Notes: I know it's been a long time, but no, this story isn't dead. Sorry for the massive delay! I hope you'll still enjoy this little alt-verse as much as I've enjoyed writing it. And don't forget, today (7/19) is the International Day of Femslash. Check out the Passion and Perfection website for a bunch of cool stories and what this is all about!


Go Team Possible!

by Yimmy

Episode 2: Comet Struck

Part 1


The showers were running, the lights were on, but no one was inside. After a soccer game, the locker room should've been packed to the brim with teammates ready to change out of their uniforms and get on with their lives. The eerie loneliness jarred Shego's senses into high alert. Automatically, she ducked into the shadows and put her back against the wall. Never hurt to be cautious, especially when you were in the world-saving business, and this particular heroine was as cautious as they came.

Besides, she hated surprises.

"I love it when you're worked up."

The voice seemed to come from behind but wasn't that impossible? Heart racing, Shego somersaulted forward and bounced up into a fighting stance. What she saw, however, erased all thoughts of fighting.

Her girlfriend, Kim Possible, emerged from the darkness dressed in a body hugging, red evening dress. The outfit emphasized her bust and showed a generous (almost criminal) amount of cleavage. Red stiletto heels helped her hips hypnotically sway. Her lips glistened like rubies while her eyes shined with uncontrolled lust.

Shego's throat went bone dry. "Pumpkin?"

"I need you," Kim moaned as she ran her hands over her barely confined breasts. "Touch me. Kiss me. Fuck me. Please, Shego, I can't wait another second."

The locker room echoed with each of Kim's steps, but even that commotion paled in comparison to Shego's thundering heart. Arousal, panic, fear, uncertainty--the sensory overload shot through the black haired girl's mind like a film on fast-forward. She couldn't comprehend the situation, couldn't react, couldn't even coax her opened mouth to say a word.

And then they were face to face: Kim the seductress, Shego the seduced. "I said fuck me," the redhead repeated. "I want you to touch me where no one else has. What are you waiting for?"

Nothing really, save the fact that this was wrong. A locker room? Why not a more romantic place? Why this sweaty, smelly, drab place? "Pumpkin, I-"

"Maybe you want to go first? How about it Shego? Want me to get down on my knees while you grab my hair and bury my face in your hot, wet-"

"-Pussycat Dolls, 'Don't Cha!' Good morning peeps and welcome to Middleton's only source for your favorite jams, KWRM, 100.5 FM. Next up is a little old school tune to get your blood flowing for the commute. I ain't even gonna say it, you're gonna know it."

Despite the covers being on the ground, Shego was on fire. Sweat burst from every pore and her cheeks flushed, ablaze. It was a dream, albeit a very good dream and one she'd been having with increasing frequency and intensity for the past month. One month. Shego glanced at the calendar hanging on her dresser and realized it was one month to the day that they'd become an item.

Since then, their relationship had been furtive. Neither wanted anyone to know about their feelings, but at the same time, they wanted to be close. Being best friends meant some of their amorous gestures could be explained platonically, but sooner or later...

Sooner or later, if dreams like these kept up, Shego would seriously consider French kissing Kim in the middle of gym class.

Time for a cold shower.

Amazingly, the Goliac household was quiet. No sounds of water, breakfast, television, or arguing assaulted Shego's keen ears. So waking up early did have its perks, namely an easy, peaceful pace to the impending disaster every morning brought.

Ok, granted "impending disaster" was a bit too harsh a word to use. With her oldest brother, Henry, now an hour away at Go City University (not of his intellectual merit, by the way, but rather of the football scholarship variety), things seemed less strained. Mom and Dad weren't babying the eldest Goliac; Matt, without Henry's ever dense and stupid guiding hand, got in a lot less trouble; Will and Bill remained as they always were, the reasonable young ones.

Too bad Henry kept coming back every weekend.

