Fathers and Son
It just wasn't the same lair without Shego.
Getting a pardon had given Drakken a sense of freedom, some time to breathe – even if it wasn't really that hard to evade Global Justice's not-so-watchful eye, in the end – but somehow that freedom hadn't amounted to anything. Instead of working on a new plan for world domination, or even cleaning up the mess that his temporary allies had left down in the lair itself while they were suppressing Dementor's henchmen, he had basically been sitting around and vegetating.
It had been days since his mother, cousin, and sidekick left the lair. His henchmen were around from time to time, although he didn't keep them on the clock for very long since he wasn't working on much. The lair and cottage definitely had an empty feeling to them. Like they had been abandoned. Drakken spent his time eating and watching television, wondering why he felt so morose. He knew the most obvious reason was Shego's rejection. The way she had gone on her vacation almost out of spite, even though he had gotten her pardoned. No appreciation at all from that woman. The things he did for her... but it wasn't just Shego's departure that was getting him down.
It was also the guilt.
And that was why he had left the lair and come here, to his mother's house, wandering around the living room and looking at photographs that he hadn't seen in years, waiting for her to come out of the kitchen with the Cocoa Moo she had offered to make. He knew he needed to talk to her. They hadn't been in contact since she left his lair, and Drakken had had a lot of time to think things over.
"Here you are, Drewbie!"
His mother emerged from the kitchen with piping hot mugs of hot chocolate. Drakken took a sip and burned his mouth, setting it down on the display cabinet beside the photographs he had been looking at. Claudia clucked in disapproval and grabbed a coaster from a nearby end table, placing it beneath Drakken's mug as he continued looking over the photos in their chintzy frames. They brought back a lot of memories. Most included him – some were embarrassing infant photos, and in some, he was wearing that jean jacket he always had on when he was a teen. He saw one picture of himself as a child, wearing his father's police uniform, which hung off his small frame, and brandishing his fingers as if they were a gun. His mother and father were in the background. Although he didn't remember his father smiling very often, he was smiling in the picture. Drakken couldn't help smiling, too.
"I remember that," said his mother. "You were cute as a button back then! Not that you're any less cute now!"
Drakken grumbled as his mother reached up and pinched his cheek.
"So how come you came over, Drewbie?"
"I wanted to talk to you, mother."
"What'd you wanna talk about?"
Drakken took his mug of Cocoa Moo and moved it to the coffee table across from the couch. He took a seat, looking around the room. His mother's house looked a lot like he remembered, so many years ago – she hadn't changed anything much at all. It didn't seem like the house of a woman who was married to a supervillain, and mother to another. Especially not someone who apparently knew about their activities all along, and yet had no problem with it.
"Why do you like Dementor so much?" he asked.
His mother sat down beside him, thinking about the question for a long time.
"Hans is nice to me, Drew. He really loves me. I know he's not perfect, but I'm getting older, sweetie. Sometimes when you get older, you can get lonely. I don't want to keep waiting for someone perfect – I just want a man who treats me right and makes me happy. And Hans does that. He just happens to want to take over the world, too."
It seemed reasonable enough, although Drakken still felt like he was missing something.
"If you're fine with that, why did you let him lie to you about having a radio show?"
"I didn't know much about it, at first – he wanted to keep his work separate from his relationship. He said he hadn't been in a relationship in a long time because he was always so busy. Once I found out, I did tell him I knew what his equipment was for, but he kept denying it. I thought maybe he was a little sensitive, like you, Drewbie. I didn't want to push it – and when we moved in with you, I didn't want to give away that I knew you were a supervillain."
"I thought you'd tell me when you were ready, Drew. You seemed sensitive about it."
"Sensitive? I don't understand – I take pride in my work, mother!"
"I don't mean that, Drewbie. I thought it had to do with your father."
Drakken knew she wasn't talking about his stepfather this time. And he knew she was right, too. He had wanted to run away after his father's death, to forget about what he had seen, to deny his role in what had happened. But he couldn't really deny it, no matter how deeply he buried it. His love of science, of dangerous inventions and reckless experimentation - those things could not be changed. They were a part of him. And yet they had caused his father's death. Maybe the police chief had interfered, maybe his father had chosen to get involved, but Drew couldn't shake the feeling.
