Kim Possible belongs to Disney. This is a work for fun not profit. A fan fiction by Six-string Samurai

No Such Things as Monsters

It was well into the early hours of the morning by the time she made it back to her place. Not bothering to turn on any lights, she padded through the apartment by the pale moon visible in the living room window. Sore, exhausted and just about ready to collapse on the couch, she forced herself to at least make it to her bedroom before passing out, still in her uniform.

Laying there for a hand full of moments face down on the mattress, there was the strong sense that she was missing or forgetting something, poking and prodding at the back of her mind. Huffing a sigh, the lithe shadow pushed herself up on her stomach, and glanced wearily around the room as her half-lidded eyes adjusted to the dim light from the nearby window. Nothing immediately stood out, and she was just about to put the feeling down to staying up for two nights straight, when a small motion out of the corner of her eye drew her attention.

She waited. A slight chill passed through the room, and the sheer curtains ruffled against the window. None of the windows in the apartment were ever open when she wasn’t home. In fact, they were all locked, it was a practice, long ingrained to the point of ritual for the ex-thief.

Suddenly much more alert, the woman’s midnight black hair shone in the darkness as she rolled off the bed, landing in an almost perfect defensive crouch. Doing her best to ignore the dull pain that shot through her hip at the abrupt motion, she flexed her hands, bathing the room in a swirling sickly green as power flooded through her veins in a rush. Blood pumping and heart starting to speed up, she licked her dry lips, the fatigue all but wiped away by the thought of an intruder in her home. It was almost laughable in some twist of cosmic irony.

Quieting the thundering in her ears, she remained motionless by the side of the bed, listening intently for anything that would betray another presence. There was only the faint breeze swirling outside, and her own almost nonexistent breathing. It was so still, she started to pick out more distant sounds, like the hum of the refrigerator from around the corner in the kitchen. Try as she might, there was nothing that sounded unfamiliar. Nevertheless, she waited, slowly easing back on the swirling energies that surrounded her hands.

And finally, she heard it, the soft plink of water on porcelain.

Flexing her fingers, she left the bedside and crossed the room, pale skin almost luminous against the dark wallpaper. Rolling her feet to muffle the sound, she listened after each step, for some change in the air, and the sound of the water. Another drip, and it was narrowed down to the bathroom in the hall by the second bedroom.

Outside the bathroom door, she paused again, letting the glow around one hand die out. The door wasn’t completely closed, and she could see the light was off. Here, the drip of water was much louder and more constant, and there was a strong, sharp tang present, the smell making her stomach tighten. Flaring up her right fist, she gave the door a decent push with her off hand. It swung open halfway then bounced back as it struck something with a dull thud.

“The hell,” she mumbled under her breath, stopping the door from closing with her palm and pushed it back open, and stepping in through the gap, flicking the light switch with her elbow on the way. Whoever was in there was about to get their ass fried.

That was Shego’s intention, but the second her eyes focused in the soft light, the power coursing through her snapped off faster than the sudden twisting in her gut. The floor around the sink and the toilet was covered in blood, bile and bits she suddenly didn’t want to identify. In the middle of the mess, completely out of it and shaking like a leaf, was the cause of her recent bouts of insomnia. “Kimmie,” she breathed, her anger snuffing out, reeling against the memory that the redhead evoked, waking three weeks of hell, that was better left behind and forgotten.