The cold shower calmed Shego's nerves about Kim, Henry, and other random thoughts pinballing around in her sleep clouded head. By the time she brushed her teeth, tied her hair into a ponytail, and made herself presentable, the house's activities went into full swing. There was Will outside the bathroom he shared with Bill, pounding on the door and demanding to be let in. Bill, of course, continued singing nonsensically to drown out his twin's demands. Thuds and bangs emanated from Matt's room, proof positive he was (once again) tearing apart his dresser to find the perfect outfit for his "smoking hot bod." Mom, still in PJs, raced up and down the second floor hall like a blur, a cell phone in her hand, a stack of papers in her arms, and a cup of hot coffee balanced precariously on aforementioned papers. All the while, she talked in a "Legalnese" known only to corporate lawyers and people who taught corporate lawyers. Downstairs, the TV blathered about the news from last night as Dad prepared breakfast.

Shego brushed past a frantic Matt who realized he had yet to put on hair gel, dodged her mom who now miraculously had her pantsuit on, and slipped into her room. Long sleeved green shirt, black jeans, sunglasses, backpack, iPod, cell phone, and Kimmunicator--check, check, check, check, check, and check. Hm, something was missing.

Ah yes, car keys. Had soccer practice today.

As always, Shego was the second Goliac ready to face the day, once again beaten out by her dotting father. Maybe it had something to do with him being the head chef at Middleton's oldest and most celebrated restaurant, Lutece. Maybe his military background demanded precise, no-nonsense timekeeping. Maybe he enjoyed cooking for his busy family.

Whatever the case was, Shego slung her backpack onto the couch and sauntered to the kitchen. "Hey Dad."

Michael Goliac wasn't an imposing man. Standing a shade under 5'6" and sporting a good sized belly, Mike's actions said more about him than his past or gruff voice. While no one would call him handsome, he had this unquantifiable charisma ebbing from his bushy beard, easy smile, and twinkling, mischievous eyes. In contrast to his body type, he moved fluidly and effortlessly. The kitchen knife flashed with professional alacrity and his dashes from fridge to stove to counter conjured images of a ballet. Many a times, this jovial man acted more grandfather than father what with his boisterous laughter and spoiling ways.

"Morning Sweet Pea," Mike returned warmly as he lifted strips of hot bacon off the skillet and onto the cooling rack. "Want to help your old man out?"

"Can I chop the veggies?"

"You just want to use a knife, don't you?"

"Totally."

"Don't bleed all over the bell peppers. It'll taste funny in the omelets."

Father and daughter shared a smirk as they got to work. The kitchen's symphony quickened with sounds of frying, dicing, and whisking. The coffee machine perked and sputtered its steaming hot water. The sun began to crest the horizon, its very first rays laying across the backyard, the shrubbery, the tool shed, and the massive stock of lumber around the oak tree.

Massive stock of lumber? "Dad?"

Between throwing toast in the oven to keep warm and heating up a pan, Michael paused. "What's up?"

"What's going on in the yard?"

"Oh. Henry's going to build a treehouse for the twins tonight."

"Dad, Will and Bill are eleven."

"When I was eleven, I thought a treehouse would be the coolest thing."

"When you were eleven, disco was the coolest thing."

A wistful smile graced his round face. "Still is!"

"The boys are into XBox and Playstation, not climbing around in a cold, dark deathtrap of a fire hazard patched together on a Friday night by someone who thinks 'algebra' is something girls wear at the ocean. It's a waste of time, effort, and space, just like everything else Henry does."

Frustration flashed across Mike's eyes. "Why are you always so negative when it comes to Henry? He's doing something very admirable."

"Admirable is saving the world between P.E. and English. Henry's stupid and no one calls him on it."

"Sheena, don't call your brother stupid."

"Fine, he's an imbecile, a moron, an idiot, a meathead, a-"

"SHEENA!"

Her name was said with a forcefulness of two parents. Sure enough, when Shego turned around, she saw her mother frowning from the kitchen doorway. Bluetooth headset at her ear, briefcase in tow, and long black hair whipping about freely, Samantha Goliac looked every inch the intimidating attorney she was. When angered, her fury knew no boundaries, her scowl steely enough to unnerve even the bravest, and her stubbornness unparalleled. She was a parent first, comforting presence second, and she'd be damned if she allowed her daughter to use such language about family. Mike might've been lax when disciplining children, but Samantha shared none of her husband's easy attitude.

