces. "Don't call me that. Not yet." Someday she'll have to answer to it. But for God's sake, please not today.

7. "My First Born For A Song," Bell X1

He notices the way she's fidgeting with the pencil, the same one she's been fidgeting with all morning. She would have discreetly sharpened it at least three times by now on a normal day, and probably gone on to her third or fourth sheet of paper. "Are you even listening to me?"

She looks up in surprise that says she hasn't been. "'Course. Alien mummies, underground pirates, centuries-old feud. I'm right on top of it."

"So you've heard, but you don’t seem to be listening at all." He pulls the notepad gently out of her hands. It's completely blank. "I see."

"More like you don't see," she mutters unhappily. A sigh. "I haven’t drawn a thing in days. I’ve never had artist's block this bad!"

"Certainly not since I've known you," he agrees. A pause for thought, then a smile. "And I know just the thing for it." He gestures for her to stand. "Come with me."

She falls into step behind him before she starts asking questions. "Where?"

"To the Middle Archives." He turns to her with a grin. "We're heading for the really bizarre section."

8. "Hammer To Fall," Queen

"The end of the world." Somehow, she's not surprised. It had to happen at least once while she was on the job, right?

He doesn't look any more shocked than she does. Jeez, he looks gleeful. "Assuming we don't do something to stop it," he agrees. He's more than ready do so, judging by the amount of obscure weaponry he's packing. "There's nothing quite like a good apocalypse aversion."

Wendy checks her own gun, and the backup she doesn't think he noticed her slipping under her belt. "How many does this make for you?"

"Six. Why?"

"No reason."

9. "Steady As She Goes," The Raconteurs

This is it. This is everything he wished for in the darkest hours, everything he walked away from without a second glance all those years ago. The house, the yard, the picket fence, and there in the doorway...

It's not the woman he was expecting. Wendy's smiling at him, but sadly. "Had a feeling it would look something like this," she says. "Your wildest dream is the kind of life most people spend their lives trying to escape."

He doesn't understand. What's she talking about? Why is she here?

"I don't know why," she admits without him saying a word aloud. "But apparently I'm in your head, and it's probably a good thing." She cups his face gently, making him focus on her. "Look at me, Boss. This isn't real. This isn't what you are."

He understands it when she says it, knows the illusion for what it is. But if he could just stay...

"I know. But look at it this way: You see this place you want so bad? This is the place you're making safe for everyone else. The greater good, right? And in exchange for never getting the life you could have had, you get to understand just how precious and fragile it really is." Her hands are firm, holding him in place, not letting him look past her at the scene he’s begging to play a part in. ""I'd hate to have to keep it safe without you."

10. "It's Good To Be In Love," Frou Frou

She doesn't say anything, just lets him brood for a while. He does it so rarely, she can put up with it for a bit. They're sitting together, pretending to work, neither of them really looking at anything.

He's the one to break the silence. "I’m happy for Lacey. For both of them" She makes a neutral sound. "Mr. Noser is a fine man," he continues. "They're a good pair."

"I was going to tell you, I swear."

He puts a hand on her shoulder. "You may be my best resource on the job, but it's not your job to shield me from the world." A rueful look. "Although sometimes I'm allowed to wish you had."

Fic: The Apocalypse Embrace Aftermath

2008-08-14T11:17:22Z

I have been quiet here for far too long. But there's a new obsession in town, and I'm embracing it.

Oh, yes. I bring you Middleman fanfiction.

Title: The Apocalypse Embrace Aftermath
Fandom: The Middleman
Rating: G
Spoilers: Set some time between "The Manicoid Teleportation Conundrum" and "The Ectoplasmic Panhellenic Investigation."
Summary: When surviving a certain-doom situation, try not to do anything that will just kill you from embarrassment later.

Wendy slumped into the passenger seat of the Middlemobile, a reluctant passenger. Sure, her car was lost in a transdimensional current that even the HEYDAR was having trouble navigating. And sure, the nasty little burns covering her left hand would probably make driving difficult for a while even after they found it. And sure, she’d gotten said burns while rushing to the Middleman's rescue, which had probably temporarily rendered her a little unstable. That was still no reason for him to insist on driving her home, especially after she’d made it clear that she was going to have trouble sharing a continent with him for the next few days.

"Don't be silly, Dubby. What kind of teacher would I be if I left you to face this city's clean but inefficient public transit system alone after the kind of day you've had?"

The entire sky is on fire, and he's still looking for her. Delighted and relieved to see her running towards him. The smile dies when he sees what she’s running from.

"I'm fine," she insisted, in the grand tradition of the not-fine everywhere. "Just a little..." Battered. Shell-shocked. Embarrassed out of my mind. "...sore." She pressed a hand against her neck and looked sideways at him. Even though she'd been trying not to look at him for the past hour or so, she could see that he was still moving with his usual strength and confidence. "Why aren't you? They already had you in a corner by the time I got there."

He pulls her around a corner and under cover without a word, probably swallowing several he'd never say. He doesn't look seriously hurt, and takes a minute to make sure she isn't either, nodding when he realizes she's just a bit burned. "How many of them?"

"Dreaming Rabbit," the Middleman explained. "A very old and difficult technique that, when used correctly, can delay the body's response to pain and other external pressures for several hours, until the mind is ready to deal with them. I'll teach you when we have a spare moment."

"Could have come in handy today."

Her heart is going so fast she can hear it. She's gesturing too much. Panting. Trying not to panic. "At least eight. We’re cornered."

Even he can only hold out for so long. "Damn it." It sounds so harsh, coming from him. "I might have been able to deal with five."

"Don't dwell on today," he said. "It's over, we got the job done, and there's nothing more we could have done about the incident." He shifted in his seat, took his eyes off the road to glance at her for a brief moment. "And as for the...rest, well, as you said. It didn’t mean anything."

"Right," Wendy said quickly. But not too quickly, she hoped. "It was nothing. Just a high-stress situation. I thought we were going to die. It was an inevitable physiological response."

He sounded skeptical. "An inev—"

She cut him off with a sharp gesture. "You get to use it for crying, I get to use it for kissing you."

Well. There was that said out loud, finally. It completely failed to make things less awkward.

"There are two of us," she reminds him.

"And half the game is about escaping detection. There's no safety in numbers here." A pained look. "For the first time since I met you, I wish you weren't fighting beside me."

"Fair enough," the Middleman said carefully. He cleared his throat. "Although I'm sure you've deduced that making sure you got home safely was only part of my motivation in offering you a ride. If there's going to be any awkwardness between us, I want to deal with it quickly, before another mission comes up. And while we have some amount of one-on-one time."

Wendy wasn't about to call him on his poor choice of words. "Really, it's no big deal, right?"

"You haven't made more than four seconds of eye contact with me in the last hour, and if you were any further over in that seat you'd be in danger of falling out the car door."

He doesn't have time to try and send her away, or anywhere to send her if he did. Anyway, she'd fight him all the way. "There's gotta be some way to take these things down."

"Only a handheld Mark Seven double-barreled plasma dart launcher, or a precision strike with something heavy and metallic between the third and fourth armored ventral plates."

"Don't you carry a handheld Mark Seven double-barreled plasma dart launcher?"

"It made a very effective something heavy and metallic when the darts ran dry."

Wendy tried to shift her weight back to the center of her seat without the movement being noticeable. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Somehow, the Middleman managed to give her the look that said she was being obstinate without actually looking at her. "Denial is a poor defense, especially against the self. In order for our professional relationship to stay solid, we need to confront and deal with these feelings."

"There are no feelings!" Wendy practically shouted, her voice jumping in pitch. "It was an adrenaline-fueled panic response, not some...explosion of previously-buried romantic tension!"

He held up a hand to quiet her. "Feelings of embarrassment and discomfort, and possibly confusion," he clarified.

"Oh." Those she had plenty of, not that she wanted to talk to him about them. She snorted. "The guy promising to teach me Dreaming Rabbit is talking about confronting things?"

"No weapons, no way out, and no plan. What's our next move?"

His silence can't last more than a second, but it seems to stretch on for hours. She looks at him and wants to step away. There's not a hair out of place or an imperfect crease to his uniform, like always, but his eyes are showing every battle he's ever fought. His voice is quiet. "We stand up and face whatever comes next."

"The pain will get the attention it deserves when the more pressing matters I have to attend to have been taken care of." The patience in the Middleman's voice went a little thin. "And the problems of a few injuries and the inherent risk that deferring them carries are insignificant compared to the danger of damage to one of the most important professional and personal relationships I have."

The small smile that touched Wendy's lips took her by surprise. "I'm an important personal relationship?" Sure, not the best thing to focus on under the circumstances, but still nice to hear.

His look suggested that it had been silly of her to even ask. "Of course you are."

They're shoulder to shoulder, facing out against the onslaught, and she's not ready to believe that he's telling her they’re out of options. She can't even force out a sound of protest before his unexpected touch stuns her into stillness. His arm is around her, pressing her close against his side, his grip on her shoulder almost possessively tight. It's warm, and strong, and completely fails to be reassuring. "Wendy." It's all she needs to convince her that this really is the end of the line. "You've been everything I could hope for in an apprentice."

He's not looking at her when he says it, too determined to look death in the eye to the last. But she raises her head to study his face, taking in the tightness in his jaw that undercuts his stoic expression. Both his hands, the free one and the one on her shoulder that's starting to hurt, are clenched. Like he's trying to keep them from shaking. Like he's just as scared as she is, or maybe even more scared, since it still hasn't really sunk in for her yet. And might never have time to.

"Hunh. I mean, I knew the whole sidekick thing was a big deal to you, but..."

"A bigger deal than the Louisiana Purchase! The bond between Middleman and apprentice extends well beyond the job. I thought I'd made that clear."

"No, I get that. On-call around the clock for each other, working together in all things, it is vitally important for you to have complete access to my medical and psychological history, I totally get the whole 'united we stand' thing. But you're making it sound like some kind of..." Wendy fumbled for an appropriate word.

"Kinship?" the Middleman offered.

It wasn't a word Wendy would have picked, but it fit. "Yeah."

"There's a reason for that." A smile from him, one of those crooked, boyish ones that would have been obnoxious coming from someone with any self-awareness at all. "I hope this doesn't sound out of place, given our current circumstances, but I've grown quite fond of you on a personal level. I enjoy your company, and I look forward to your art-related insights and anecdotes. I'll admit that I could do without the overuse of biting sarcasm, but even that is starting to grow on me."

Wendy forced back another piece of biting sarcasm – 'fond'? Who says that? – in the face of the unexpected compliment. "Well, I guess you're pretty okay yourself," she said, not quite sure how else to respond. "Does that...make this even more awkward?"

She reaches for him without knowing exactly why she's doing it, only that he's being brave in that noble kind of way that's about facing the darkness without flinching even though you're terrified, and she's pretty sure he's doing it partly for her sake, to keep her from freaking out. She twists against his side to take hold of the front of his jacket with both hands, ignoring the sting of the fabric scraping against her burned hand. The last example he ever sets for her will be one of honor and quiet strength and she wants him to know that she understands that, understands that throughout her apprenticeship he's been striving to teach by example. And it works, because it's him. He's a good boss, a good teacher, and a good man, and even if it's going to end here on some shouldn't-even-exist battleground it's been a hell of a ride. So much to say. So few words for it. No time to paint it.

All of that runs through her head in a blur that can barely be called thought as she kisses him. It's rough and abrupt, nothing sweet or even dignified about it. She doesn't have the spare mental energy necessary to be shocked at herself, or at the way he doesn't immediately move to push her away.

"I can't imagine why it would. At this point, I think we can only benefit from being open and honest about our opinions of each other." The Middleman was careful to avoid the word 'feelings' this time, Wendy noted. He paused. "That is, unless you're uncomfortable with me expressing affection for you. Because if you are, please don't hesitate to say so."

"It doesn't bother me," she assured him. Jeez, this whole thing was her fault, and suddenly he was bracing for a sexual harassment suit? "I just worry that we’re risking some kind of...miscommunication."

His brow furrowed. "I'm not sure what you mean by that."

"Neither am I. Look, all I know is I already made an idiot of myself once today, and I'd rather not do it again."

"You had a strong but not unusual reaction to your first time being that close to death. You didn't make an idiot of yourself." He coughed sheepishly. "And if you did, you weren't alone. I also let the stress and intensity of the situation get the better of me. And I have no excuse."

As usual, being stunned doesn't slow him down for long. The arm around her back shifts until both his hands rest lightly on her shoulders. He returns the kiss gently, reserved – almost chaste – and just a little bit awkward. About what she would have expected, had she ever given the matter any thought. She can definitely think of worse ways to spend the last few moments of her life.

Wendy's eyebrow went up. "And what does that mean?"

"Well, we were in the same boat back there, and you were hardly the only one feeling awkward."

"No, not that part. If you say you have no excuse, then that implies that I do. Care to explain just what it is?"

"In this situation you're allowed a certain amount of leeway in your reactions. As I said, unless there's something missing in your profile – which is highly unlikely – this is the closest you've ever been to certain doom."

"Oh, and you've been closer?"

"No," the Middleman said hesitantly. Wendy snorted. "But I have been exactly that close on more than one occasion. You eventually begin to adjust."

She sighed, leaning back in the seat and raising a hand to her head. "So that was a rookie mistake?"

"I wouldn't put it quite so pejoratively..."

"And here I was, starting to think I might be able to live this down someday."

The Middleman tsked at her. "I sympathize with your embarrassment regarding the fallout of this particular situation – and I have to admit, I share some of it – but don't focus on the mistake itself like that. Inexperience is nothing to be ashamed of, Dubby. We all have to start somewhere, and part of the journey is in making mistakes. You and I both know that you've made your share, and there's nothing wrong with that as long as you learn from it. One of the reasons you have so much potential is that I've never seen you make the same mistake twice."

"I'm definitely not making that one again. No offense."

"None taken. And rest assured, I share the sentiment behind that statement. Despite your many appealing qualities, I have no romantic interest in you whatsoever." A pause. "And I apologize for kissing you."

"Same here. To all of it." Wendy risked a real, dead-on look at him. "So, we're okay, then? Or at least going to be?"

A stop sign gave him a moment to turn and meet that look. "Eye contact," he observed, a small smile breaking out when she didn’t flinch. "We're going to be fine."

The blast of white light is searing even with her eyes closed. There's a rush like the wind past her face, and a sudden feeling of motion leaves her head spinning. This kiss isn't that amazing, but the only other sensation she's expecting is death. And if this is death, the afterlife is much less cut and dried than she was led to believe. If this was Hell, he wouldn't be here with her. And if this was Heaven, she definitely wouldn't be hearing that voice.

"Manicoid teleportation technology. I bullied a blueprint off one of the little Kewpie dolls last time you had them in here. Still not sure if the remote location feature is going to work every time, but assuming you both still have all your limbs..."

