Hahahahaha, another KFP story. A chaptered story, no less. My muse has a demented sense of humor.

This story has evolved in my sad little brain from a plot bunny to a plot….. Sasquatch, I guess: I just opened a notebook and started scribbling ideas down. Before I knew it everything had mushroomed out of my control (That is what always happens with fanfics.) and I had planned out this monstrosity from start to finish. Obviously, though, I am still open to adjustments, changes and new plot points that you care to give me. Readers are always invited to join in the creative process.

Once again, anything that you recognize is property of DreamWorks and Paramount Pictures. (And really, if I owned these guys, would I be writing fan fiction about them? No, I would be planning out a script with little dollar signs in my eyes. So.

Go placidly amid the noise and haste, and remember what peace there may be found in silence - Desiderata, Lines 1-3.

Chapter One

Tigress’ earliest memories were of watching her mother practice.

Born in the capitol city of Geming, with the name Quan Yin, she remembered their home in destitute tenement. She remembered pushing aside what little they possessed, clearing the single room that was the center of their even smaller world. The landlord would always growl “Widow Daiyu, stop that racket! I swear I’ll throw you out, cub and all!” but he never did. Mama had always said the grizzled dog was like a lychee nut, with a rough exterior and soft interior.

Dusty sunlight had always been pouring through the window (her mother never practiced when it rained) and had filled the apartment with sepia tones of recollection. That soft glow would begin to flicker and flash, as her mother slid out of a fighting stance and into a fury of motion.

And Tigress remembered gasping in reverence as the abrupt strikes, all so angry and broken on their own, flowed into a dance when her mother’s limbs wove them together. The woman was fire, energy, following a wild rhythm that pulsed beneath the surface of her skin.

Once her mother stopped, young Tigress knew, the magic would end and the hated hopelessness would return to Mama’s eyes.

But as she danced through the sunlight and memories, burdens would fall away like autumn leaves: and her mother would become strong, beautiful, fearless, a war god’s bride. The only time she had ever had the willpower to mention Papa, in fact, was one early morning as they practiced the ‘dance’ together.

The motions were actually taolu, her mother had explained, special forms used in fighting. More specifically, the routine Tigress loved was half of a specialized duilian: a duel form normally done with a partner to balance and counter each step.

“Your father taught me this...created it, actually. Called it ‘The Pillars of the World.’ He and I were masters at it,” Mama had commented distantly, guiding her daughter’s leg in a semi-circle. After a moment she had added, “It looks so much prettier when done proper, with someone opposite you.”

The words had surprised Tigress.

(She'd never known her father’s face, nor very much about him save for what the neighborhood gossips told her; Lieutenant Jiang died in the Battle of Red Dawn, they would mutter, a confrontation between invaders from the Western Lands and the Emperor’s Army, shortly before her birth. The tale would always end with pitying sighs of Poor Daiyu, that poor, poor woman...)

“Wouldn’t matter, since I’m no good at it anyway,” the five-year-old had growled in reply. Her stance wobbled slightly.

Mama had actually laughed then. An honest -to- goodness laugh. Tigress had wanted to snatch that firefly of momentary happiness and save it in a jar.

“Well, you can’t expect to get it right the first time. Or the second, or the third,” her mother assured.

“Huh. Or maybe I’m just not meant to be a warrior.”

Mother had locked eyes with her.

“Quan Yin. You're the only one who decides what is and is not to be, decides your purpose. The moment you give up and surrender the reins to something else...that's the only moment when you truly lose.”

She had said those words with impossible gravity: the gravity of one who had made that same mistake and been unable to recant it, who had bowed and never been able to stand back up. Those two sentences belied a whole history that never wanted to be unraveled or pondered at any length. Even at her young age, Tigress had managed to glimpse that.

A solemn silence had followed, until the girl managed to gain enough air in her small lungs to whisper,

“Did Papa teach you that, too?”

Another rare smile had effortlessly brushed away ten years from her mother’s face.

“Yes. And no. He taught me that love is someone who will take a hit for you, all romanticism aside. Ha, there was one time when…when he… ”

And then the thick shroud had descended back over her mother. She had been extinguished, and become simply Widow Daiyu once more: sorrowful, pitiable and barely surviving.