"How old are you?" she demanded.

Though intimidated, Shego had, after all, inherited her mother's spine. Instead of backing down, she lashed out. "Old enough to know this is another one of Henry's 'projects' he's never going to finish right and I'm going to be one picking up the pieces."

"Well then, if you're old enough to be that responsible, you're old enough to deal with the consequences of your words."

"But I'm not saying anything that isn't true!"

"And I'm telling you to respect your older brother. What he chooses to do in his spare time is not your business, much less when what he's doing is for the twin's enjoyment. You're not even involved."

"I will be involved!" Shego yelled as she unconsciously drove the knife into the cutting board. "That's how it always is! Henry starts something, shows-off, gets credit, loses interest, and I clean up after him!"

"What's wrong with helping your brother? He can't build this by himself."

"I'm not talking about the treehouse. I'm talking about everything he does."

"Now you're being absurd."

"No, I'm being a realist."

"So being the realist you are, you realize you're not going unpunished."

Oh, a small part of her knew she was cruising for a bruising, but the blood pounding in her ears and the adrenaline in her veins drowned out the dissenting voice. "Typical," Shego scoffed. "You're always taking his side, sticking up for him when he's not here, encouraging him on all his dumb ideas. Henry can't do any wrong, right? Of course when I'm telling it like it is, I'm the one getting punished. How boringly typical."

Samantha held her hand out. "Cell phone, iPod, and car keys."

"What?"

"You heard me: cell phone, iPod, and car keys. Give them to me and get to school."

"But I'll be late!"

"You should've thought of that before you began arguing."

"I can't get detention today! I have soccer practice!"

"Perfect, that means you can get home early this afternoon and help Henry with the treehouse."

"Mom!"

"After you finish with that fun project, we're going to see what else needs to be done so you learn to control that mouth of yours. Am I clear?"

"M-"

"Am I clear?!"


"... lousy, no-good, dumb ass Henry, getting me in trouble again. Oh, Sheena, don't call him stupid when he's really, really stupid. What else am I going to call him? Special? Stupid is what he is and stupid is what he's going to be, like Forrest Gump..."

"Erm, Shego?"

The girl in question looked up to see a whole lot of Kim Possible's butt. Nice image unfortunately marred by the cramped quarters they were currently packed into. "What?"

"We're sneaking into Professor Dementor's secret underground hideout via air ducts. How about a little less with the grumbly-grumbly?"

Just no love from anyone, anywhere. "Fine."

"Please and thank you."

And the day began so well too with that hot, sizzling dream. So what had become of it? Mom grounded her after the spat about Henry, took her car keys so she was late to school, got detention because Barkin happen to be subbing for Mr. Lawerance's art class, and to top it all off, Dementor thought today was a great day to hold the world hostage by threatening to "smash ze moon into ze Earth! Bwahahaha!"

Hence the current crawling-sneaking scenario in a ugly, dark, dirty duct.

"Pumpkin, we're missing soccer practice."

"Shh!"

"Barkin's going to skin me alive for skipping out on detention... again."

"Dementor's going to hear us!"

"Hey, you're making more noise than me."

"Oh my god, so not the drama." Finally having enough of the complaints, Kim contorted and rolled and twisted around so she was face to face with her frowning girlfriend. "Chill, ok? I promise when we get out of here, you can vent all you want about Henry."

"It's not just Henry though! It's Mom and Dad always taking his side!"

"Quiet," implored Kim while making a zipping motion against her lips.

Shego mockingly mimicked the move which in turn made Kim smack her arm... which made Shego retaliate with a smack of her own... which got Kim heated enough to give a nice shove... which, well, degenerated into quite a wrestling match. Too bad the air ducts didn't think so, evidenced by the sudden creaks and tearing sheet metal. Bolts came loose as the entire structure groaned in agony. Both girls immediately froze in their compromising position, neither letting go their breaths or even thinking about whispering. One false twitch and...

SNAP went the final struts holding their entrance into Dementor's lair in place. Enormous crashing of other ceiling accoutrements and wild sparks from severed wires filled the room with dread. Henchmen, all of whom were fixated on the talking (now falling) air duct, scattered to avoid the deadly debris.