Wendy's never seen Ida stunned into silence before. Not that she's able to enjoy it, as focused as she is on the horror and embarrassment crawling up her spine. She catches a glimpse of the Middleman's face out of the corner of her eye as she turns her head. He looks more startled than anything. They realize at the same time that they’re still holding on to each other, the mutual pushing away sending them both several steps back.

Ida just shakes her head. "This explains so much." A parting shot as she pointedly turns her attention elsewhere: "I told you this would happen if you hired a girl."

The little insulted noises they both make in response are almost enough to turn them into a united front. Wendy starts to look to him for confirmation that that was out of line, but she catches sight of the bright flush coloring his neck and can't raise her focus any higher. If he's actually full-on blushing, she may never be able to leave home again. Dropping her eyes just calls her attention to the front of his jacket, its usually impeccable surface wrinkled where she grabbed it. She holds back the desire to straighten it. "You all right?"

"I’m all right." His voice is just a little higher than usual. He stabilizes it quickly. "You?"

"Yeah." It's only half a lie, she decides. Sure, she wants to crawl under her bed and hide, but she's capable of getting there under her own power.

"Which means we never have to have this conversation again, right?"

"I sincerely hope so."

"Good." Wendy breathed a sigh of relief and then, to her own surprise, laughed. "Sorry," she said, sensing the Middleman's confusion. "I just actually had the thought, 'things are back to normal.'" The confusion didn't lessen. "You know, like any part of this situation is...." She gave up. This explanation was never going to make any sense to him. "You know what? Never mind. It’s not important."

"Well, it looks like we've done all we can for today." His voice is artificially bright, all the more disturbing considering that natural brightness is its default state.

"Right. I should probably head home." Her cell phone rings as if on cue. She fishes it out, smiling at the caller ID. "Apparently Lacey thinks so too."

That"s when it really hits her, the entire day crashing down on her like a wave. She almost died. Subtract one last-minute android rescue, and she never would have seen Lacey again. She nearly drops the phone as the shaking starts. No more late-night arguments about postmodern theory. No more zombie movie marathons. No more Art Crawl. No more—

He's right there, taking the phone from her and dropping it on the banister as he pushes her down to sit on the steps. "It's all right. Just take a moment." She barely hears him as the wave washes over her, practically blinding her with terror and nausea. When the worst of it passes and she can see again, he’s gone, leaving her alone with the phone – which stopped ringing some time ago – and her delayed panic response. His absence is a relief; she's embarrassed enough without having him around to watch her collect herself.

It's only temporary. He returns shortly afterward to press a teacup wrapped in a dishcloth into her hands. He backs away and leans on the desk, keeping her in sight but giving her a little space. "Old Russian folk remedy. It helps alleviate some of the symptoms of an adrenaline crash."

As comforting as that doesn't sound, she can't really protest. Having something warm to wrap her hands around is comforting on its own – the dishcloth keeping the warmth from being too cruel to her injured hand – and it doesn't smell as horrific as the phrase 'old Russian folk remedy' implies. A sideways look shows that he's holding a cup of his own, and she realizes she has to trust anything offered to her by a guy who won’t even touch coffee. He gives her a nod when he catches her eye, whether just encouraging her to drink or pointing out that he's a little rattled himself, she doesn't know.

Whatever they're drinking, she has to admit it works. The pounding in her heart and head slows, some of her tension easing. She stands up slowly but with steady confidence, intent on making her way to the changing room for her street clothes and a first-aid kit, and from there, a hasty retreat home. "I'm okay."

"I almost believe you." He's obviously recovered, too; his voice is back to normal, and hes using the 'don't argue with your mentor' tone. "Come find me when you're ready to leave. I'll drive you home."

The blocky, unaesthetic shape of home had never looked so appealing. Wendy would have jumped out of the car as it was still rolling to a stop, were it not for the memory of the lecture she'd gotten the last time she'd done that. Besides, it seemed a little tacky to make a dramatic escape when they'd just had some kind of...was 'reconciliation' really the right word? When they'd just cleared the air about something. "Guess this is my stop."

"Home sweet home." Wendy suspected that the Middleman's hand had been aimed at her arm before he redirected the movement to adjust the rearview mirror. So they were still in a weird place about touching, it seemed. "Get some rest, Dubby. I'll pick you up in the morning, and from there we'll discuss transportation options until we can locate your car or a suitable alternative."

The thought of what his idea of 'a suitable alternative' might be had Wendy blocking out disturbing mental images of a Middle-bicycle. "Bright and early and ready to survive another day," she sighed as she opened the car door and eased herself out. Bright and early in the morning, when she’d definitely still be feeling this. She started to leave, but then thought the better of it and leaned back in. "Hey. You get some rest, too, okay?" If he could worry about his partner's health and well-being, then so could she.

"I'll promise if you promise."

"Fine. I promise."

"Then so do I. Goodnight, and sleep well."

"'Night, boss man. Drive safe."

His only answer was the purr of the Middlemobile's engine as he put it into gear and, giving her a final nod, pulled out onto the street. Wendy watched him go, then turned her attention to her building with a slow, resigned exhale. This was going to be the fun part: deflecting everyone's questions, coming up with a good explanation for why she was injured and her car was missing, and adding one more thing to the ever-expanding list of "Things I can never tell Lacey," which had been such a short list just a few months ago. "This is all going to turn into one seriously weird painting."

Fic: Five First Kisses

2007-11-22T01:26:45Z

Another "thing I've been wanting to do for a while," a "Five Things..." story. Note that all five "things" in this instance are intended to be in the same continuity; they build on each other rather than existing in isolation.

Title: Five First Kisses
Fandom: Kim Possible
Rating: G
Spoilers: Everything up through "Graduation."
Summary: It all depends on how you define the words.

Drakken was trying on slick and sleazy when they first met. He oozed fake charm, and it was even more fake because it fit him so poorly. “I have to say, I like what I see so far, Miss Go.”

“Just Shego,” she said firmly. Oh, he liked what he saw, all right. The looks he’d been giving her since she walked in were evidence enough of that. That was something Shego had gotten used to, spending most of her life in skintight black and green, but it was still uncomfortable in a one-on-one situation. Especially in a job interview, and especially in her first evil job interview. Only the knowledge that she needed this job – and the suspicion that she could train the guy out of this kind of crap if she stuck around – had kept her from walking out the second he’d raised an eyebrow at her. And possibly kicking him in the teeth on her way out the door.

He smiled indulgently. “Shego,” he repeated. “Your résumé is certainly interesting.”

Her résumé was entirely fabricated. Her credentials would crumble under the barest scrutiny, and any references he tried to call would all have suddenly relocated and left no forwarding address. Shego figured that lying on your application probably wasn’t a deal-breaker when you were trying to get a job as a professional thief, but all the same she was more nervous than she’d ever been in her life. Despite her long years of fighting against evil she’d never really realized how complicated it was. If she didn’t get this job, didn’t have someone to guide her through the sea of regulations and politics...well, she didn’t know what she’d do. She couldn’t go back to her brothers; the tower had stopped feeling like home months before she’d even started packing for her eventual escape. This job was her only hope.

“You seem to have a rather slim history,” Drakken continued, “but it’s not unimpressive. You will definitely be hearing from me for a field test.”

She tried not to look too relieved. This wasn’t a guarantee yet, and aside from that it would ruin the air of cool unconcern she’d cultivated over the years. “Naturally,” she said, trying to sound bored as she examined her nails. She stood up with an effortless flourish. “Then I guess we’re done here for the moment?”

“For the moment.” He rounded the desk, holding his hand out. She extended hers in turn and he didn’t shake it, just held it possessively for a moment. “You certainly are the most...appealing candidate I’ve looked at so far.” He bent low and kissed her hand, ignoring – or more likely, not noticing – her sudden recoil. “I look forward to seeing you in action,” he said with a wink.

She didn’t make him wait.

His bruises faded within a week or so, but the impression she’d made never would.

*

For all that she’d been socially adventurous for a while in college, Shego had always been a cautious drinker with a clear understanding of her limits. But she didn’t like other people enough to spend much time in bars anymore, and her alcohol consumption these days was limited to dates, vacations, and the occasional beer in the comfort of her own apartment. So it shouldn’t have surprised her that on the rare occasion when she did hit a bar with her boss, her tolerance was lower than it once was.

At the moment she was just drunk enough to feel a warm, affable fuzziness in her head that slowed her reaction times and took the edge off her natural grace. The walk home was more of a stumble at times, and she was thankful for Drakken’s arm around her waist. Not that he was any more sober than she was, but between the two of them they could keep each other more or less steady.

It had been a long evening of alcohol and conversation, antidote to a long week of failure and frustration. A long evening and a successful one; Shego hadn’t had to buy a single drink all night, and she was pretty sure the phone number that brunette had given Drakken was real. “You gonna call her?”

“Of course I’m not gonna call her.”

“Why not? She was cute, and she didn’t freak out when you said you were in the global domination business.”

“She thought I was kidding.”

“You’re just afraid of getting shot down.”

“I am not. I’m being realistic.”

“Whatever you say, Dr. D.”

He tightened his grip on her as she lost her footing. “You getting tired of me or something?”

“Hmm?”

“You seem awfully eager to hand me off to someone else.”

She drummed her fingers against his ribcage. “Maybe I just think that if one of us had somebody, we’d spend less time getting each other in trouble.”

Drakken sounded wounded. “I don’t try to get you in trouble.”

“And yet you always seem to manage it.”

He leaned his head against hers for a moment, more likely out of dizziness than affection. “I’d rather be in trouble with you than with anyone else.”

Okay, maybe there was a little affection there. And probably more inebriation than Shego had realized. “There’s always the option of not being in trouble at all.”

“Don’t tease, Shego. You know I don’t like failure any more than you do, but I’d rather fail with you than without you.”

Considerably more inebriation than she’d realized. “That was...almost sweet, Dr. D.”

“Well, it’s true.” Drakken gestured vaguely with the hand that wasn’t around Shego. “I don’t really have...anyone, really. But working with you...it’s kind of like having a friend.”

They’d reached Shego’s door by now – by unspoken agreement, she was quartered close to an exit in all their lairs. She pulled him to a stop in front of it, shaking loose of his grip and turning him until he was facing her. “You’re wrong.” She smiled, dimly aware that she’d never say any of this sober. “It’s not kind of like having a friend. It is having a friend.”

He laughed in surprise. “Really?”

She nodded. “I don’t really have anyone, either,” she said, rubbing her arm self-consciously and not making eye contact. “But I have you. And I like that.”

Drakken’s lips pressed gently against the corner of her mouth. It was shy and brief, barely enough to be called a kiss. Shego was taken by surprise, but more than anything she was surprised at how little she minded the attention. Even as obvious as it was that there was nothing stronger than friendship behind it, it was still the sweetest gesture anyone had made towards her in long memory. “Thank you,” Drakken said, quiet and sincere. “That means a lot to me.”

“Only ‘cause you’re drunk,” Shego returned, trying to shake off the sudden warmth she felt towards him. “And I’m only saying it ‘cause I am.” She pushed him away gently as she opened her door. “Now go sleep it off.” She started to close the door as he left, but paused and turned to scold him over her shoulder. “And call the brunette!”

*

Shego didn’t understand it. The sun was shining, everyone was in a good mood, and she was out in the park for a romantic day with the guy she’d been in love with since… well, ‘when’ didn’t really seem to matter. Which was good, because she couldn’t remember exactly when she’d fallen in love with Drakken. Or what had triggered it. Or – considering the long list of his faults and failings that was currently running through her head – why. Every time she started to ask herself, her brain just seemed to slide away from the questions. All she knew was that she did love him, fiercely and fervently. So why wasn’t today perfect?

Well, the way he tried to hide behind something every time she looked at him was probably part of it. His perpetual deer-in-headlights look was cute – everything about him was! – but it bothered Shego. She couldn’t understand why he was being so recalcitrant! She knew he was attracted to her, considering that he was male, straight, and not blind, and now she was practically throwing herself at him! Even adorably oblivious Drakken couldn’t be that clueless, could he?

She slid an arm around his back and got her answer when he flinched before gingerly patting her hand. Not clueless, then, just cautious. And if she was going to be honest with herself, she couldn’t really blame him. As much as it hurt her, his uncertainty was a reasonable response considering her usual aggression. She’d just have to keep proving that she was sincere and wait for him to warm up. “Just relax, Dr. D,” she murmured close to his ear.

The result was the exact opposite of what she’d intended as Drakken nearly jumped out of his skin. “I’m perfectly relaxed, Shego!”

She traced her fingers across the back of his neck, enjoying the little shiver the gesture sent down his spine. “Of course you are.” It was actually a little bit funny, if she thought about it. He was more scared of her when she was being nice to him than when she was making threats. It was one of those things that they’d someday look back on and laugh.

Especially with photographic evidence. The photo booth caught Shego’s eye as they rounded a corner, and she dragged Drakken towards it before he could form a protest. “Shego, I—”

“Come on, it’ll be fun! Besides, don’t you want a record of our first date?”

He made a strangled sound. “Date?”

She pulled him into the booth, ignoring his discomfort at the close quarters. “Well, sort of.” She giggled. “Smile!”

He was cute when he smiled. He was cute when he didn’t, come to think of it. And he was particularly cute when he gave her that look of nervous discomfort. Almost... irresistible.

The thought barely preceded the action. Without really realizing what she was doing, Shego leaned forward and kissed him. Well, not so much ‘leaned’ as ‘vaulted,’ the force knocking him backwards and out of the booth. She was dimly aware of the impact as they hit the ground, but Drakken took the brunt of it and she was too preoccupied to take much notice in any case.

He scrabbled against her in a way that threatened to become very personal before he managed to press a hand squarely against the center of her collarbone and pushed. It gave him just enough room to squirm out from under her. “Oh, don’t go playing hard-to-get on me now,” she purred.

They were still on the ground outside the photo booth, him flat on his backside and her leaning eagerly over him. “I’m not playing,” he panted, shuffling back a little further. “Listen, Shego, you’re a very...sweet young woman, and I’m quite fond of you, but...”

It was a horrible word that threatened to break her heart and tear her world in half. “But?” she repeated, her tone making it clear just how much she didn’t want to hear the rest of that sentence.

His look of terror was eclipsed by a brief flash of inspiration before he smiled gently at her. He laid his hand over hers. “You’re something special, Shego. I...want to take things slow. Talk about things over dinner, maybe.”

She beamed. Drakken wasn’t just being shy, he was being romantic. She tweaked his cheek. “You are the cutest thing!”

He heaved a heavy sigh, sounding relieved as she pulled him to his feet. It must be so liberating for him to finally be talking about where this relationship was obviously meant to go! She squeezed his hand affectionately. It might still take him a while to get used to this new romance, but she was willing to be as patient as it took.