The young Tigress had wanted to grab her mother’s shoulders, to shake her and cry helplessly “Aren’t I enough for you? Aren’t I enough? Try, Mama, please, please try. Please try one more time.”

And she nearly had, in that moment which was to be frozen in her memory forever. Nearly. She had kept silent instead, and allowed Mama kept speaking.

“….Well, that’s not important. Let’s get back to work. I need to help Miss Yin with the laundry.”

Her small daughter had obeyed, initiative lost. Perhaps she would be able to try again later.

That chance was never to come. Mama had died three weeks later of a fever. There had been no real fuss or struggle against the illness; only a quiet sigh in the witching hour of the morning as her mother’s spirit escaped. In its wake was a little five-year-old girl with no one and nowhere to go to.

And two weeks after that, she was before Master Oogway in the famed Jade Palace requesting to be taken in as a student. Her tiny feet had been bloody and bruised from walking when travelers would not give her rides, her stomach achingly empty.

But however difficult the journey had been, she would not live on the streets. She would not surrender to her misfortune.

There had never been a firm ‘yes’ from the ancient tortoise. As Tigress would soon learn, Oogway never gave direct answers to anything. He would rather lay out puzzles for those around him, making them piece the words together until a picture was formed. He had only given a slight nod to the diminutive red panda beside him, the one whose eyes were more angry than sad, but empty all the same.

That answer had been enough.

“You will not be called by your birth name, as long as you study under me” the small Master, named Shifu, had later told her. “You will be Tigress, no more and no less. This is to signify that you are dedicating your whole being to the fighting arts…. I will accept nothing short of complete dedication. Do you understand that?”

She, Quan Yin, Tigress, had only nodded, afraid that her voice would crack if she spoke.

Shifu had huffed slightly in reply.

“Good.”

And under his breath, he had added, “Besides, no decent warrior is named after the goddess of compassion anyway.”

Tigress sighed.

The breath echoed up the walls and brushed against the high ceiling of the temple. It was the only other sound, besides the flickering of the seven candles she had lit; their light threw long shadows into the darkness around her and pulled her tired face into sharp contrast.

The Master closed her eyes for a moment, resting on her knees in front of the humble little altar.

She came to the village temple often, actually. She had ever since she was little. It was peaceful here, in amongst the white stones and incense. There were usually a few other parishoners around, leaving tributes to ancestors or asking fortune to smile on them: but it was late now, and the lull of night had fallen over the Valley of Peace.

She had never found the silence of the temple to be offended or unwelcoming, as most silences are. Rather, it was a quiet friend waiting for a secret to be whispered in their ear... it gave Tigress a chance to realign herself. To purge her sorrows, worries, doubts and anything else that would dilute the ferocity which went into fighting.

The candles fluttered again, as she exhaled slowly. The light that was mirrored in her eyes danced along with them.

Tigress wasn’t really sure how the candles had worked their way into her nightly reflections, years ago, but they had. And she had been lighting them with a new urgency as of late.

There had been a feeling building up in her, the feeling that something was about to happen. Master Oogway had been gifted with that sort of foresight, yes, but she'd never experienced it herself. It was rather like having someone breathing down her neck, sensing approaching danger like the distant rumble of thunder.

So she had lit the candles tonight, as a sort of preemptive strike against...whatever it was.

Protection for those closest to her, at least.

She had scoffed while she did so, of course. As if such insignificant prayers would do anything to help with this ominous charge she felt in the air. All the same, Tigress dared not falter from the practice. She was a doubter, not a naysayer, and their lives were too dangerous to take uncessary chances.

And so it went: One candle for Shifu, that he be strong enough to assume Oogway’s duties. One for Crane, that the wind always be his ally. One for Viper, that she lose neither her optimism nor agility. One for Mantis, that his size be an advantage over whatever opponent he faced. One for Monkey, that he never forget the blind spot behind his right shoulder. The newest one for Po, that he, well, keep doing whatever it was that he did.