A side door opened to admit a ticked Professor Dementor. "Vas is zis infernal noise?!"

A steel girder slammed into the floor about six inches from his masked face. The villain reconsidered his situation and decided to wait out the chaos in safer confines, namely "away from ze falling and ze clanking."

Twin screams from Shego and Kim (now holding onto each other for dear life) pierced the racket as they plummeted with their hiding place. Just so happen they were positioned directly above Dementor's "Gravitron Gun," which turned out quite fortunate because the fully pivotable, aimable, and adjustable weapon of mass interstellar destruction resembling a large satellite dish cradled most of their impact with its scooped out shape and multiple hydraulic joints. Unfortunately for the machine of diabolical brilliance, it didn't fare as well as Team Possible: the gadget spun out of alignment, powered up as one of its energy cells was jarred, and fired a single, concentrated blue beam before imploding into a gigantic scrap heap.

Debris, soot, and dust masked the lair. Random pops and bangs replaced the henchmen's frantic yells.

Kim--a little bruised, quite dirty, and more than a bit dizzy--emerged from the crumpled and dented air duct. "Shego?"

"Bleah," replied her partner as she untangled herself from the mess and took one bleary eyed look around. "Not one of our shining moments."

"We did get the job done... I think."

Suddenly, a deafening, ground shaking boom jolted the place. "Boom means yes," Shego smiled.

"Nooooooooo!"

From out of the haze raced Professor Dementor. "My bootiful Gravitron Gun! My bootiful veapon! Ack, Team Possible, you've ruin my plans again! I should vaporize you vhere you stand! I should leave you at DNAmy's vile vhims! I should-"

A sheet of metal rocketed from Shego's hand and impressed itself on Dementor's mask. "You should shut the hell up."

Dementor, naturally, failed to answer because he was unconscious and in the process of toppling. However, if was he conscious, his snappy retort would've been muted by his lips being unable to move in any significant way. Sure, the Professor was a super villain trying to destroy/take over the world, but was such violence necessary?

Not according to Kim Possible who gave Shego one surprised look.

Shego shrugged. "Can I vent about Henry now?"


Dr. James Possible took a sip of hot coffee from his "Mmmm... Pi" mug. Today was a good day: his team finally pinpointed the faulty component in their newest rocket motor, NASA renewed his grant to continue research on a new type of fuel, and the surprise safety inspection went flawlessly. At 4:15 PM, with the way everyone performed, James let his team do whatever they wanted.

Some left to pick up their children from daycare.

Others set up the lab for tomorrow.

Most whooped, hollered, and went home.

A handful of the team--including James--stared at the huge monitor which displayed their pet project.

To the untrained eye, it was a detailed map of the solar system, but to these brilliant scientists, it was a culmination of years of uncredited work. Utilizing exponentially upgraded LIDAR technology, these people created a three dimensional, constantly updated, and startlingly life-like visual of everything orbiting the sun. This atlas showed data on tomography, location, and for locales close to earth in near-realtime. The map's only limiting feature was the speed of light, but as far as limiting factors went, that particular one wasn't bad.

"Hey, let's check out Uranus."

They laughed at the juvenile comment from one of the programmers. Shaking his head, James moved the mouse cursor to the far-flung planet and-

"Hold the phone," he muttered. Scrolling back towards earth, he zoomed in on a tiny, multicolored speck wobbling about. "Isn't that Comet ES330?"

A flurry of madcap typing answered his question. The map panned and zoomed about like an inebriated racecar driver until finally centering on the anomaly. A textbox popped up displaying the comet's history. Two days ago, the cosmic body streak by earth to provide a minor light show but nothing else. Now, it was on a collision course with North America.

James frowned at the data. "Comets don't make u-turns."

A chorus of affirmatives came from his colleagues.

"Call NASA and Global Justice," he ordered. "Tell them what we found. Meanwhile, I'll double and triple check the program's algorithms. Let's just hope it's our own boo-boo and not an impending comet strike."


- To be continued...