*

After all the years she’d spent on the far side of the law, Shego had forgotten how heady a drug public approval could be. Sure, Drakken was the one getting all the credit at this little shindig, but she was up here on the stage with him – and looking good while she did it, if she did say so herself. They were in the public eye, under the gaze of a hundred cameras and half the world. And except for their fellow villains, who were reacting with varying degrees of boredom and betrayal, the crowd was cheering. Actually cheering! For good old Dr. D, and for her. That hadn’t happened since her heroing days, and even then it had never been an accolade on this grand a scale. She couldn’t ever remember feeling quite so...appreciated.

And then she glanced sideways, and there was a little surge in her chest. ‘Good old Dr. D’ was smiling at her, looking happy and confused and a little bit scared as he approached her. She wanted to say something, but her usual wit failed her completely. Drakken just kept giving her that hopeless look, and she couldn’t stop smiling back. Not even when one of those stupid vines shot out around her waist, wrapping her tight against him.

The sudden closeness made her heart pound, and Drakken’s abrupt blush said that she wasn’t the only one affected. He rallied impressively, though, turning his smile towards the crowd. “Thank you all,” he said, “but I couldn’t have done it without my si—” He stopped himself, putting his hand on Shego’s shoulder. “My partner.”

There was that little surge again, sharper than ever and – she was starting to realize – not entirely new. Oh, God, she was going to blush, or giggle, or cry, or....

Or do something incredibly dramatic and possibly stupid. She gave Drakken a wicked look, subtly angling her body so both of them were lined up with the press table. “You wanna make the cover of every publication in the country for the next month?” she asked in a low voice.

He raised an eyebrow. “What did you have in mind?”

She didn’t answer, just grabbed the ribbon around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

It was quick – Drakken didn’t even have time to realize what was happening until Shego had already stepped back, the vine around her having gone slack in his shock – but still long enough to attract the attention of every camera in the room. It would be the perfect shot, if Shego had timed everything right: the world’s newest hero stunned by the attention of an attractive woman, his medal dangling below her hand and framed by their bodies and the vines that had saved the planet. Photo of the year. And it would drive her brothers insane with jealousy.

Well. She’d caught the other villains’ attention, at least. There were a few cheers, a lot of surprised mutters that didn’t sound very approving, and a wail that could only be Cousin Eddie’s signature riff. She fought not to bury her face in her hands, knowing what had to result from this. The loss of her privacy and a big chunk of her reputation to start with, not to mention at least one seriously awkward conversation with Dr. D. She couldn’t look at him. Her eyes wandered unfocused into the crowd, looking for anything that might distract her.

Something did, although nothing she was expecting. Drakken’s hand, warm and feather-light even through the gloves, bumped against her wrist and trailed down into her palm. His fingers laced into hers and he squeezed gently before pulling away. It was starting to feel like the swell in Shego’s chest would never go down. She risked a sideways glance, only to discover that he was doing the same. Both of them snapped forward as they caught each other’s eyes, but the moment of contact was enough to show her that he was positively beaming.

Shego tilted her head downward to hide her own smile. This whole adventure might just be worth a little awkwardness.

*

Another long evening, another walk home together. A little less drunk this time, and a lot less patient. It hadn’t originally been intended as a walk at all.

“They offered a limo,” Shego muttered as the two of them picked their way through the deserted and demolished streets, which were still littered with scraps of alien technology. “But no. You had to make an exit.”

“The hovercraft should have been able to handle the trip,” Drakken said. “She’s a tough old girl, but apparently she and the plants don’t get along so well just yet.”

Shego rolled her eyes at the feminine pronouns. Drakken had practically whimpered when they’d been forced to abandon the little craft about a mile back. As if the hovercraft didn’t have the best security system money could steal, not to mention the vines he’d left lurking around it. “I’m not exactly over the moon for them either, but I’m certainly dealing. And do you have to say things like ‘she’s a tough old girl’ while you’re standing right next to me?” By mutual understanding, they were both pretending that ‘standing right next to her’ was an adequate description, and that the arm he had wrapped tightly around her wasn’t even worth mentioning. The night was cold and threatening to rain, after all, and she wasn’t dressed for the weather. There was nothing wrong with seeking out a little warmth.

He laughed, the sound rumbling against her ribs. “Give me some credit, Shego. I wouldn’t be stupid enough to call you a tough old girl. Even someday when you are one I won’t be stupid enough to say so.”

Shego tried not to be too pleasantly surprised at his assumption that they’d still be together by then. “I hope not,” she snapped. “I’d be afraid to see what would happen if the guy who can’t even keep up his basic hovercraft maintenance actually got dumber in his old age.”

“Hey! I didn’t hear you noticing that anything was wrong with her, either.”

“Yeah, but I’m not the one who’s supposed to be an evil genius.”

Drakken’s frustrated growl said that she’d beaten him on that point. “That’s right,” he muttered. “I’m the evil genius here, and don’t you forget it.”

It was such a smooth way to turn his loss around that Shego almost let him have it. Almost. “Right,” she said, tugging gently at the medal still hanging around his neck. She suspected that she wasn’t going to see him without it for a long time. “Evil. Like you’ve got any street cred left at all.”

“You were right up there on that stage with me,” he reminded her.

“Sure, but I’m not the one who was getting decorated by an international delegation.”

“True,” he conceded. “You were just the one who was kissing the guy getting decorated by an international delegation.”

Oh, boy. She’d been hoping this conversation could hold off until tomorrow, at least. “About that,” she mumbled, pressing her hand to her forehead. “You...you know that was just a heat-of-the-moment thing, right? Just me being a little crazy with celebrity and playing it up for the cameras?”

The arm around her waist loosened, Drakken’s side no longer pressed against hers. “Yes, I know.” His voice was soft and resigned. He did know, she understood. He’d just...hoped a little.

His hand was still warm against her back, although the rest of her had gone suddenly cold when he stepped away. She closed the distance between them again, slipping her own arm securely around him this time. She wanted to say more, to mumble all those stupid things about circumstances and timing and it’s-not-you-it’s-me. Just thinking of how she could explain it – that she knew she was feeling something for him, but not what, or what she wanted to do about it, and that she didn’t want to start something until she did know, and knew what he was thinking about it, too – made her feel like an idiot. God, if she could have at least gone completely stupid over him somewhere private! Then maybe she could at least enjoy it without worrying that she really had just been doing it for the media’s sake. She let out a frustrated little breath and laid her head against his shoulder.

From this angle, a little spot of pink floating above her caught her eye. Then another. Then a white one, and a yellow. Lifting her head, Shego saw an arc of vines stretching over her. And only over her, she realized as she noticed the dark spots on Drakken’s back. “How long has it been raining?”

Drakken shrugged. “Ten, fifteen minutes. Why?” He followed her look upwards and suddenly stopped walking, staring at the vines in surprise. “I didn’t tell them to do that.” A pause. “Not consciously, anyway.”

Well, wasn’t that interesting. Shego was about to comment on that when a roaring explosion tore the air. The world blurred as an unidentified force threw her sideways under the roof of a half-demolished building, pinning her to the far wall. Oh, God, she thought as she tried to break away. They’re back, and they’ve brought reinforcements, and we’re going to have to have that whole fight over again, and the annoying one is going to make snide comments about me and Drakken, and...

Drakken. Shock drove back her instinctive combat response as she realized that he was the force that had pushed her aside, and now he was standing tensely over her, awaiting an attack. There was fear in his face, but a second blast turned it into angry determination. The vines climbing the walls had thorns. His grip on her shoulders tightened as he snarled a challenge to the sky. “Bring. It. On.”

No alien attack could have taken Shego more by surprise. Drakken had pushed her out of the line of fire, and now he was shielding her from whatever was coming after them. He... he was trying to protect her. If anyone had ever tried to suggest something like that, she’d have laughed in their faces.

Of course, she’d also have laughed at anyone who said Drakken would save the world. Maybe it wasn’t such an insane idea, seeing him looming like some kind of floral-themed avenging angel, ready to ride into battle against the oncoming horde of....

“Thunder.”

Drakken’s intensity morphed into confusion at the sound of her voice. “What?”

Shego suppressed a burst of mad laughter. “Thunder,” she repeated, relief washing over her as she finally recognized the sound. “You’re challenging the weather to a fight.”

The same relief that had taken hold of her gripped Drakken. “Oh, thank God,” he said, his body relaxing. “There’s only so much heroism I can take.”

Shego gave in. The laugh that had been building in her throat burst out, strong and clear and genuine. Drakken looked insulted for a moment, and then he was laughing right along with her. His protective grip on her shoulders became an embrace as he slipped his hands around her back. She could only respond in kind. They held each other through the half-hysterical laughter, and when it finally faded they were still holding each other.

Shego nestled against Drakken’s chest. They were finally alone, without any cameras or alcohol or weird technology. Nothing but the two of them together, and she was still absolutely stupid over him. “My hero,” she said softly. “My incompetent, brilliant, fearless coward of a hero.”

Later, they would argue about this kiss. Who had initiated it and who had just responded, whether it really counted as a first kiss or just the first one that counted. For now, though, the only thing that mattered was the knowledge that it wouldn’t be the last.

Fic: Side Effects May Include

2007-08-14T06:09:58Z

I've been wanting to to a post-"Emotion Sickness" fic for a while now. This didn't go in quite the direction I was expecting it to.

Title: Side Effects May Include
Fandom: Kim Possible
Rating: PG for taking the concept to a vaguely darker place than the episode itself did.
Spoilers: Takes place immediately after "Emotion Sickness"
Summary: Kim shrugged off the effects of the Moodulator pretty quickly. For Shego and Drakken, it's not going to be so easy.

There was a circular burn on the back of Shego's neck, barely visible where her hair parted. It would probably sting for a few days, but after that it would be gone completely. The tiny puncture from the tranquilizer dart that had struck her leg would probably fade even faster. Sick as it had made Drakken feel to do it, drugging her had definitely been necessary in order to get the moodulator off her. She'd be furious with him when she woke up, but at least the fury would be hers.

He'd tried to treat her as gallantly as possible, carrying her to the couch in his living room and wrapping her in a blanket in the hopes of offering a little dignity and security, and pulling up a chair beside her for his own peace of mind. She was probably going to be furious about being in his apartment, too, but there were only two places in the lair where he really felt that she'd have the safety and privacy she needed while she shook off the effects of the chip and the tranquilizer. The other was her own place, and waiting uninvited in her home would be adding invasion to indignity. The obvious solution - taking her home and leaving her there alone - was not an option. Whatever else happened, Shego wasn't leaving his sight until he was sure she was all right.

His insistence on that surprised him. He liked Shego. He cared about her. He'd never expected to feel protective of her. But then, the ship had clearly sailed on not questioning the nature of their relationship. He glared at the remains of the moodulator, now a lump of crushed metal and fried circuitry. "You ruined a good thing."

A small groan from Shego was eerily well-timed. The body on the couch shifted, muttered something, and then froze. Her shoulders twisted, upper body turning to face him. The look that crossed her face was a kind of sick shock. "Oh, God," she breathed, sinking back down.

"Hey." He was close enough to touch her and smart enough not to. "Are you feeling okay?"

"Oh, God."

Drakken flinched at the horror and dread in her voice and couldn't help laying a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It's all right, sweetie. You're safe."

That brought her back to herself in a hurry as she twisted away from him, sitting up in the farthest possible corner of the couch. "No way. Whatever I said, whatever I did, whatever I offered, 'sweetie' is not gonna fly."

"Not entirely sure where that came from myself," he apologized.

"Well, find out, send it back there, and leave it."

It wasn't the cleverest thing she'd ever said, but it was still sarcastic and slightly mean. "You're back," Drakken sighed with relief.

She gave him a startled look before answering with a relieved sound of her own. "I am. I didn't actually leave, but I'm back in charge." She winced in sudden pain, raising a hand to the back of her neck. 'What was that?"

"Mood-altering device," he told her, holding it up. "Seems like the EMA isn't the only thing you got away with in that last raid. You've been under its effect ever since."

A shudder ran through her entire body. "Who was controlling it?"

"Nobody, apparently. Well, not on purpose, anyway. The chips got stuck to you and Kim Possible accidentally, the controller changed hands a few times before anyone realized what it was, it got hooked up to the EMA and the circuitry overloaded...Okay, that part was entirely my fault, but I didn't know it was controlling you, too!"

Shego held out her hand. He dropped the moodulator into it, and she stared at the chunk of metal for a long, thoughtful moment. In one fluid motion she crushed it in her fist, ignited it, and hurled it at the wall. The sound it made was remarkably satisfying. "I guess the frenzy of unstoppable rage has some lingering aftereffects," Drakken joked weakly.

"Nope. This rage is all mine." She touched her neck again. "Jeez, that thing left a mark. How'd you get it off me?"

A glimmer of hope on the horizon. "You don't remember anything?"

"I remember everything," Shego said, in a voice that said she wished she didn't. "But after the rage it all sort of blurs together."

"That part's also my fault." Drakken took a deep breath. "I had to hit you with a tranquilizer dart to keep you from hurting me, or yourself. It was the only thing I could think of. Please don't kill me."

"You drugged me? Why, you-" Drakken shied back as Shego raised a fist, but she lowered it almost as quickly. "You did what you had to," she said quietly. "I was out for blood and I couldn't stop myself."

It was a disturbing thing to hear her admit. "You're not angry?"

"Oh, do not think that for a second, buster. I'm angry, I just recognize that that was probably the best option. I'm not going to hold it against you." She paused and raised an eyebrow at her surroundings. "That is, assuming you have a good explanation for why I'm on your couch."

"Waking up disoriented on your own couch with me sitting next to you would have been even creepier than this already is."

Shego thought for a moment, then nodded slowly. "You make a good point."

Drakken waited for the obvious next question, but it didn't come. She didn't seem at all fazed by the idea that he would have been beside her regardless of where she'd woken up. She drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them. "Honestly, I was starting to fade out even before the tranquilizer. I remember the anger, and starting a few fights, and going after you - which I feel kinda bad about, by the way..."

He waved away her concern. "It was the most normal thing that happened to me all night."

She shot a glare at him, but for a moment there was a curve to her lip that might have been a hastily-covered smile before a shadow crossed her face. "And that's...all I did? I have to ask!" she added in response to his raised eyebrow, her voice jumping half an octave. "Like I said, I remember everything else about how I was acting yesterday, and I'm weirded out enough without thinking that there could be more that I don't remember."

There was a second when Drakken could almost believe he'd heard a catch in her voice. "There was nothing else," he told her gently. "No offers, no suggestions. Just one or two threats."

He'd hoped to draw out that almost-smile again, but the moment was gone. Shego pinched the bridge of her nose. "I can't believe...I mean, the whole thing was just..."

"Creepy?"

"Yeah. It's not like I'm famous for my calm nature even on a good day, but I was really starting to freak myself out. That...thing just overrode everything else. I couldn't control what I was going to say, or do, or..." She froze, looking stricken. "Oh, God. I kissed you."

"You did," he confirmed, trying to keep his voice neutral. "That was awkward."

"I don't think I've ever been more embarrassed in my life."

"Hey! I might not have been your first choice, but that's a little harsh."

"Don't get cute. You know what I meant. And it's no fun to insult you when you get to the punch line first."