He gone down the treacherous path of supervillainy, trying to place the blame on anything, anyone else, trying to embrace the opposite of the conformity that had crushed his father over the years. He did not want to follow in his father's footsteps. He did not want to be obligated to anyone, ever. And yet in the back of his mind, he couldn't shake the feeling that his father would be disappointed in him. That, after her husband's death, finding out that her son was a supervillain would be the final blow. His path was a path of defiance, but beneath it was a streak of shame.
"You know I love you, no matter what you do."
Even, thought Drakken, after what I've done?
"And your father loved you, too. He didn't always know how to show it, but he loved you. You're our son."
His mother beckoned for him to come closer, and Drakken embraced her in a hug. It was always awkward, hugging his mother- she was so short that her frizzy red hair tickled his nose. Tears welled in his eyes, and he felt a hot, tense lump in his throat as he tried not to cry. He had abandoned his mother – he knew that now. All these years, despite all her unannounced visits, her uncanny knack of finding him no matter where he set up his next lair. He wanted to leave himself behind, leave his past behind, but had left her behind when she needed him. It was a cruel mistake. He could feel it, right down to his bones. But he knew there was a way to make up for it.
He sniffed, rubbing a hand across his eyes. "I'm sorry, mother."
His mother released her grip and looked up at her son.
"Sorry about what, Drewbie?"
"I'm sorry about putting Dementor – Hans – behind bars."
His mother considered his apology for a moment, and then sighed.
"I know you two have a history. I forgive you. You were just doing what you thought was best, sweetie. Besides, Hans will break out sooner or later – that's what you supervillains do, isn't it?"
Drakken smiled. That was what they did.
"I want you to move back in with me, mother."
Claudia looked hopefully at her son.
"And Eddie, too. I want us to be a family."
His mother smiled. For the first time in a long time, his wasn't uncomfortable around her. He supposed her stay at the lair with Dementor had made him accustomed to her presence. He hadn't been to this house in years, and yet it still felt like home. Drakken wondered if that was because it was his childhood home – but no, that didn't seem quite right. His lairs always felt like home when Shego was around, after all. Maybe home wasn't really a place, so much as it was wherever your loved ones happened to be.
He had already paid Shego a visit the other day, letting her know his latest plan. Today, he had come home to set things right with his mother. But there was one other visit he had to make before he could finish doing that. He reached over to the coffee table and took another sip of his Cocoa Moo. By now, it was getting a little cold. When he got back, he could warm it up again. He stood up from the couch, ready to leave.
"Where are you going, Drewbie?"
"I have to go out, mother. But I'll be back soon."
"Where are you going?"
Drew stopped at the door. He wasn't going far at all.
"I just have to visit someone."
Kim was starting to feel guilty, but then again, Ron and Rufus had gone through about fifteen pizza slices so far, and JP Bearymore's wasn't exactly cheap. They knew just where to gouge their customers. She should have won the bet, anyway – so as far as she was concerned, this was just evening the score a little bit. And it was hilarious, too.
"Oh my lord," said Monique. "Look at the way his butt wiggles!"
Kim laughed as her friend pointed to her boyfriend's rear end. He was wearing the outfit they had bought for him just after they finished their shopping spree at Club Banana, before they had all headed off to JP Bearymore's. Seeing as her father declared their little bet a tie, they had to fill all of its terms, and one of Ron's conditions for losing was that he had to wear an outfit chosen by her and Monique. She couldn't remember if they had set a time limit on how long he had to wear it, but she supposed she'd let him take it off if he got too hysterical about it.
Still, she personally thought that pink miniskirt was very fitting on him.
"Stop looking at me, KP!"
"Ron, I'm your girlfriend! I'm not allowed to look at you?"
"Not like that!"
Kim and Monique were sitting at a table, nibbling on slices of pizza while they watched Ron and Felix playing an arcade game together about a dozen feet away. Kim noticed her boyfriend kept looking around from time to time, like he was hoping nobody he knew would notice him. Fortunately for him, it was a slow night. A few kids had come by earlier, though, pointing and laughing, and while Kim felt a little bad for him, it was undeniably hilarious at the same time.
Between Ron and Felix, she didn't know which of them was winning the game, but Rufus seemed to be taking over the arcade controls whenever Ron got distracted or dodged around to the side of the arcade machine to avoid being seen. Kim wondered if that was cheating. Either way, Felix didn't seem to care.