And one for Mother. Always the largest candle, the highest flame, for Mother; for Tigress' own protection, she supposed. Really, it just felt like something she should do.

I am the master of my own destiny Tigress always recited as the tiny blaze caught hold of the wick. That was her mantra. It had been for years.

Another long, swooping sigh, and she turned her thoughts elsewhere.

It had been six full months since Po’s victory. He’d worked his way into life at the palace with his usual (nonexistent) subtlety. Mantis and Viper had helped him arrange posters, while Crane and a (reluctant) Tigress had carted his loads of luggage up the vertiginous steps that the panda loathed.

The title of Dragon Warrior had not changed Po much, save for the fanfare he enjoyed from time to time; Tigress was certain she’d seen ‘Awesomeness Soup’ (whatever that meant) for sale at Mr. Ping’s shop, complete with vaguely panda-shaped noodles.

The Valley was protected. Everyone was happy. Really, it was a nice, neat storybook ending.

Everything was fine. There was no reason to be worried.

And the strange feeling she had been getting, of a tension she could only equate to the air before a summer storm….well, no one else seemed to have noticed it. Tigress knew she ought to brush it off as a by-product of hard training, of the monotony life sometimes fell into.

She was just bored, she assured herself.

“Just boredom,” she muttered aloud. The candles did not flicker this time.

(Looking back, Tigress would think that that statement had opened up some kind of door for the following events to slip through.)

The quiet had become rather oppresive by now.

Tigress suddenly realized that the others would soon miss her. It was Po's turn to make dinner tonight: and because his father had beaten kitchen ettiquete into him with a soup ladel, the boyish panda always insisted on waiting until the whole team was present before sitting down to eat. The poor goose would faint if he only knew the sort of tricks and props Po could fashion out of the noodles...

I shouldn't keep them waiting any longer.

With another sigh and a shuffle of robes, the Master rose to go.

It was a short walk back to the Jade Palace from there.

It always seemed longer at night, though, with the emptied streets and the shuttered windows to glare down at passerby. Not that Tigress minded the isolation: quite the contrary, the prolonged silence gave her more time to reflect on various matters. And besides, there was a quarter moon tonight that cast a pacifying sheen over everything.

No hurry.

Her feet hardly made any impact as they struck the cobbled stone. Her shadow was more of a giveaway than any noise she made, and her eyes flickered back and forth in a practiced motion. They swept over things, raking in the small details around her: missing shingles on one of the roofs, peeling paint on the sign for the fruit vendor's cart, water patiently dripping from a gutter and into a rain barrel, a small red lantern that sent a circle of rosy blush into the darkness.

Small details all, little ragged edges of the village she protected.

(Somehow, that made it feel more like home to her.)

Maybe I should ask to go on nightly patrol, Tigress thought as she quickened her pace. Something else to do with my time. I get impatient easily, that's the whole problem, and I...

She paused in mid-stride then, allowing her eyes to focus on the pooled darkness of the alley beside her.

A sly shudder of movement had rippled through it.

She narrowed her luminous gaze a fraction and hesitated: it was probably nothing. Despite her efforts to calm herself, Tigress realized was on edge. So, logically, anything would set her off.

Don't overreact.

Another disruption ran through the smooth shadows. Her mind became caught in a loop then, of whether to step back or forward, back or forward, back or...

Well, you were just saying how you were bored, were'nt you?

Forward, then.

One, two, three even strides to close the distance.

And then her left ear twitched up slightly. Her muscles tensed like coiled wires.

She felt it coming before it actually happened.

And then there was heard the shuffle of a foot to signify weight being shifted, the sigh of fabric rustling, and she lunged out of the way when a hand flashed out to grab her.

After so many years of training, Tigress often found that her body would react faster than her mind did. Dropping in a low fighting stance was easier than breathing, curling her paws into fists like blinking.

This time was no different, as she ducked clear of the stranger’s strike before smashing a direct kick into his abdomen. Her cloaked attacker barely flinched, only exhaled sharply (male, she noted) and threw his weight behind a jab aimed for her throat.