"Sorry." A soft chuckle. "I can't believe how good it feels to have you insulting me again."

"Feels good to be able to. God knows you deserved it, the ridiculous way you were tiptoeing around me."

Drakken raised an eyebrow. "'Ridiculous'? Don't know if you noticed, but you were kind of insane at the time. I was just trying to ride out the weirdness until whatever crazy thing it was that had a hold of you blew over."

"You're acting like you knew something was controlling me."

"Well, I knew something was going on, obviously! Give me some credit, Shego. I'll admit that sometimes I'm not the smartest evil genius ever, but I know how the world works. And it's not a world where women like you suddenly fall for guys like me."

"'Women like me,'" Shego echoed, warning in her voice.

He couldn't quite meet her eyes. "Beautiful women."

The silence couldn't have lasted more than a second, but it was long enough to unnerve him. When he risked a look at Shego again she suddenly ducked her head, color rising in her cheeks. It was strangely pretty. "Don't be sweet to me, on top of everything else. This is weird enough."

Drakken couldn't remember ever having been accused of being 'sweet,' Amy notwithstanding. And even as soft as Shego's voice had suddenly gone, it was definitely an accusation. "Sorry."

"For God's sake, you acting like that after some of the stuff I was thinking about you..."

"Do I want to know?"

Some of the usual edge came back into her voice. "Hours and hours spent detailing everything I've ever disliked about you, every flaw, every stupid stunt, and every reason I shouldn't have been feeling...the way I was feeling about you. It was thorough, it was inventive, and it was cruel. And I mean by my standards."

"Don't worry about that. People say things they don't mean when they're stressed. And I think this definitely counts as a stressful situation."

A scoff. "First off, I didn't actually say anything out loud. And second, I meant every word of it. Sure, a lot of it went over the top, but it was still all true. What, did you think I was apologizing or something?"

"Too much to hope for?"

"All I'm saying is, there was a part of me that knew something was wrong, too. And it was angry and a little freaked out and it responded accordingly."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you should know." Shego twisted around so she was facing him more directly, placing a hand firmly on the arm of the couch to steady herself as she did so. "You should know that in all that time I was insulting and harassing and accusing you, not once did I think that this might be your fault."

Drakken looked chagrined. "It wouldn't be the first time I'd messed with your mind like that."

"No. That mind-control stunt you pulled? That was nothing like this. There's doing crazy stuff because something's making you, and then there's doing crazy stuff because something's making you want to. Now, I'm not necessarily saying you wouldn't try something like this, or that you wouldn't test it on me, but..." She touched her neck again, squeezing her eyes shut. "You'd have gloated and yammered on and made sure I knew it was you pulling the strings, which would at least be better than having some unknown force in control of me. And I know you're not capable of the accusation I'd be making if I thought this was something you'd set up."

He didn't say anything, but his confusion must have been evident because she rolled her eyes softly. "Think about it: Something weird happens to me and suddenly I'm in love with you. Aggressively in love with you. I find you irresistibly attractive, and there's not a lot I'm gonna say no to. What motive do I have to assume there?"

The bottom dropped out of Drakken's stomach as understanding hit him. Oh, sweetie. "Shego, I could never-"

"I know." Her voice was quiet but firm, cutting through his protests. She took a deep breath. "And I know I was lucky you were there." The words came out in a rush. "Look, don't make a big deal out of it or anything, but knowing I was with a friend...that was important. The whole situation could have been pretty scary if I hadn't known someone was there to look out for me if things got ugly."

It was high praise, and Drakken wasn't entirely convinced that he deserved it. After all, Shego was usually quick to tell him that he could barely look out for himself, let alone anyone else. She gave him a dry smile when he pointed this out. "I should probably be agreeing with you. But..." She waved a hand, the gesture encompassing the couch, the blanket, and him. "What would you call this? You were there, and you did look out for me. And call me crazy, but I don't think it's just because I'd have killed you on principle if anything happened to me."

Again, Drakken was surprised at the strength of his own reaction at the thought of "anything happening" to Shego. "Trust me," he said, his voice low. "When there's a straightforward fight and you come out of it worse for the wear, that's the nature of the job and it's your business alone. But if anyone had laid a hand on you while you weren't able to defend yourself, they'd have had me to deal with."

The almost-smile he'd reached for earlier resurfaced, and blossomed into a real one for a brief moment before turning into a soft laugh. "You say it like that, and I almost believe you really could take somebody on."

He closed his eyes for a moment and tried not to be insulted. After all, even he had to admit that it wasn't the most ominous threat ever. "I didn't say it would be difficult to deal with me," he admitted. "Just that they'd have to. Maybe it wouldn't make a difference, but I couldn't just do nothing if anyone hurt...someone I care about."

Shego didn't seem to notice the pause. That strangely charming flush returned as she studied him. "It would make a difference to me," she said at last. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulder as she dipped her head, partially obscuring her face. "Just hearing you say it makes a difference."

It was perhaps the most sincere expression of appreciation that Drakken had ever imagined he'd hear from her. The impact of the moment was, unfortunately, lost on him, his head still reeling from what he'd almost said.

I couldn't just do nothing if anyone hurt the woman I love.

He racked his brain, looking at that sentence from every angle and praying to find the rest of it. The woman I love working with. The woman I love like a sister. Nothing. The words stared back at him unadorned, daring him to try and twist them into something more innocuous. He pressed a hand to his forehead, trying to block out the revelation. Oh, God.

Took you long enough to realize it, a critical voice in the back of his head piped up. You've rounded the last corner of madness and fallen in love with a woman who's not only a coworker and just over half your age, but who just recovered from being forced to love you. You probably could have picked a worse time to figure this out, but only if you'd tried really hard.

"You look about as wiped as I feel."

Had Shego's voice always been such a privilege to hear? Or had exhaustion - both hers and his - just taken the normal edge out of it? Either way, it was the most beautiful sound Drakken could possibly imagine at that moment, and it was painfully unfair. She was wonderful, and he loved her, and this new vulnerability - or rather, the trust she'd placed in him by letting him see it - just made him love her more.

And he could never tell her. Not while he could still see the look she'd given him when she first woke up.

She was looking at him out of the corner of one eye now, expression uncertain, and he realized how strange his sudden shock must have looked from the outside. He forced a tired smile. "It's been a long day for both of us."

Her hair was still falling over her shoulder. It took effort not to reach out and brush it back. "Yeah," she murmured, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I should go."

"No, you shouldn't. You're staying here tonight."

She looked startled for a moment before her eyes narrowed. "I don't know what you're thinking..." she started, all the edge back in her voice.

Well, it wasn't like having everything he tried to say to her come out wrong was a new thing, at least. "I'm thinking," he cut her off, "that you look like you're having trouble sitting up. There's no way you're getting yourself home any time soon; you'd barely make it out the door." He sighed, knowing that he wasn't going to win this argument and needing to try anyway. "You just said that you felt better knowing that someone was looking out for you, right? Now it's my turn. Let me feel better knowing that someone's looking out for you."

Shego breathed in slowly, closing her eyes like she was bracing herself for something painful. When she spoke, it was so quietly that he could barely hear her. "You're right."

He couldn't possibly have heard that correctly. "What did you say?"

She glared at him. "I said you were right. It's not fair, but you're right."

Drakken couldn't help smiling, just a little. "I'm sure it was just a one-time thing." She was looking at him strangely again, and he realized he was staring. He wondered if he'd ever stop staring, stop being amazed at that strange perfection and how long it had taken him to see it. He cleared his throat. "Well, you've been here before, you know where everything is. I should be able to scare up a spare pillow somewhere, and is there anything else you need?"

Her 'yes' was almost inaudible, and her eyes suddenly shy. Not just shy, downright embarrassed and sliding into ashamed. Whatever she wanted, she was too proud to ask for it. And Drakken understood her, because for that one brief moment they both wanted the same thing. Without a word, he opened his arms.

She flew into them, falling against his chest with painful force. His ribs protested the crushing pressure of her arms around him, but their complaint was petty compared to how right her head felt nestled against his shoulder. It was just comfort, just one friend reaching out to another in a moment of weakness, but it was enough.

Shego exhaled, a small sigh of contentment. "If anyone ever finds out about this, I will kill you."

Drakken stroked her hair. "I wouldn't expect anything less."

Fic: Parkman, You Idiot

2007-07-19T03:59:10Z

So I told myself upwards of a thousand times that I wasn't going to get sucked into writing Heroes fanfiction.

I'm weak. And now the little voice in the back of my head is pointing out that this fic could easily be the first in a series.

Title: Parkman, You Idiot
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairings: Matt and Audrey, non-romantic
Rating: G
Spoilers: Post-"How To Stop an Exploding Man"
Summary: Recovery is always easier with a familiar face by your side. Even if she doesn't really want to be there.

Eventually, the pain ebbed. It didn't end, or even taper off significantly, it just... receded enough that something else could exist in Matt's universe. Consciousness flooded in to fill the empty space, and found that it wasn't alone. Something was drifting alongside him, a familiar voice. Well no, not a voice exactly. It was something inside his head. But it was still separate from him, and speaking words he'd never expected he'd be relieved to hear.

Parkman, you idiot.

He should have been offended. Maybe in some part of his mind that was still focused on hurting like Hell, he was. But at the same time, mostly he just wanted to smile. And judging by the next response, he had.

"Seriously? You're unresponsive for four days and that's what finally gets through to you?" The same voice, but outside his head this time. He didn't respond any further - wasn't entirely sure he could - and a long moment later it spoke again, this time with a note of concern. "Oh, come on, you just got back. Stay with me, Parkman."

Putting forth more effort than such a simple task should ever require, Matt forced his eyes open. Not too far, as the light was almost unbearable, but enough that his visitor could see the movement. There was a puff of breath, the relieved exhale of someone who's not going to admit she has any reason to be relieved because she wasn't worried in the first place. The dark patch that was all Matt could see in the brightness shifted, and as his eyes adjusted it coalesced into a human shape. He could feel himself smiling again as he spoke, voice harsh and painful from disuse. "Hi, Audrey."

She'd been standing at a tense angle, looking ready to attack, but at the sound of his voice she stopped by the head of the bed - yes, he realized, he was in a bed - and leaned against the railing. "Hi." There was an odd sort of amusement in her voice, a tone that suggested she was mocking his greeting rather than offering her own. "Don't know what I was expecting, but that was kind of anticlimactic."

"Sorry."

It was clear that "in a bed" was only the tip of the iceberg when it came to things that were gradually coming to Matt's attention. "In a great deal of pain" was still there, vying for his complete focus, but he told himself that he wasn't allowed to focus on that until it settled down enough for him to figure out exactly where it was coming from. "In a hospital" was the logical conclusion from those first two realizations, and the thought that he had no idea why he might be there suddenly ratcheted him up from "disoriented" to "very, very worried." His brain threw up a flag of reference, something Audrey had said a moment ago. "Four days?"

She nodded. "Four days since you got shot, or whatever the Hell that was. You've been just this side of comatose ever since and the doctors have been going back and forth on whether or not they actually expected you to wake up. Not that they'd ever say that out loud, of course. Wouldn't want to worry us unnecessarily." A dry look. "And you're gonna pull it out of my head anyway, so I'll give you this one for free: Yes, I was worried about you. Stop smiling."

It was surprisingly easy to do. Audrey had triggered just enough of a memory to snap the last few conscious days - and the pain - into focus. Ted. Bennet. Molly. Sylar. The name alone sent fresh ripples of agony through the wounds in Matt's midsection, tensing his muscles and breaking him out in a sweat.

A cool hand pressed against his forehead. "Breathe, Parkman. You're gonna pop a stitch. You can die on your own time, not while I need you."

The spasm passed, leaving the slow, smooth current of pain that Matt could tell was going to be his constant companion for a long time. "Not planning on dying," he grunted. Speaking hurt a little less now, although it was still something he'd prefer not to do for a while. He thought about asking for water, but doubted he'd be able to keep it down.

"Damn straight you're not," Audrey muttered. "I'm not explaining that to your wife."

Another jolt ran through him, this time a mix of worry and love and need. "You talked to Janice?"

"Daily." Audrey's tone said that this had not been the most pleasant experience of her life. "You, for the record are in a Hell of a lot of trouble. My God, Parkman! Disappearing for two weeks? What is going on with you?"

'My wife is going to kill me' suddenly sounded like the most beautiful sentence in the English language. Any verbal explosion, no matter how severe, would still involve hearing her voice again. "She's okay?"

"She's worried out of her mind, but other than that she seems fine. She says she'll get out here as soon as she can, but it could be weeks before they lift the air travel restrictions over the city." His exhale of relief must have been louder than he intended; there was a pause as she studied him. "Is this regular 'she's my wife and she's pregnant' kind of worried, or do you have some reason to think she's in danger?"

Matt hesitated. His first instinct was to respond with an emphatic 'yes' and request some kind of 24-hour guard for Janice, but Audrey thought he was nuts enough already. On one hand, it made sense for The Company to send someone after Janice - or, more specifically, after the baby. On the other hand, though, wouldn't they have done it already if they were going to? "I don't know," he said finally.

Audrey nodded. "I'll make sure she keeps checking in, at least."

"Thank you." It seemed like a weak thing to say, all things considered, but it was the best he could muster.

The half-smile suggested that she knew what he meant anyway. "Don't worry about it." She settled into a chair near the bed with unexpected familiarity; she'd clearly spent plenty of time sitting there. "Congratulations, by the way. On the baby. Your wife mentioned it." And you didn't.

It was a vehement footnote, and Matt had a feeling he'd have been able to pick up on it even if he wasn't a mind reader. It was a small and petty thing to be annoyed about, that he might have omitted that crucial detail when he took her into his confidence regarding his marriage, and she knew it was a small and petty thing, but he had to admit he sympathized with her. "I only found out right before I left."

"And I'm sure this had nothing to do with your decision to disappear for two weeks."

"I didn't plan on disappearing at all!" He would have thrown his hands up were it not for the mess of tubing running from one of them. "I barely know where I've been half the time. I don't even know how you found me!"

"I have you microchipped."

It took Matt a very long and frantic moment to realize she was being sarcastic. "For future reference, do not joke about that."

Audrey raised an eyebrow, but made no comment. "How do you think I found you? You were there when the sky lit up, and you had ID on you. You're a witness to what everyone suspects was probably a Sylar-related event. It was my job to find you."

"And here I was hoping it was just because you missed me."

She rolled her eyes. "Just because I happened to know you prior to this avenue of investigation opening up doesn't mean that I sought you out for anything other than professional reasons, and possibly the fact that the idea of waking up in a hospital bed a continent away from home sounded bad enough without being alone, too."

"I owe you one."

"Damn straight you do. You owe me a full and detailed explanation of just what the Hell happened out there. I'm stuck in the city, I've got no leads, and nobody will give me a straight answer on anything. I'm not leaving you alone until you tell me something off the record that I can use to get something coherent on the record."