Kim smirked at the sight of the newest arrival. Josh Mankey was right on time. "You got my call?" she asked him.
Josh looked at Kim in confusion.
"Well, I left you a message," she said. "To come hang out with everybody? And Monique?"
"Uh, I guess I didn't catch that. Monique called me, actually."
Kim looked at her friend in surprise. Monique stuck her tongue out before getting up from the table. "I figured internet dating was a little lame," she said. "Better to take the plunge."
"Internet dating?" asked Josh.
"Uh, nothing. Wanna go play some air hockey?"
"You bet I do!"
Monique and Josh walked by Ron and Felix, and – just like Kim had expected – Josh did a double take at seeing Ron in the pink miniskirt. Ron had forgotten to dodge around behind the machine to avoid attention, and he almost knocked the whole thing over when he leaped back in surprise. "Mankey!" he said. There was a break in the music, and his voice echoed out over the playroom.
"Hey, Stoppable. What's with that miniskirt?"
"Don't make fun of me, Mankey. I'm just being an individualist!"
"Hey, I wasn't making fun of you. I actually agree – I think it's pretty cool, man. You're making a statement!"
Ron hesitated. Kim could barely stifle her laughter. Josh looked like he was actually being serious, not sarcastic, but she was pretty sure Ron had no idea what kind of statement he was trying to make, if any. Still, he seemed to be flattered by the comment. "You think so?" he asked.
"He's totally right!"
Kim was surprised to see Tara appear from behind a row of arcade games. She hadn't seen her fellow cheerleader when they came in; apparently Tara had been absorbed in the games. The blonde girl looked over Ron in a way that sent a stab of jealousy through Kim. But she told herself she was just imagining things.
"I think a guy who wears something like that in public is really brave," said Tara. "It shows you have confidence, and you're not afraid to laugh at yourself. Which is pretty sexy, if you ask me."
A series of unintelligible words streamed out of Ron's mouth before he trailed off. Tara giggled before giving him an almost imperceptible wink and slipping back between the arcade games, returning to whichever one she had been playing. Josh and Monique headed off to get a little privacy. Kim was left alone at her table, feeling distinctly unnerved by what Tara had said to her boyfriend. Wasn't she going out with that Jason guy now, anyway?
Cool it, Kim, she told herself. Jealousy much?
She got up from the table and walked over to the game Ron and Felix were playing with each other. Not surprisingly, it looked like it was one of the versions of Zombie Mayhem. She couldn't tell who was winning, or if they were even competing against each other, as the screen seemed to be a solid mass of writhing zombies, occasionally blocked by Rufus as he scampered over the controls, to Ron and Felix's irritation.
"Dude," said Felix. "I totally just got bitten because of you. Are you just distracting me so Ron can beat my score? Because it's totally working."
"Mm, no way!"
Rufus shook his head emphatically before noticing that Kim had left part of her pizza slice uneaten at the table. He bounded away from the arcade game as Kim watched them play.
"So, hey, Ron," she said, trying to be casual, "you can take off the miniskirt if it's too embarrassing."
She noticed Ron glancing in the direction of Tara, who she could see off in another part of the room.
"It's cool, KP. I actually don't mind it so much."
Kim felt a sudden, irresistible urge. She grabbed Ron, flipped him around, and locked her lips with his, giving him a hard kiss as she pressed him up against the arcade machine. She wasn't sure why – maybe it was just because he was her boyfriend. Or maybe it was her little moment of insecurity. She was just claiming what was hers.
They parted, and Ron gave her a dopey expression.
"Uh, thanks, KP. That was nice."
Felix threw up his arms with a whoop. Ron's moment of distraction had been enough to let his character get eaten by zombies; Kim gave him an apologetic smile.
She was about to kiss him again to help make up for his turning into zombie chow when the Kimmunicator's beep-beep-be-beep rang out from her pants pocket. Kim frowned and fished it out; with Dementor and Drakken out of the picture, she wondered who they might be fighting next. Maybe she and Ron would need to make another bet. Then again, supervillains had a way of breaking out of jail pretty quickly, so it could be Dementor. And it wasn't like anybody believed Drakken was going to stay on the straight and narrow for very long.
"What's the sitch, Wade?"
"Give us the news, dude," said Ron. "Is it Drakken or Dementor?"
"We don't know it's either of them," Kim reminded him.
Ron frowned, realizing his girlfriend was right.