Tigress diverted it. Her hand flashed out to hit his jaw, which was hidden under the shadow of a hood, only to have the same thing done in return: and then they fell into a violent, breakneck rhythm, matching blow for blow over the course of an eternal minute as the hard sound of fist impacting forearm echoed through the street.

There was a feeling of horrible familiarity to all of this (swaying ropes, thin mountain air, overwhelming fear) but Tigress refused to pay it any mind.

The cloak he was wearing came in handy; she focused on that. It flowed with each movement, emphasized his maneuvers, and Tigress watched the edges of the dark material float forward slightly. Ah.

Forewarned, the agile female was able to side-step the next punch her attacker threw, the arm whistling by close enough to send a breeze over her fur, and seize the solid limb as it passed. The leader of the Furious Five twisted like a dancing tongue of fire, and heaved her opponent’s whole weight over one shoulder with a loud grunt of effort.

The figure’s back had barely touched the stone before they had whipped their whole body upright again: the swift action allowed for them to pivot, flick two fingers through her defenses….

And land a jab to the neat bundle of nerves gathered in her right shoulder.

A sickening fear flooded her, as Tigress felt the upper arm go numb and heavy as if it were frostbitten.

“Now…” the figure muttered hoarsely.

He never finished. By then, the tigress had unsheathed the claws in her left arm and sent a rounded blow downwards across his chest, impacting first with the weight of her palm and following through with the curved weapons.

Three diagonal slashes opened. She saw a patch of silver in the moonlight along with the red.

And the bile continued to rise in her throat, a chanting in her head of impossible, impossible, impossible drowning out all other rational thought.

The large stranger gave a grunt, but paid no more attention to the pain: even that was more a rumbling growl of irritation than anything else.

Thwip.

His hand split the air as it darted forward again, trained on her left shoulder.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Her left hand came up to lock around her attacker’s wrist, and forcibly yanked him towards her.

Tigress brought the crown of her head down and snarled.

Crack.

Their skulls knocked together with jarring force. The male stumbled back. He would have no time to recover; claws gripping the ground for purchase, Tigress sprang forward and crashed into his torso. They toppled, their bodies hitting the cobbled stone as one, grappling to reach each other’s throats as they fell.

He flipped quickly, pinned her flat with their fingers locked, his weight crushing down on her. A rush of hot breath touched her face.

I’ve had enough of this, Tigress managed to think, especially from him.

“Well,” she muttered between gritted teeth, “you have some explaining to do…”

Throwing all her strength into one upward motion, she smashed her knees under his ribs.

Knife steel flared through the darkness.

He was thrown off her, sent against the alley wall, and pinned there a moment later as Tigress held the dagger she had just drawn to his throat.

“…Tai Lung,” she finished with a disgusted hiss.

Without further hesitation, she flipped the hood off the cloak.

The revealed eyes were flat and pale as they reflected the sparse light, eyes that had always burned a little too brightly. Tigress watched the hood draw back over the strong jaw, the severe brow, fur like the shadows of dusk meshed with the pale grey of the almost-dawn.

And all the logic in her world crumbled to pieces.

The open vulnerability on his face surprised her, as though he had had all the breath knocked out of him; she was just as surprised as he was at having gained an upper hand. Tigress was humble enough to acknowledge that he was a superior fighter…it was almost as though he hadn’t really been trying.

But then Tai Lung’s expression was replaced with the well-worn, condescending, malicious one, and she was given no more time for thought. The large snow leopard bared his teeth, an angry growl preceding the menacing baritone as he spoke.

“Shifu may have taught you well, but he clearly didn’t teach you any manners, either…... You cheated.”

She inched the knife upwards.

“Watch it, or I swear I’ll….”

He sighed.

“That is no way to treat someone who has come to save your miserable lives, now is it?”

Note: Yes, I'm pretty sure the forms are called taolu in Chinese martial arts, not kata. 'Kata' is a Japanese term, I believe. Also, about changing Tigress' name: it seemed odd to me, that everyone in the movie had real names except for the Furious Five, so I figured that that was what happened. They had their names changed when the entered the apprenticeship.

Chapter Two, obviously, will feature Po and the others. This was just necessary to set the scene for a lot of things.

Should this continue? Critique is welcomed with open arms!