"Then you're in for a long wait." Matt sighed. "Look, I wanna know what happened out there as much as you do. I went after Sylar, followed him to the plaza, and opened fire. Suddenly I'm in blinding pain, and the next thing I know, I'm here."

She either desperately wanted to believe him or desperately wanted not to. "Right. And you just happened to be in New York on what? Spontaneous vacation? Mission from God?"

"Unrelated business," Matt said, probably too quickly. It was only half a lie; he had assumed it was unrelated at the time. He'd continued to suspect mere coincidence even after their quest led them to Molly Walker, someone else who had been lying in a hospital bed a continent away from home. But Molly and Sylar, all on the same day... well, he was being completely sincere when he told Audrey he wanted to know what was going on at least as badly as she did.

"'Unrelated business,'" she repeated, as if he'd confirmed her worst suspicions. "That's what your friend said, too."

That took him by surprise. "What friend?"

"The guy from the paper company. Mr. Bennet. He's been keeping tabs on you ever since they brought you in." She gave Matt a sideways look. "You know, I'm starting to suspect he might not actually be a paper salesman."

Matt didn't know which to be surprised about first: that Audrey was obliquely admitting that he might have been right, or that Bennet had apparently been looking in on him. "You have no idea."

"You might be surprised." She raised a hand in warning. "First, you realize that I am utterly screwed if anyone finds out I told you this?" He nodded, and she leaned in closer, voice dropping. "There was an error processing my paperwork, and the order to stop all investigation on Primatech didn't make it all the way down to Records. Turns out you're not the first person to have a hunch about them. Seven separate investigations in the last 20 years: kidnapping, conspiracy, organized crime connections, and God only knows what else. Not a single conviction, ever, but not for lack of trying. And if half of what I think Bennet isn't telling me is true, we've barely scratched the surface."

Matt couldn't help raising an eyebrow at that. "Hell, if half of what he has told me is true then you're just scratching the surface. I don't think even he knows how deep this all goes."

Audrey studied his expression. "You realize that I still don't actually believe everything you've told me about him, and I won't until I get some actual, honest-to-God proof. But I've seen enough to suspect that at least some of it's true."

He gave her a grin. "Which means that when I told you there was something going on at Primatech..."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. You were right. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"More than you could possibly know."

Even half-dead you're impossible to deal with. She eyed the clock on the wall with a sigh. "Look, there's only so long I can just sit here and talk to you before I really have to at least let the hospital staff know you're conscious, and I have to report in to my boss anyway. Which does not let you off the hook as far as giving me some answers is concerned." She fixed him with a severe look. "I'll be back, hopefully not when they've got you doped to the gills. Not that anything you'd hallucinate is likely to be weirder than the stories I'm already getting from some of the other eyewitnesses," she added after a contemplative pause.

As she stood, she touched his hand briefly. "First phone call I make once I'm out that door is to your wife, I promise." Matt started to protest, but she cut him off. "And no, I am not calling her now so you can talk to her. First of all, you sound terrible. I can't even guarantee she'd be able to hear you. And second of all, unless you have a coherent explanation for why you disappeared for two weeks, only to reappear on the other side of the country with a known fugitive, some kind of man in black, and half a dozen bullet wounds in your chest, I'm doing you a favor in giving you time to get your story straight."

His answering laugh quickly turned into a coughing fit, which in turn became another white flash of pain. "Told you that you sounded terrible," Audrey said, not without sympathy. Another quick squeeze of his hand. "I know you're gonna get sick of hearing this over the next few weeks, but you need to try and get some rest."

He was already sick of hearing it. He wanted to keep her here for hours, providing him with a familiar presence in an alien world and answering his questions. Was Molly okay? What had happened to Sylar? Just what exactly had Janice said about him? Just what exactly had Bennet said about him, for that matter? What did she mean by 'when the sky lit up'? Even as he started to form an objection, though, he could feel himself starting to drift back towards that dark sea. He could fight it later. For now, he could only accept her exit with an air of casual unconcern. "So you're coming back, right?"

Oh, God. If the words alone didn't make that one of the most desperate and pathetic things he'd ever said, the crack in his voice from that last coughing spell certainly did. Audrey regarded him with a mix of sympathy and humor. "When I can. I already told you, I'm not giving up until I get an honest-to-God statement out of you."

"You give all your witnesses this kind of personal attention?"

"Only the ones I think have something really interesting to tell me."

He couldn't resist. "It's 'cause you still think I'm kinda cute, isn't it."

The look she gave him could have burned through steel. Or at least, it was clear that was what she was going for. The twist to her lip that said she was trying to keep from laughing damaged the effect somewhat. "Don't push your luck, Parkman."

Fic: Everything

2007-05-03T21:51:18Z

Even my short WIPs have become a slog, and I'm spending a lot of them being cruel to the characters. So last night I refused to let myself go to sleep until after I hammered out exactly 500 words of fluff and wish-fulfillment.

Title: Everything
Fandom: Kim Possible
Rating: G
Summary: Why settle for getting what you want when you can get everything you want?

Drakken had said it before a thousand times, and been proven wrong a thousand times, but now it was undeniable: This was his best doomsday device ever. And it was working. One strike against Greenland from the WHF module, and entire nations were already groveling at his feet. England, Australia, Brazil, Morocco, Greece, Japan...

"Canada." The word was almost a prayer as Shego stepped back from the world map, taking in the size of the landmass that had just turned blue. "Canada just surrendered to you."

"I told you it would work."

"You always tell me it'll work. And...well, I'll admit this is starting to, but we both know how it'll end. I mean, any second now little Kimmie is gonna find some way - "

"'To break out of the launch capsule and come barging in here with her sidekick and the rodent and ruin our fun'?" His imitation of Shego's tone was dead on. "Hardly. The only way to disable it is accessible from the outside only. Even Kim Possible can't survive in a vacuum."

"She'll find a way," Shego said darkly. "Not even literally launching her into orbit is going to stop her as long as she's in contact with...that..."

He'd promised himself he was going to be cool and sanguine in victory, but he couldn't suppress a manic grin at Shego's expression as she stared at the mangled remains of the Kimmunicator he held in his hand. "You were saying?"

"I...you...holy..." Oh Lord, she was actually speechless. Global domination seemed like a minor accomplishment in comparison. "Wow," she finally breathed.

"Thank you. It won't hold her forever, I know that much, but once the capsule's orbit decays it's programmed to land in the Mediterranean." He nodded towards the map. The coastline there was almost entirely blue, and even as they watched another country changed color. "I'll have people watching for her, of course."

"I'm impressed." Shego's voice radiated pride. "Well, shocked, really, but that seems a little rude to say to the new ruler of most of the world." She shook her head with a quiet laugh and nudged him in the ribs. "Look at you, suddenly getting everything you always wanted."

He echoed her laugh. "Not quite everything."

"Well no, not yet. I mean, it's obviously going to take a while before every country on the planet bends to your rule, but considering what we've got so far, and the portable WHF modules in production..."

Drakken cleared his throat loudly. Shego paused, turning to face him. His mad smile softened as he pushed her hair back from her face and rested a hand on her cheek. "Not. Quite. Everything."

The eyebrow she raised at him was skeptical, but there was a curve to her lip that might have been a smile. And he could swear that she tilted her chin up ever so slightly to meet him as he kissed her.

This was everything he'd ever wanted. The rest of the world could wait.

Unfinished fic: Small and Troublesome Things

2007-01-25T10:27:17Z

Very short, very unfinished, very late. I offer my apologies. I'm posting what I have so far just to reassure that I haven't completely forgotten about the story I said I'd write, and with the promise that more will come eventually.

Title: Small and Troublesome Things
Fandom: Mac/PC
Rating: G
Summary: Prompt #9: Mac and PC get a pet

Something about the apartment was different. PC noticed a subtle change in the feel of the place immediately, and he suspected it was a little change that was really a big one, like a couch that's been moved half a foot to the left to cover up the new hole in the wall. And somewhere, Mac was laughing.

Not that there was anything inherently strange or disturbing about Mac laughing. He did it all the time, and it was one of the things PC loved about him. If he had a dollar for every stupid movie he’d sat through just because it made Mac laugh... well, he'd have enough to see a few of those movies in the theater for once. But that was his point: What Mac found worth laughing about was... offbeat at times, and with some sixth sense already telling him that something was weird, PC wasn't sure he'd like whatever was coming next. "Mac?"

Mac sounded like a little kid sometimes when something excited him. "PC! Come in here; I've got someone you’ve gotta meet!"

Not a good sign at all. "Did you rent the couch out on Craigslist again?"

"Come on; I only did that once."

Mac was sprawled out on the couch, not leaving enough room to rent. He sat up a little at PC's entrance, one hand sweeping up to his chest to cradle something tumbling and black. "Check it out."

PC leaned forward cautiously. The black thing squeaked and batted at his glasses.

Mac laughed gently at PC's startled yelp. "I think she likes you," he said, patting the thing. It let out a tiny, burbling purr, identifying it as either a kitten or a tribble.

"A...cat," PC said slowly. Nightmare visions of chewed peripheral cords and vents clogged with hair made his eye twitch. "You bought a cat."

"Found," Mac corrected. "Found a kitten whimpering under a Dumpster on my way home." His brow furrowed as he noticed the way PC was balking. "Crap. You're not allergic, are you? I didn't even think."

Say yes, some corrupt file in the back of PC's hard drive hissed. He’d never know the difference.

It was tempting. It would be the perfect way to avoid the inevitable debate, and also to keep the situation from coming up again. Mac would be disappointed, and he'd probably make The Face, but it would still be easier than trying to convince him exactly why they didn't have the resources to install a pet.

But for all his flaws and bugs, PC was, at his core, an honest machine. And even if he wasn’t, there are people in this world that you love too much to lie to. "Not allergic, exactly..."

Mac practically glowed. "So you don't mind if we keep her here until we find out who she belongs to?"

A flash of relief. He wasn't looking to make a permanent addition after all. It would still be troublesome for a while, but PC could adjust. Besides, the little fuzzball was pretty cute. And so was the kitten. "Yeah, okay. Just until we find out who it belongs to."

*

PC had half expected Mac to drag his feet on finding the kitten's owner, but he was surprisingly eager to be part of the process. "No, really. You send in a classified ad and call the animal shelter, and I'll canvass the neighborhood and put up some info online." It made sense. Mac was great at getting people's attention, but nobody could beat PC for something concise and professional. The tiny ad was perfectly worded, short, sweet, and efficient. He hit a roadblock, however, when he called the shelter. The woman on the other end was pleasant, and she seemed delighted that they'd taken responsibility for a lost animal, but her next question baffled him.

"'Describe it'?" he echoed. "It's a cat. It's... furry, and black, and it makes squeaky noises. And it's very small."

"A kitten, then?" the woman asked, sounding both annoyed and amused.

PC tried to take her reaction with good grace, but this was frustrating. He was the one people called on when they needed thing broken down into lists and categories and qualifiers. He didn't like that he couldn’t give her a better description, couldn't tell what made this cat any different from any other, aside from the fact that it was here in this room. And chewing on his shoelace. "Yeah, a kitten, I guess," he said, scrambling to push it away. "And my roommate keeps calling it a 'her,' but I don't know if it was an arbitrary choice."

"It's hard to tell when they're little." There was a tapping sound as she typed something. "Okay, Mr. PC. I have all your information, so if anyone calls about your kitten I'll let you know. Good luck, and again, thank you so much for taking care of her."

It's not my kitten! PC wanted to shout. It's just a temporary file, and I'm not even the one who installed it. Instead, he just mumbled something polite and hung up.

The kitten was under Mac's desk now, pouncing and tumbling after a piece of fuzz. PC picked it up carefully, a more difficult maneuver than it sounded. The creature squeaked in protest and squirmed, claws splaying. He held it at arm's length, as though it might explode. He gripped it loosely around its middle and stared at it. It stared back, chirping and trying get its head at the right angle to chew on him, until he gave in and set it back down on the floor. It promptly lost interest in him, yawning a wide pink yawn and curling into a ball. "You make no sense at all," he told it.

"I do too," Mac said behind him in a tone of feigned offense. "I can calculate pi to more places than you can."

"We agreed not to have this argument again."

"Just teasin' ya, big guy." Mac squeezed his shoulder. "You two seem to be getting along."

"It chewed on bits of me and then fell asleep," PC said. "I don't think that counts as 'getting along.'" He turned around and could feel how quickly the smile dropped off his face.

Mac had apparently expected this reaction. He put down the pet store shopping bag and spread his hands. "It's just the essentials," he assured. "Small bag of food, small bag of litter, that kind of thing. Besides, can you think of a better place to put up 'found cat' flyers?"

PC couldn't fault his logic, a fact he found strangely unfair. "Anything?"

"Only a bunch of people gushing about how cute she is, which we already know. So no, nothing helpful."

"You had pictures?"

Mac raised an eyebrow, a look the clearly said, I'm running four graphic programs even as we speak and I got a new camera for Christmas. Of course I had pictures. "A few," he said mildly.

PC didn't press the issue, but he gave Mac an answering look that said, you've never taken 'a few' pictures of anything in your life. "Can I see the flyer?"

"Sure," Mac said, sounding pleasantly surprised. "I didn't think you'd be interested."

"I should know what it says when people call, shouldn't I?" PC pointed out as he took the proffered sheet. "You used the good paper, I see."

"She's a black cat. I needed something the photos would really show up on."

They were excellent photos, PC had to agree. Really, the entire thing was impressive. Calling it a 'flyer' was almost an insult to the obvious time and effort that had gone into it. "It's not like the cat is going to pay you for this, you know."

"Just staying on top of the game," Mac said with poorly-concealed pride. "Never do any job halfway and you'll always be in practice."

"And get to show off."

Mac shrugged, not denying it.

PC hid a smile, then made a disbelieving sound as he looked back at the flyer. "Is that a URL on the bottom?"

"Hey, you make spreadsheets when you're bored, I make websites."

"For stray cats you find in alleys."

"It keeps me off the streets."

"Where you'd find more small and troublesome things to bring home, no doubt."

"See? It works out for everyone."

PC couldn't help laughing a little at that. He gestured towards the kitten with his foot, stopping just short of actually touching it. He couldn't shake the feeling that it might suddenly wake up and spring at him if he did. "Is it normal to just flop over and sleep like that?"

"Why do you think they call 'em 'catnaps'? Cats can fall into a light doze in seconds, and they sleep whenever and wherever they feel like it, usually clocking in between twelve and sixteen hours a day." He made an amused sound at PC’s expression. "What? I stopped in for a chat with Wikipedia while I was out. How else would I have known what she needed?"

"Good point, I guess." PC didn't want to show how much that unsettled him. Sure, Mac was as information-oriented as the next computer, but he had always been more interested in creating and sharing new data while PC took care of the research angle. If something had Mac so interested, so committed that he'd look it up on his own....

PC was beginning to suspect that the two of them had very different ideas about where this whole kitten thing was going.