"I've been keeping an eye on that tracking chip we put on Shego's hovercraft," said Wade. "It was off in Go City for a while, but it just returned to Drakken's new lair. Not only that, but I've been getting some weird readings over the last few days. I think our blue buddy is up to something."
Ron let out a loud whoop of triumph and pumped his fist in the air. Kim rolled her yes; she had no idea why he was acting like he had won something when they hadn't even made a new bet yet. Still, it wasn't about who they fought first. It was about who they defeated. Her suspicions were right – Drakken had been blowing smoke in their faces when he was talking about turning a new leaf after his pardon. But that didn't mean Dementor was off the table. Global Justice could never figure out how to hold anybody for more than five minutes, anyway.
Either way, it looked like they might be cutting their evening a little short.
Morning had passed into afternoon, and a cool wind was blowing through the town of Middleton. Drakken knew Shego was waiting for him, but he had time – and he needed to do this first. It was not a long walk from his mother's house, although he hadn't taken this particular walk in years. Down the sidewalk, towards the edge of the neighborhood in which he had grown up, down a winding little one-lane road shaded by overhanging trees that rustled softly in the breeze. A white-washed wooden fence to his left, a small gate with no lock, and he was there.
The last time he had come here, he was not alone. He remembered his mother by his side, dressed in black. He remembered the rows of seats lined up on either side of the gaping hole in the earth, the priest waiting with his book in hand. Another representative of an institution. A man in a suit, waiting to give everyone platitudes and convince them of some great meaning behind his father's death, some reassurance that it was all part of some plan. Even then, Drew had no use for their plans. He didn't know the details at the time, but he already had the conviction that he'd be making his own plans.
He remembered his father's fellow officers, carrying the casket through the graveyard, down the little dirt path that bisected it until they could reach his father's freshly-dug grave without stepping on anyone else's. Officer Hobble had been sad, he remembered. And he knew the man was his father's friend. But the others, as far as he was concerned, had never respected Ken Lipsky. They didn't deserve to be there. Chief Brody least of all. It was all Drew could do to keep quiet and wait for the service to be over.
May he rest in peace.
The priest had said a lot of things about his father – nice, meaningless words, considering the priest barely knew who Ken Lipsky was. But Drew had hoped that he was resting in peace.
Drakken still hoped that now. He weaved through the gravestones until he reached the one he was looking for. He hadn't visited it since that day, long ago. But through all the years that had passed, somehow Drakken still remembered what it looked like. He still remembered just where it was. He recognized it now, looking old and faded, the name 'Ken Lipsky' carved into its mottled gray face. A bouquet of flowers lay on the ground in front of the gravestone. Their petals flickered in the air as a breeze twisted and turned among the gravestones; they were wilted, but not dead. His mother, apparently, had been a more faithful visitor.
"I'm here, father."
Drakken was not a particularly religious man. Neither were his parents – and even in college, none of his so-called friends had ever been all that religious, really, although the subject didn't come up very often. He wasn't sure where his father was. Was he in heaven? Had he been reincarnated? Was he just a few feet below, nothing more than bones and dust? Drakken didn't know. He was a genius, but – amazingly enough – some things were beyond even him.
He didn't know if he was talking to his father or talking to himself. He wanted to believe it was the former. Perhaps it didn't really matter, in the end. He just needed to talk.
"I don't know if you'd like what I've become."
Drakken paused, even though he knew there would be no reply. The graveyard was silent.
"I've done things you might not be proud of. I've gone down a path – maybe a different path than you would have wanted. I've made a lot of mistakes. But I want you to know I've tried. And I'm going to try harder – I'm not going to take the ones who love me for granted anymore. I'm going to be better to them. And to mother, most of all."
Even if his promises were unheard, floating away in the breeze, he knew they weren't empty, at least. Ever since Dementor had been locked away, ever since his family left the lair, Drakken had been given a lot of time to think. Something James Possible had said during that meeting days ago... it had stuck in his head, burned like a brand. A comment about Kim Possible's sidekick, the buffoon, being like family, even if he wasn't related. Perhaps James lacked his independent spirit, his intelligence, his creativity - but the man was right. It was absolutely true. Drakken felt the exact same way about Shego, after all. She was family.
"Maybe we never had much in common," he said. "but I know you love me. You're my father. I love you. And I'm never going to forget about you. I'll never let you go."