Fic: News From Home

2007-01-02T00:50:31Z

I'll admit it up front: This is fluff cleverly disguised as angst. It was one of those ideas that just sits on your brain until you're forced to write it. Suggestions for a better title are welcome.

Title: News From Home
Fandom: Kim Possible
Rating: Enh. I'd call it G, but there are a couple words in it that you'd never hear on the Disney Channel.
Spoilers: "Go Team Go"
Summary: Shego's had a bad week. A letter from her brother doesn't help.

Drakken didn't look up, but he did flinch a little as the door burst open. "So, how did it go?"

"How do you think it went?" Shego snarled, her voice crackling with fury. "How does it always go?" She slapped a flat hand on the table, making him jump. "I work my ass off for days on end planning a heist down to the last detail, nearly kill myself pulling it off, and at the last second, oh, you know what happens! That perky little bitch and her idiot sidekick show up and ruin everything I've done!"

Drakken tried to hide his surprise. Not that a little colorful language from Shego was particularly shocking – last time she'd lost at poker she'd nearly peeled the paint off the walls – but she tended to reserve her swearing for more dramatic situations than the type of defeat they'd both grown depressingly used to. He risked a sideways look at her. She looked terrible. Her hair was frazzled, her eyes were red, and she was carrying herself like she ached all over. "And for how many of those days did you not sleep?"

He might as well have been speaking Russian for the uncomprehending look she gave him. "What?"

He shrank back, hands raised defensively. "It's nothing. You just... you look tired, is all."

A snort. "Gee, look who's an expert on what women want to hear." She was pacing now, her steps not quick enough to hide her exhaustion. "Of course I look tired. I just told you, I've been working for days and I just got my ass handed to me." She exhaled deeply and pulled a crumpled wad of paper from…somewhere; he had no idea where she stored things in that suit. "And I got a letter from the family."

That much he'd known; he'd seen the postmark from Go City when he brought in the mail. "Oh?"

Shego flicked the paper at him. He unfolded a short letter and a newspaper clipping with a date a few months previous. "DARING MIDNIGHT RESCUE," the headline screamed, then, "Local woman saved from art thieves by masked defender." The accompanying picture showed a short, cheery-looking woman with her arms around the neck of the masked defender in question, whom Drakken guessed was Shego's oldest brother. He'd only seen the man twice, but there was a definite family resemblance around the eyes and the stance. And the suit, of course. The letter was a printed page, addressed "To our friends and family." Behind that, someone had handwritten "and Shego."

"It was in all the papers," Shego continued, an edge in her voice that could have cut glass. "How those daring young men and their fearless leader saved the day once again and rescued hundreds of priceless pieces and the gallery director." A dark laugh. "Long story short, she and Hego are engaged now."

"How nice for them," Drakken said absently, more to fill a gap in the conversation than anything else.

There was that laugh again, angry and bordering on hysterical. "Of course it is. What doesn't turn out nice for him? He's a hero all over again, gets his picture in the paper like he's the only one of the four who did anything, and now he got the girl. It's like the universe sent him an early Christmas present. And me?" Yep, definitely getting closer to hysterical every time now. "I get knocked down by a teenager. Again."

The sound of her fist hitting the wall brought Drakken to his feet. Normally one of Shego's rages was something he'd try to get away from as quickly as possible, but this time there might not be anywhere to get away to. "Hey! You wanna bring the whole lair down?"

"Wouldn't be the first time." She flexed her fingers and he heard a knuckle crack. She started to pull back for another punch.

Drakken caught her by the shoulder, turning her around to face him. "The contractor said this place couldn't take much more strain."

"That makes two of us," Shego muttered. She didn't look at Drakken, but even so he could see the hard set to her jaw, the snarl fixed to her lip to keep it from shaking....

The trickle of tears running down one cheek. Oh, crap.

He should have left the room, just wandered off and pretended he didn't see anything. It probably would have been easier for both of them. But it was too late now; both of them were entirely too aware of the other's presence and trying to walk away would just acknowledge how awkward this had gotten. There was only one thing to do. "Hey," he whispered, putting an arm around her and pulling her close. "It's okay. It's okay."

He'd half expected her to pull back, probably with a look of pure disgust as she stalked away, but instead she collapsed forward, head against his chest, and sobbed.

Drakken was beginning to reassess his thoughts on which option would have made the situation worse. He hadn't held a girl, let alone a crying one, in longer than he cared to remember, and it wasn't as if he was known for his sentimentality or his ability to offer solace. He was evil, dammit, and so was she, and after this was over it would probably be weeks before they could look each other in the eye again.

And yet, as he stood there with his oldest friend pressed against him, stroking her hair and whispering meaningless words of comfort, he knew that there was no power on Earth that could ever make him let go.

Fools Rushing In, Part 1

2006-08-11T11:24:21Z

"Consider yourself on assignment."

The file thumped into Shego's lap with no further elaboration. She glared at Drakken over the edge of her magazine. "Good morning to you, too. What's going on?"

"I just told you; you're on assignment." Drakken waved a hand dismissively, turning away. "All the details are in the printout. It's a rush job, so if you'll excuse me I have my own preparations to make."

"Without ranting and nitpicking over every little detail of what you want me to do first? You've never been in too much of a hurry for that." Shego began thumbing through the file. Everything looked pretty standard, but... "There's something in here you know I'm not going to like," she guessed. "And you don't want to be here when I find it," she continued at his silence.

"I can't imagine where you'd get an idea like that." Drakken tried to sidle out of the room.

A fireball hit the door just before he did. "Sit. Down." He did, looking sheepish. "You're not leaving this room until I know why you want to leave so badly. Does this plan involve cloning me at all?"

"I do learn," he said, sounding hurt.

"Never quickly enough. Stealing something that even I find morally reprehensible?"

"You've never had a problem with stealing from the military before."

"True. What's this stuff you're after, anyway? 'Weapons-grade phlebotinum'?"

"Very valuable. Highly classified."

"You have no idea what it does."

"That's not the point!"

Shego rolled her eyes. "Always fun. Public nudity?"

"N-- wait, what? Has anything I've ever asked you to do involved public nudity?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"Well, this isn't it!"

Shego was running out of ideas, but one nagging possibility still haunted her. It was a sacred trust, one that even implying he might break could be an
irreconcilable insult. But she had to ask.

"Is this going to cut into my vacation time?"

There was a long, uncomfortable silence. "A little."

For a moment the only response she could muster was a strangled snarl, but it was enough to make Drakken try to hide behind his chair. Or perhaps it was the handful of papers that she unconsciously incinerated in her fist. Either way, her point did not go unnoticed. She stood over him, keeping the chair between them for the sake of her job security. "One week a year," she forced out through gritted teeth. "Separate from illness, injury, bail-outs, or any other assorted downtime, one week where I don't have to think about work. It's all the vacation I ask for, and I cleared this one months ago. What possible justification could you have for springing this on me now?"

He was trying to look innocent, but underneath it was the triumphant look of someone who had been waiting for the right moment to play his best card. "It's a big job that has to be planned quickly. It's difficult, and it will probably be dangerous. I can't think of anyone more qualified to handle it than you."

She could have killed him. The mix of challenge and flattery was a lethal combination, and they both knew it. It was such a low and dirty trick that she was embarrassed for him. In fact, the only thing more irritating and appalling was the knowledge that she could fight it with every scrap of her being, but that eventually she was going to give in. Shego's list of sins was a long one, but she'd long since realized that the one that would eventually kill her was pride.

She gave Drakken what one of the henchmen had once called her "lock your door tonight" glare for several more seconds, then gave up. "Overtime," she muttered.

"And I'll make up the vacation days later. Promise."

"Because that's a reliable guarantee," Shego said, not quite ready to let go of her anger. A heavy sigh, only partly an exaggeration. "Just let me look the file over. Or at least what's left of it," she added, having the grace to look sheepish. "I'll see if this is something I can pull off."

"I know it is. You have a rare talent."

"You just keep saying that. Maybe I'll let you live through the night."

*

"Ron, you're being ridiculous." Kim batted a branch away from her face and crossed to the other side of the bike path. "Just because I'm good at figuring things out..."

"This goes beyond 'good at figuring things out,'" Ron insisted, barely dodging the branch's recoil. "It's creepy and unnatural. It's like you're tapped into some kind of pipeline to the future!"

"So now you're saying I'm psychic."

"I'm just looking at the evidence. I mean, take last week's pop quiz in math class. How could you possibly have done so well on it if you didn't see it coming?"

"Because I did the homework!"

"And how did you know you should do it?" Ron shot her a triumphant look. "I'm telling you, remember the accident at the library last year? When that shelf fell over and a textbook hit you in the head?"

Kim winced at the memory. "How could I forget? I had a lump for a week."

"And that lump somehow allowed you to tap into an unused portion of your brain!"

"I'm beginning to suspect that your entire brain is an unused portion!"

"Oh, now you're just –" Ron stopped abruptly as a sharp whistle sounded. "Take a knee, kids!" someone shouted. Another few steps took them within sight of the soccer field. "No way," Ron said. "I'm going home."

Kim caught him by the arm. "Come on."

"K.P., when you said you had an errand to run in the park I only said I'd come along if you promised it wasn't soccer-related!"

"It's not! Well, my part isn't. I'm just here to pick up the tweebs; that's all. Witness my coming late enough that I won't even see anything that might tempt me to comment."

"We're four blocks away from your house and we didn't bring a car. How much picking up is really necessary?"

Kim made an I-didn't-want-to-say-this noise. "The coach won't let them leave without supervision anymore. Long story. Lots of property damage."

"You're not exactly selling me on staying here."

"It's nothing I can't handle," Kim breezed. A familiar beeping cut her off, and she dug into her pocket. "And besides," she added as she hit the 'talk' button on the Kimmunicator, "if nothing else we can each pick one up by the ankles and drag them home."

"This is going to be one of those conversations where I'll be happier if I don't know, right?" Wade guessed.

"Nothing important," Kim said, flashing a smile. "What's the sitch?"

"Last night one of my sources flagged an anonymous transmission containing top-secret information about a shipment scheduled to leave a military warehouse in Delaware tomorrow. Names, times, locations, and security information: everything you'd need to pull off a heist."

"Sounds big. What's the cargo?"

"The message just says 'weapons-grade phlebotinum.' I'm looking into it, but I can't tell you anything more about it for now. But I can tell you that I managed to track the transmission's path. It was being routed through seven countries and nineteen encryptions, but it was child's play." Wade practically glowed with pride. "The source was a public library a few miles away from the base, but if you follow the trail the message goes straight to—"

"Dr. Drakken," Kim finished for him.

Wade raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, eyeing her closely, "how did you know?"

"Government weapon, vague name, we can't even find out what it does, and someone wants to steal it? That is so Drakken."

"Good point," Wade admitted. "Anyway, I'm sending you the details now."

"Give me a half hour?" The knot of kids had broken up, and Kim waved to the twins. "I've got something I need to finish here first."

"I can patch it in to your home system and have it printed and waiting for you by the time you get there."

"I'll pretend not to be totally creeped out that you can do that. Call you back when I'm finished reading." She turned the Kimmunicator off. "And that's why I handwrite everything but school assignments," she muttered.

"I don't see what you're so worried about," Ron said. "It's not like Wade would—gaah!"

He ended his sentence with a startled yell as Kim caught him by the arm and jerked him sharply to the left. A soccer ball shot through the space his head had occupied a split second ago. "Sorry!" one of the twins shouted. "I got it!"

After Ron had taken a moment to recover, he gave Kim a speculative look. "No ability to see the future, huh?"

She rolled her eyes. "I've spent most of my life dealing with those two. It would be weirder if I didn't predict flying objects every time they're around."

*

"And that's your traffic report for this hour; this is Reggie Kane, your eye in the sky, telling you to stay tuned for the weather on WMLP."
The helicopter pilot turned off his headset and leaned back to address his passengers. "Where should I put you kids down?" he shouted over the sound of the helicopter blades.

"Anywhere there's enough room to throw down a rope," Kim said. "Somewhere on the other side of the highway, preferably."

"There's nothing over there. Are you sure you've got the right coordinates?"

"Positive."

Reggie shrugged and turned the chopper in a wide curve, towards an area where a long grassy strip separated the highway from the wooded area just beyond it. "How's this?"

"Excellent," Kim said, testing the knot on the rope. "Thanks again for the ride, Reggie."

"Hey, after what you did for my sister? It's the least I can do!"

"I just rescued her fiance from an international smuggling ring. No big." She handed the rope to Ron. "You all set?"

Ron looked out at the ground, which wasn't terribly far away, but was shaking with every move the chopper made. He quickly closed the flap on his pocket. "Don't look down, Rufus." A squeak suggested that his warning had come too late. Ron smiled weakly at Kim. "Ladies first."

"Don't worry; I'll keep her as steady as I can," Reggie assured him. "Good luck, kids!"

Kim grabbed the rope and made her way to the ground effortlessly, then waited as Ron descended. A sharp jerk pulled the rope free after he was down safely. "You good?"

Ron looked a little pale, but nodded. "You know I'm fine with jumping off things, normally. I just really don't like it when those things are moving at the time!"

"I know. But I'm sure you'll be fine."

Ron cocked an eyebrow. "You're sure? Did you see it?"
"Ron!" Kim rolled her eyes. "I cannot believe I'm asking this, and don't think it means I'm giving your theory any credibility at all, but what is it going to take to convince you that I'm not psychic?"

"You tell me, Kim. You tell me."

Kim sighed, pressing her face into her hand. "It's going to be one of those days, isn't it. Come on."

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Ron looked around at the empty woods they'd landed in. "But where are we going?"

"That way,' Kim said, pointing. "The warehouse is about half a mile north of here."

"So, we got dropped off here... why?"

"Did you really want to rappel out of a news helicopter into a top-secret military base unannounced?"

Ron started to say something, but just shook his head. "Okay, you've got a point. But wait, what do you mean 'unannounced'?"

"We haven't made contact. Wade's been working on it, but he can't get a response from anyone inside."

Ron whistled. "Really top secret."

"Or really in trouble. Keep your eyes open."

Rufus made an affirmative squeak and climbed to Ron's shoulder, shading his eyes and scanning the horizon like a lookout in a crow's nest. He was the first one to catch sight of their destination, just a few minutes later. "There!"

There was nothing else the building could have been. Massive, boxy, anonymous, and ringed in by chain link and barbed wire. The trees had been cleared away for some distance around the fence, and there was a narrow dirt road leading to a locked gate and a guardhouse. Kim and Ron stopped before they reached the empty area. "Anything, Wade?"

"Nothing! Not even an answering machine. I even rechecked the system to see if it was a problem on my end!" His tone suggested that this was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever been asked to do. "It's like they don't even have a communications setup."

"Then we have to assume that whatever they did have has been taken out. Somebody beat us here."

"Satellite photos show that the truck hasn't left yet. You've still got time." Wade prodded at something on his computer screen. "But since whatever took out the official communication probably also took out the official personnel, you're probably going to have to deactivate the security system. I'll talk you through it."

"But if Drakken already got through..."

"Timed lock. It automatically reactivates itself after about nine minutes. There are two locks on separate levels, and they have to be deactivated simultaneously. I've invested in a little hardware upgrade to make that a little easier on both of you. See the little silver tab on the side of the Kimmunicator? Pull it out."

Kim did, revealing it to be a pocket clip attached to something that looked like a PDA stylus. "Smallest wireless technology available," Wade said. The clip is detachable; pin it just above your ear and the camera sees everything you see. The rest is a two-way audio transmitter. Click the top to activate it. You'll be working on the first lock, and you'll need them to feed me and Ron the necessary information to deactivate the second one."

"Hold this for a second," Kim said, hading the Kimmunicator off to Ron. She popped the clip off the stylus and fixed it in her hair, checking it with a compact that she fished out of her pocket. It was about the size of a bobby pin, and no more noticeable. "You don't have access codes for both locks?"

"The second one's not only self-reactivating, it's randomized based on the information it gets from the primary lock."

"This is starting to sound less like a security system and more like a computer game," Kim observed. She rolled the stylus between her fingers, looking for the 'on' button. "The picture's coming in clear, Wade?"

"Crystal. Just be sure to keep the comm—" A violent electronic scream cut him off, making all four of them cover their ears. "Deactivated!" Wade shouted over the sound.

Kim hurried to click the comm a second time. "Sorry!"

"It's wired into the same frequency as the Kimmunicator. Keep it off until the two of you split up, or all you'll get is feedback."

"Got it!" Kim said too loudly, her ears still ringing. She looked around the tree at the warehouse. Nothing about it had changed. "If that didn't bring anyone out..." She shook her head, trying to bring her hearing back to normal. "We're going in. Fast and quiet."

They ran. It might not have been the wisest way to approach a top-secret facility that might or might not have been taken over by hostile forces, but they didn't have much choice. "Just for the record, I do not like this," Ron said as they reached the guardhouse. It was empty.

"Me neither," Kim agreed. "It's all wrong, but I can't figure out how. It's either a trap Drakken's taking his sweet time with or a really successful attack, and I'm not sure which one he seems less capable of."

"So what's our next move?"

"Same as always: Keep going and hope nothing goes wrong." She pushed a button inside the guardhouse and watched the gate slide open with a low rumble. "And deal with it if it does."

*

"The combination for the second lock is randomized and dependent on the first one," Drakken read. "They both have to be deactivated within a few seconds of each other, so—"

"So once again you're overthinking things." Shego leaned over the edge of the hovercraft, scanning the roof of the warehouse. "It's barely even a jump from here. I'll signal you when I've got the shipment locked up."

"'Overthinking'? Have you seen these schematics?" Drakken waved a sheaf of papers at her. "This is a highly advanced security system! It's got five separate guard outposts, a multiplane lock, a thirty-seven character combination – "

"And nothing but steel and concrete in the rest of the wall," Shego finished for him. "The lock is not an issue." She waved a hand, leaving a burning trail in the air. "Nothing I can't blast through."

"This is national security we're talking about, not a museum!"

"It may be hard to believe, but the government doesn't consider 'those who would use their superpowers for evil' a high-priority threat." Shego rolled her eyes at his dubious expression. "Fine. If you really think it's going to be necessary, wait by the second lock. I'll pick you up there after I break in."

*

"Okay, third hallway on the left," Kim said, repeating Wade's directions. "Now what?"

"Now you split up. There should be two signs: a blue one and a white one."

They hung from the ceiling, two colored arrows with no lettering. The blue one pointed left, and the white one pointed right. "I see them."

"Good. Take the comm and follow the white arrows. Ron, you'll be following the blue ones. The doors into the shipping bay are at the end of each hall. Kim, your lock will reset itself automatically, so you'll have to go around to Ron's door and open it from the inside to let him in."

Kim's eyebrows practically disappeared into her hairline. "Is it just me, or is this all way too complicated?"

"It's national security," Wade said with a shrug. "It's also what happens when geeks get bored."

"Remind me never to let that happen with you." She handed the Kimmunicator over to Ron. "Stay safe."

"You too."

Kim grinned and kissed his cheek. "So not the drama."

The white arrows led her through a maze, curving and twisting in on itself until Kim lost all sense of where she was in relation to her starting point. It felt like hours before she reached a dead end and a locked door. The lock was enormous, a dull steel circle easily four feet wide and printed around the edges with vague, abstract symbols. It was like a Mayan calendar stone recreated by a modern art student. She clicked on the comm. "I'm in position."

"And your camera feed is coming through perfectly," Wade's voice crackled over the tiny speaker. "Ron's ready to go, too, so I need you both to listen carefully. Colors and symbols are yours; Ron has numbers. Key in the combination as I give it to you, as quickly as possible. Are you ready?"

"Ready and waiting," Kim said, and she could hear Ron's faint affirmation over the speaker.

"Okay. Kim: Star, green."

There were half a dozen pictures that could be called stars, but only one with a faintly greenish patina. Kim touched it, and it made a pinging noise and flashed briefly. Another mark made of dots and bars lit up in the circle's center. "Numbers," Wade said, by way of no explanation at all. "Excellent. Ron: Twenty-seven." The light winked out. "Kim: Cross, purple."

The parade of words seemed to go on for hours, pictures and numbers lighting up under her hands like a laser show, but Kim finally heard a sharp hiss as some seal broke inside the lock. There was a long series of metallic sliding sounds, and the door swung open. She found herself in a shipping bay, empty except for a few large crates and a heavy truck. There was no sign of any personnel. "I'm in!"

"Oh, sure, do it the hard way," a too-familiar voice snapped. "Make me look bad."

Kim narrowed her eyes and glared across the wide, empty floor. "Shego."

The dust still settling around the rubble that had once been the back wall indicated Shego's mode of entry, and a faint groan from behind her explained what had happened to the people who had been guarding and loading the shipment. "We've got to stop meeting like this, Kimmy." She dropped into a crouch, hands igniting. "And by 'like this,' I mean 'at all.'"

"I was beginning to wonder where you were." Kim spared a moment to shut the comm off and slip it into her shoe. "Bring it on."

*

Rufus heaved a rodential sigh. "Waiting," he squeaked in disgust.

"I know, buddy," Ron said, settling Rufus on his shoulder. He leaned against the door and drummed his fingers on the keypad that was his half of the lock. "I hate this part, too." Privately he was wondering exactly how long he was supposed to wait before the waiting turned into worry, but he didn't want to say it out loud for Rufus' sake. But really, how long did it take to open a door? "But it's cool," he added, talking out loud mostly to reassure himself. "You know, she does her part, we do ours. And right now our part is... waiting."

"You're going to be waiting for her for quite a while."

"Gaaaah!" Ron whirled around in a panic, trying to watch both ends of the hall at once. "Who said that?"

A dark figure descended from the ceiling vent. "Your worst nightmare."

"Talking monkey!"

The figure dropped to the floor with an annoyed grunt. In the clearer light, Ron could identify Dr. Drakken, who rolled his eyes. "Talking monkey," he muttered. "Do you really get more buffoonish by the day, or does it just seem that way?"

"That's nice, coming from a guy who can't even remember my name!"

"Hey, at least I've never been confused about your species! Although sometimes it's hard to believe someone who's completely human can cause me quite as much trouble as you do."

Ron gave him what he hoped was a cool and confident smirk. He'd been practicing in front of the mirror, but he wasn't quite sure it was there yet. "You're evil. Causing you trouble is what I do."

Drakken rolled his eyes. "You're a diversion at best, sidekick." He paused, considering his own words. "Which means that Possible is –"

A loud but muffled sound from the other side of the door cut him off. It sounded remarkably like somebody being thrown into a wall at high speed. He raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like Shego got in after all. Good for her."

*

Shego ducked under a flying kick and caught Kim's trailing foot, pulling her to the ground. "That all you've got?" She'd tear out her own tongue sooner than admit it to anyone else, but she knew this fight was probably going to be the most enjoyable thing she did all week. Possible, despite her many and glaring flaws, was a competent opponent, a rare find. And an unexpected treat, considering how easy it had been to take down the guards.

None of this, of course, made her any less annoying. "Clearly it's all I need," Kim retorted, springing to her feet effortlessly.

"Okay, that one you're going to pay for." Shego aimed an exaggerated punch at Kim's head, following it with a knee to the chest when she dodged. "Come on," she taunted. "I'm not even breaking a sweat."

Kim grunted, a sound that seemed equal parts pain and annoyance. "I'm surprised you have the energy to fight me, considering how busy you've been today."

"And just what's that supposed to mean?"

"How heavy was the security when you got here? Because you'd taken it all out by the time we arrived."

Shego paused, blocking a punch without really noticing it. "Not that I have a problem with taking credit for violence, but I really have no idea what you're talking about."

The tone of the fight had shifted suddenly. Neither combatant was pulling her punches, exactly, but each had definitely taken a new interest in what the other had to say and blows were being timed accordingly. "The whole place is empty! The offices, the gatehouse, everything! Apart from Ron, you and the guys on the ground are the first people I've seen in here."

A poorly-timed jump gave Shego the upper hand, allowing her to pin Kim to the floor. "And you didn't find this suspicious at all?"

"Of course we did!" Kim retorted, punctuating it with a kick that sent Shego spinning. "We just assumed you were behind it."

"I haven't been outside this room and the hallways I blasted through to get here."

"So you're saying someone else took out the guards?"

"Assuming there were any to begin with." Shego's mind raced. Tips from an unnamed source, a target item she'd never heard of, a ridiculously easy entry... "We've been set up."

"What?"

She swept in behind Kim and caught her by the shoulders, pulling her close enough to whisper in her ear. "Listen up. This is some kind of trap, and I didn't set it up. There's someone else controlling everything, and I don't know who they are but they're –"

A sharp hiss interrupted her as a dart shot out of the shadows and embedded itself perfectly in Kim's neck. "...After you, apparently," Shego finished. "Good luck with that."

It took Shego no time at all to weigh her options. In one fluid movement she gave Kim a rough shove in the direction the dart had come from and sprinted the other way. It wasn't until she half looked back to see Kim sinking to her knees that she realized she was unconsciously steering herself towards the truck, running parallel to the driver's side and aiming for the cab. She knew it was all a trick, but instinct was still pushing her to finish the job. Besides, if she could get into the truck, she could probably get out of the building.

Whoever was masterminding this caper had other ideas. The door swung open just heartbeats before she reached it, a wall across her path obviously intended to slow her up in a very painful manner. Nice try, she thought as she dropped into a slide like a base runner. It's going to take a lot more than a little slapstick to stop me.

Her hips had already cleared the door by the time she was able to get a good look inside the cab, and by then it was too late to change course. Time seemed to slow as she saw the gray-suited figure, barely visible behind the gun that stayed trained on her even as she passed under it. There was a crackling hiss as a yellow cloud erupted from its muzzle, and Shego had just enough time to realize exactly how much trouble she was in before the world went dark.

*

"Well? What's happening?"

Ron batted Drakken away impatiently. "Quiet! I can't hear!" He turned his attention back to the ear he had pressed against the door and listened intently. Not that there was anything to hear, really. There had been some fighting noises a while back and the sound of people yelling, but it was impossible to tell if any of them were Kim or Shego. "Nothing," he said in amazement. "You'd think one of them would've at least won and come after us by now."

"You'd think," Drakken repeated with a nervous laugh.

It was not a good sound. Ron gave him a look. "What do you know that I don't want to?"

"Let's just say it wouldn't surprise me if Shego decided to leave me here for a while. She's...kind of annoyed right now."

"Dude, 'kind of annoyed' would be a step down from her normal rage level."

"Fine, then. Kind of annoyed on top of everything else."

"What did you do this time?"

"It's just possible that she's supposed to be on vacation right now."

"Ron's eyebrow shot up. "You came between a girl and her 'me' time? You're gonna be here a while."

"Don't I know it."

"Oooh! Waitwaitwait, I got something! Something's beeping. And there's a voice! I can't quite make it out...wait... 'Ron, stop fooling around and pay attention!' Does that mean anything to you?"

Drakken didn't try to conceal his annoyance. "It's your pants," he said, rolling his eyes.

"I totally knew that," Ron insisted as Rufus handed him the Kimmunicator. "What up, Wade?"

"I'm not completely sure myself. But I can tell you it's not good."
A series of blurry videos flashed by on the screen. The shipping bay. Shego. Spinning shots of nothing in particular as Kim leapt or rolled. All of it overlaid by reddish static. "This is what I can make out from the last few minutes of Kim's camera feed."

"What's with the picture quality?"

"Camera hidden in her hair, remember? I'm lucky I got this much once she started moving. But that's not the important part. This is."

A sharp bounce, as if the camera had been dropped, and the scene changed form the wide shipping bay to a cramped space that seemed to move on its own. Kim was visible now as an unconscious heap on the floor, the camera having apparently flown wide in whatever fall had deposited her there. "The camera cuts out completely after that point," Wade said. "And there's no signal from the comm. The tracer I implanted in it I still going strong, though. It could be a while before I get a really solid lock on it, but it looks like it's headed east from where you are now, and fast."

"Kim..." Ron's mouth went dry as the picture froze, an image of his best friend collapsed on her side, hair obscuring most of her slack features. What could have happened to knock her down so easily? And why hadn't he been there?
At least one answer was right in front of him. Ron glared at Drakken over the edge of the Kimmunicator. "Where are they taking her?" he demanded in tones of low fury.

"How should I know?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because it's your evil plot!"

"Ron it's not him," Wade interrupted impatiently. "This isn't Drakken's style. Besides, take another look at the picture."

The image zoomed in on something just behind Kim. Shego, barely visible around her and looking no better off. "So he got Shego to take a fall," Ron said dismissively. "It's new, but – hey!"

"Shego has never taken a fall in her life," Drakken said as he snatched the Kimmunicator out of Ron's hands. He studied the screen for a silent moment, a horrified look crossing his face. "This is not good." He shook his head frantically, then jabbed a finger at the Kimmunicator. "You. Genius child. Any idea where they're being taken?"

A long pause on the other end. "Ron?" Wade said carefully. "Why is Drakken with you?"

"He's not with me; we just happen to be in the same place," Ron replied, taking back the Kimmunicator. "But it's a good question. Where are they?"

"Working on it," Wade said as he reappeared on the screen. "No particularly likely destination so far, but as long as the tracer keeps working I can point you in the right direction. Still eastbound, a little south now. I should be able to get you transportation, but I don't know how quickly."

"Not necessary," Drakken interjected. "I still have the hovercraft parked outside."

"That's great for you, but I think he was talking to me," Ron said, rolling his eyes.

"So was I."

"Look, dude, I know gloating is your evil thing and all, but could you please just lay off it for a minute while I work this out?"