Drakken knelt down for a moment, placing his hand on the earth in front of his father's gravestone. He didn't know why, really. It just seemed like the right thing to do. The grass was cool and dry beneath his fingers, and for just a moment, the breeze around him picked up, turning into a gust of wind that plucked a few wilted petals from the flowers his mother had placed there, carrying them off into the breeze as they spun playfully in the air. A superstitious man might have taken it as a sign. But Drakken was not one of those men. He knew it was just a coincidence.
Still – he hoped his words had not gone unheard.
"Hey, did you hear about the guy in the other cell, Jimmy?"
Dementor had not heard about the guy in the other cell, and he certainly didn't want to hear about it from Frugal Lucre. Unfortunately, he didn't have much choice in the matter, as the two of them were cell mates and Dementor didn't have any laser guns handy with which he could vaporize the man before he started another story. He missed his wife, his son, even Eddie Lipsky. But after coming within a hair's breadth of total world domination, here he was, forced to listen to his cell mate's inane drivel.
"I heard Jimmy got out by hiding in a pile of dirty underwear while he was on laundry duty. I dunno if it's worth escaping if you gotta do that, am I right?"
Dementor ignored his cell mate. After a moment, Lucre continued talking about their fellow prisoner's supposed escape scheme – he tuned the man out, knowing the story was probably something made up by another prisoner, anyway. As far as he knew, there was no laundry duty handled by the prisoners. This was a maximum security Global Justice facility, after all. He wasn't sure what kind of legal jurisdiction they had, but Global Justice had always seemed like it was sort of a special case, doing pretty much what it wanted when it came to fighting supervillains.
He had been stuck in jail for what felt like forever, although it was probably more like a week or two. Time had a way of stretching out into infinity when you were spending twenty-three hours a day in a confined area with Frugal Lucre. The man was also a supervillain – or at least a villain, as far as Dementor could tell – but his schemes seemed ridiculously uninteresting, lacking in any flash or grandiosity. Didn't the man take pride in his evil work? Dementor supposed not. Drew's ideas didn't quite match his own, but compared to Lucre's bargain bin brainstorming, they were sheer genius. He sighed as Lucre droned on, leaning back against the concrete wall as he sat on the top bunk. Lucre had already taken it when he first arrived in the prison, but Dementor had insisted on Lucre switching to the bottom bunk.
Normally, he should have escaped by now. Prisons weren't enough to hold someone like him back. The security in this place seemed like it was more beefed up than what he had seen during any of his past incarcerations, but something more than that was holding him back. He was apathetic, listless, and he knew why: it was because of Drew.
Because of the betrayal.
He couldn't even be angry at Drew, really. Dementor had felt crushed when he saw his son come through the door of that observation room at the Middleton Space Center, revealing he had been working with the enemy the whole time. That had changed briefly to anger when he was first thrown in his cell, as Dementor wondered how his son could be so ungrateful, but it was amazing how quickly the anger melted away. The hours had ticked by, and he had lots of time with nothing to do except think about what went wrong.
And he was the biggest part of what went wrong. He knew that now.
Dementor had tried to be a father. He had tried, so very hard, but he had been doing it all wrong. Dismissing his son's plans, running roughshod over his supervillain hopes and dreams, and sneering at his ideas – that wasn't the way to earn a son's love. He had let his pride get in the way. Maybe he was smarter than Drew, and his schemes were better, but Drew was smart, too. Drew had the potential to make some very important contributions to his schemes. Maybe – just possibly – even come up with a couple of his own, as long as he ran things by Dementor. He should have listened more. He should have reached out.
Not only that, but he should have trusted his son. Just like that silly therapist had said, the one Claudia had insisted on them visiting – it was all about trust. When Dementor had taken the Pan-Dimensional Vortex Inducer out of the lair, unannounced, just after Drew's breakdown at therapy, he had claimed it was because he wanted to make sure Kim Possible and her sidekick didn't run across it if they infiltrated the lair. But that wasn't it, really. He had doubted his son, after seeing the way he had reacted at the therapy session. Despite his optimism, he had gotten a sinking feeling that his son couldn't be trusted, and so he had taken the Vortex Inducer so Drew couldn't interfere. Of course, he had interfered, in the end – Dementor's suspicions had been confirmed. But what reason he had he ever given Drew to trust him? He hadn't shared any details of the plan until the last minute. He hadn't asked before moving in to Drew's lair, which he had to admit was due to selfish reasons – he had needed a new lair, after all.