Drakken shook his head, pressing his hand to his face. "Listen to me," he said slowly and clearly. "I am suggesting that you come with me."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Hang on a second, Wade," he said, handing the Kimmunicator to Rufus and never taking his eyes off Drakken. "What kind of scheme are you hatching now?"

"It's not a scheme! We have a common goal for once, and if working together will improve both our chances, then so be it. I don't do my best work alone, and Possible clearly doesn't think you're completely useless. No clue where she got that idea, but she does seem to win a lot."

"Like every time, you mean?"

"Don't push it. I'm the guy with the transportation, remember?"

"Yeah. Transportation and no reason at all to help me. Why should I believe that you'd lift a finger to save Kim?"

"It would be a great understatement to say that I don't like Kim Possible, but I don't much like the idea of someone other than me destroying her, either. Besides, I'm more than willing to rescue her if that's what it takes to get Shego back."

Ron was impressed. "Whoa. Never would have expected that kind of loyalty from you."

"'Loyalty'? I'm just being practical. When you find a sidekick with that kind of talent and love for her work, you walk through fire to keep her. Sometimes literally, where Shego's involved. Besides," Drakken added suddenly, a softer note creeping into his voice, "she'd do the same for me. Eventually."

Ron was torn. On one hand, there was very little in his history with Drakken that inspired confidence in the man's trustworthiness – or ability, for that matter. But on the other hand, this particular mess clearly wasn't his fault. And if teaming up with him made the odds any better for saving Kim...

Unexpectedly, Ron recalled the look on Drakken's face just a few minutes ago, when he'd found out that Shego was in trouble. Neither of them, he realized with a start, was going to do anything to put this rescue at risk. "Fine," he said finally, holding out his hand. "Truce. For now."

Drakken shook it firmly. "Just for as long as it takes to get them back," he agreed. "And to get them far, far away from each other."

Anchor post: Fools Rushing In

2006-08-11T10:49:37Z

This is the "anchor" for Fools Rushing In. As they're posted, I'll put a link to each part here.

Title: Fools Rushing In
Fandom: Kim Possible
Rating: PG, not expected to go over mild PG13 for violence, language, and a wee bit of innuendo
Spoilers: Some time post-So The Drama
Summary: When Kim and Shego are captured by a bounty hunter, it's hard to tell if he'll get a chance to deliver them before they kill each other. Can Ron and Drakken save the day before either possibility happens?

Part 1

Fic: It's The Thought That Counts

2006-07-17T10:41:16Z

Yes, I'm aware of what month it is. But I just got my paws on the Christmas episode today, and this demanded to be written.

Title: It's The Thought That Counts
Fandom: Kim Possible
Rating: G
Spoilers: Takes place immediately after "A Very Possible Christmas"
Summary: Shego's not the only one getting an unexpected gift this year.

A polite cough nearly made Drakken jump out of his skin. He made an irritated sound and carefully set down the gondola from the scale model of Venice he was studying for his next plot. "Yes, what is it?"

"If you’re busy..."

The voice was disorienting. It was definitely Shego, but he'd never heard her sound quite so... nice. "I can spare a minute," he said carefully, turning to face her. "What's going on?"

She was leaning on the doorframe, studying her nails a little too intensely to look casual. "Just wanted to talk to you for a second."

He raised an eyebrow. "About?"

She gave a faint laugh and tucked her hair behind one ear, not quite looking at him. "Well, you know, it just occurred to me that we were stuck up in the Arctic together for a while, and I never did thank you for paying for my vacation..."

"Don’t mention it." He smiled and was about to return to work when he realized she wasn't moving. And there was something else odd about her. He'd be hard-pressed to say what an unhealthy shade was for someone who usually had green skin, but this dull pinkish cast couldn’t be normal. "Shego, are you feeling all right? Your color's a little off, if you don't mind my saying."

"I'm fine!" Shego practically shouted. "I’m just..." She sighed impatiently. "I'm just a little out of my element, okay? I don't do nice."

"True," Drakken agreed. He started to say more, but something occurred to him suddenly. He couldn't suppress a grin. "Shego, you’re blushing!"

The pink tone deepened. "I am not! And can you not make this harder than it already is?"

"You’re right. I'm sorry." He tried to compose himself, but the smile wouldn't go away. "You were saying?"

"I don't know why I bother with you sometimes," she said softly. She stepped into the room suddenly, revealing an awkwardly-wrapped package in the hand that had been facing away from him. She reached over him to place it on the table, her arm briefly wrapping around his shoulders in something that might almost have been a hug. "Anyway. It’s a couple days late, but merry Christmas."

"Oh! You didn't have t–" Drakken cut himself off, realizing that she'd disappeared already. He stared at the door in confusion for a moment, then shrugged and picked up the package, peeling back the green wrapping paper.

It was a globe. A small one, about the size of a baseball, elegantly carved in blue and green stone. Another fold of paper fell away as he held it, and Drakken had to laugh – not a maniacal laugh, but a genuine one – at the inscription on the base:

Someday, the real one. I promise.

Fic: Knight in Dented Armor

2006-03-26T07:27:09Z

Title: Knight in Dented Armor
Fandom: Bones
Rating: G
Spoilers: None
Summary: Booth's quiet night in is interrupted after Zack starts a bar fight. No, really.

The insistent knocking cut through the quiet music from the stereo. Booth sank deeper into the couch and turned a page in his book, trying to ignore it. He'd planned for a quiet night in, and dammit, it was going to be quiet.

Or so he thought until a familiar voice filtered through the door. "Booth? You home?"

Booth closed the book, keeping his place marked with his finger. "Angela?"

"Yeah. Can we come in?"

He set the book down completely and went for the door. A look through the peephole confirmed that it was Angela, dressed for a night out, but there was a hunched figure just at the edge of sight. "Who's 'we'?" he said carefully.

"Me and Brennan and Zack," she answered, sounding normal enough. "I hate to barge in on you like this, but we had a little incident."

That certainly didn't sound good, but her tone still didn't indicate anything out of the ordinary. Booth undid the chain latch, leaning his full weight against the door, and then jerked it open wide, staying behind it.

Angela walked in casually. "That was a little overdramatic," she observed.

Booth didn't answer as he came out from behind the door and looked past her. Brennan was coming through the doorway slowly, and it became obvious that the hunched figure he’d seen was Zack, half-draped over her shoulders and limping. "Agent Booth," he said stiffly. His voice was nasal and muffled, no doubt because of the blood running down the lower half of his face. The hand that wasn't hanging on to Brennan was streaked with red, suggesting that he had tried to stanch it and failed. Another dribble of blood ran from a cut above his left eye, and the skin around the eye itself was already swelling.
Booth took a step back at the sight of him, but recovered from his surprise and immediately ushered them through into the kitchen. "What happened to you?" he demanded, pulling out a chair. He shot Brennan a look. "What, did you start another bar fight?"

"Yes, actually," Brennan answered. "Do you have first-aid kit?"

He pointed down the hall. "Yeah, in the bathroom."

"I'll get it," Angela volunteered.

"First door on your left, under the sink." He headed in the opposite direction, opening the freezer and pulling out the ice tray. He was getting a dishrag from the counter when a small grunt of pain from Brennan startled him. He turned to see her shrugging Zack off her shoulders and into the chair, and he noticed that she was favoring her right hand. "You hurt too?"

"Just sore," she assured him, flexing her wrist. "I threw a bad punch, that’s all."

Booth set the ice and the rag on the table, then returned to the freezer and grabbed a bag of frozen vegetables, which he handed to her. She waved it away, resting a hand on Zack’s shoulder. "Just lean forward and keep your head down, okay?"

"I'll take care of it," Angela said. She had returned with the first-aid kit already open in her hands and a bottle of rubbing alcohol tucked under one arm. "You just ice down that wrist."

Booth held out the frozen vegetables again, and couldn't completely smother a triumphant look as Brennan took it and draped it over her wrist. "Nobody’s really told me what happened."

"We were at a club and there was a fight," Angela said, kneeling in front of Zack. She’d pressed a wad of toilet paper into his hand, and he had it pressed against his nose. "Bleeding slowing any?" she asked. He nodded, and she ran her fingers across the bridge of his nose, holding his shoulder firmly as he jerked back. "It's not broken. You're lucky. Just relax, breathe deeply, and you’ll be fine." She turned to look at Booth. "We were asked to leave, and we came here because your apartment was the closest and you’d said you planned to stay in tonight. Like I said, sorry to barge in on you."

"No, not at all," Booth assured her. He shook his head. "Bones, you're a dangerous person to hang out with."

Zack said something, but it was muffled by the toilet paper. "What was that?" Booth asked.

“Just hold still, sweetie,” Angela admonished as she dabbed at the cut over his eye, but Zack lifted his head with a sigh.

"I said, I started the fight."

Booth’s eyebrows shot up. "You’re kidding." Zack glared at him from behind a mass of blood and toilet paper, daring him to laugh. "You're not kidding."

"Is it that much of a stretch to imagine? No, don't answer that."

Booth couldn't do much more than stare. "It's just... what? Why?"

"For my sake," Brennan said. Her voice was cool and detached, as if she was just discussing evidence in the lab. "A large and belligerent man at the club took offense at my disinterest in him. He apparently recognized me from television and launched a verbal assault. Zack stepped in, some form of challenge was issued, and... I imagine the rest of the scenario doesn’t need an explanation."

Booth raised an eyebrow. "Must have been one hell of a verbal assault."

"I tuned out after 'freaky necrophiliac.' I suspect there was more."

Zack's flush was obvious even with so much of his face obscured. "I refuse to repeat it," he said. His voice was tight, and Booth suspected that this was ground the three of them had already covered on their way over.

He looked up at Brennan. "And I guess you took over and prevented him from doing any permanent damage?"

Brennan nodded. "That's when we were asked to leave. I assume the other patron was ejected as well once they got him upright.

"And you didn’t even find a corpse. Looks like you're slipping, Bones."

"Every ticket can't be a winner," Angela said. "Bleeding stopped?" At Zack's nod she took the toilet paper from him and dropped it on the table, trading it for the dishrag stuffed with ice. "On your eye. Stop at least some of the swelling."

Booth hurriedly handed her a garbage can. "If we could not leave the dripping, bloody stuff on the furniture?" He’d be the first to admit he had a habit of taking his work home with him, but he had to draw the line somewhere.

"Sorry," Zack mumbled.

Booth sighed. He was still holding firm on his desire to avoid interacting with the kid whenever possible, but there was only so distant he could be at a moment like this. "It's not really your fault. I mean it is, in that you felt the need to pick a fight in order to defend a woman who could throw you across the room, but..."

"I doubt I could throw Zack across the room," Brennan said, her voice oddly cautious.

"Why not? Sounds like that's what you did to the guy who dropped him."

"He did not drop me," Zack insisted. "I never hit the floor."

"Only because I caught you," Angela said quietly.

Booth tried to hide a smile, earning him a glare from Brennan. It occurred to him that she hadn't spoken a word directly to Zack since they arrived. She was clearly trying to salvage some of his dignity by taking it upon herself to explain the fight, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that she was also embarrassed for him.

Booth suspected that if she ever expressed the same feelings about him, he'd have nightmares about it for the rest of his life.

Angela sat back on her heels and eyed Zack critically, the way she might look at a painting she wasn't quite sure she was done with. "That's about as much as I can do," she said finally. "Anything else you need?"
His reply was almost inaudible. "You not telling Hodgins about this."
A sympathetic noise. "Honey, that black eye isn’t going away before Monday. The story's gonna come out, and it's better he hears it from someone who loves you than from the office gossip."

"You are the office gossip," Booth couldn't help retorting.

"Well, life's a funny thing sometimes." Angela chucked Zack under the chin, offering him one of her brilliant smiles. "Hold your head high, tough guy."

"If we're all taken care of, we should probably go home," Brennan said.

"You don't have to." Booth cleared his throat. "I mean, sure, this cut your clubbing short, but if you guys want to hang out here..."

Zack raised an eyebrow, his expression dubious. At the same time, though, there was something hopeful behind it. Booth let out a small sigh. Working with Zack was like suddenly having a preadolescent younger brother dropped into his life fully formed and without warning. It was a situation he hadn't chosen, and one he intended to step away from at the earliest possibility, but for the moment the only thing he could do was play it through. Besides, he added to himself, what right did he of all people have to get down on the kid for trying too hard to keep Bones safe? "I've got about a million movies in the living room," he continued. "We could plug something in, throw some popcorn in the microwave, make a night of it."

"We shouldn't," Angela said. "I mean, we've imposed on your quiet night in enough already."

"You’re not imposing. Well, all right, you are, but I really don't mind. I mean, how often do we talk outside of work?"

"Never," Zack said quietly. "At your insistence."

"How about we just call this an olive branch, okay? Pretend we're normal people for an evening."

"Well, if you're going to insist," Angela said with a smile. "Come on; show me your DVD shelf and make a recommendation."

She offered a hand to Zack, but Brennan stepped up and waved her away. "I've got him," she said. "I don't think you really expect me to help pick out a movie."

"Fair point. Booth, I'm in the mood for something mindless. What have you got that's mostly made of explosions?"

"Everything with Die Hard, Lethal Weapon, or Star Wars in the title, for starters."

Booth started to follow Angela out of the kitchen, but the sound of Brennan's voice stopped him short. "Zack."

She wasn’t talking to him. He shouldn't listen in. And yet, Booth was dying to know what she was going to say to him, now that she was actually saying something. "You acted unwisely out there tonight," she started. "You let someone provoke you into fighting unnecessarily, and you took a pretty big risk in doing so." She was scolding him like a kid, and he was starting to look like one, too. As Booth watched from halfway around the corner, though, he could see the corner of her mouth curve up. "But I'm not giving you any new information. What I do need you to know, though, is that I understand your motives."

Zack blinked in surprise. "You do?"

She nodded. "You saw what you perceived to be a threat to your social family and acted accordingly to protect a person and a connection you value. I would be remiss in not recognizing that – and thanking you for it." After a moment of awkward gesturing, she gave in and hugged him – hard, from the look of it. "Thank you for valuing me," she said quietly. Then, more firmly: "But don't express it in that manner again, all right? Leave overprotecting me to Booth. It makes him feel useful."

Booth suppressed an insulted snort, but he couldn't help suspecting that she'd said that as much to him as to Zack. He cleared his throat, trying to act as though he’d just poked his head back into the kitchen. "Bones, please tell me that you’ve at least seen Star Wars."

"That’s the TV show, right?"

Zack winced. Booth had to agree. "All right, you just picked tonight's movie."

After all, he thought as the three of them headed into the front room, a movie about the amazing things that happen when a clueless kid walks into a conflict that's bigger than anything he ever expected? There'd never be a better time to watch it than now.

hematitebadger @ 2006-03-21T00:06:00

2006-03-21T07:13:34Z

If you've been friended, you probably know me. You may have even guessed who I am. Keep it quiet for now.

If you've wandered in on your own, Lord only knows what you were looking for, or what you can expect.

Either way, stick around. See what I dig up...