Ultimately, he had approached fatherhood too impersonally. A combination of knee-jerk discipline, like the way he treated his henchmen, and random bonding activities he had gleaned from the internet or from magazines. He hadn't taken the time to really get to know Drew, to really show him that he was willing to meet him halfway. It had been almost as hard for him as it was for Drew, anyway. The two of them had been enemies for a long time, even if Dementor had always had a certain grudging respect for his supervillain competition.
He had been genuinely looking for love on the online dating site, hoping to start a relationship when he had been absorbed in his work for so long, and maybe even start a family. Seeing what turned out to be Doctor Drakken's mother was too good an opportunity to pass up, and Dementor was a little embarrassed to admit that his motives had been bad at first – taking over the lair, getting to his enemy by using his family. But Claudia Lipsky had turned out to be the most delightful woman. Love had come to roost before Dementor even knew it. That had left him in a bit of a pickle, having to learn to accept his enemy as his son.
But Dementor had done it, and his wife had told him about a side of Drew he hadn't seen before. He always wanted a son, anyway, even though taking over the world had taken priority. And at least this son shared the same goals and interests. It was just too bad Drew had never felt the same way. From the looks of it, all Dementor's best efforts had come to nothing. He wanted a family. But he had failed.
"So how about that, huh?"
Dementor stared blankly at his cell mate, who had just finished whatever long-winded story he had been telling.
"I vas not listening."
"What? I really don't wanna say all that again."
"You do not haf to. Ve can just sit quietly."
"Yeah, sure," said Lucre. "We can try that."
Dementor sat quietly in his cot while Frugal sat in a chair across from him. Global Justice had been kind enough to provide chairs in the cells. He had been in worse prisons, to be honest. He was amazed to see Frugal Lucre actually quieting down for once, and he was just about to enjoy some pleasant silence when he felt a strange sensation. Like the concrete floor of the cell was rumbling. He wondered if they were having an earthquake. A couple of guards, who had been passing through the hallway beyond his prison bars, stopped walking for a moment as the rumbling grew louder.
"Calm down," they said to a couple of prisoners yelling from nearby cells. "Just an earthquake."
But the rumbling did not stop. Something about it wasn't quite right, either – he was no expert, but Dementor got the feeling it wasn't an earthquake. He stood up from his cot and looked curiously through the cell bars, wondering just what was going on, when suddenly the bars began to twist in front of his eyes. He took a step back. Something was about to happen.
Sure enough, the bars buckled, dislodged from their concrete moorings as the floor beneath them suddenly cracked and shifted. Dementor moved back more, hitting the far wall of his cell, as the floor rose up in jagged slabs, like some kind of volcano erupting in a cloud of dust, dirt, and debris. Through the mess, however, he could see that something was coming up through the floor. Something shiny and metallic. And huge, too.
"What's going on?"
He heard the guards yelling from outside his cell, but at this point, some kind of cylindrical object with a giant drill-shaped head was jutting up from the floor, blocking almost the entire cell door, other than a narrow crack between its metallic edge and the cell wall. The massive drill bit on the head of the strange vehicle was still spinning for a moment, actually carving out a crack in the cell's ceiling, before it powered down. Frugal Lucre took the opportunity to squeeze through the crack between the machine and the wall, escaping into the hallway that connected all the cells.
"Hey, see you later!" he said. "It was nice meeting you, Dementor!"
"Yes, I am sure."
Ignoring his cell mate's departure, Dementor stood in awe as he stared at his unexpected visitor. A hatch on the side of the thing opened up with a whoosh of air. He was even more surprised to see his son popping his head out.
"Ah," said Drew. "It looks like we hit the right cell."
Shego popped her head out beside Drew, giving him a nod. Between the two of them, Motor Ed appeared, his bulk barely fitting as he squeezed out to look at the cell. "Sweet!" he said. "Cuz, this is like the coolest ride ever! Seriously!"
A few screams echoed in the hallway outside – from the sound of it, their break-in had done enough damage to open up a couple of adjacent cells, letting some of Global Justice's inmates free to wreak havoc on their guards. None of them seemed to be bothering Dementor, however. He looked hopefully at his son. Was this a rescue attempt? He almost didn't want to believe it – but could it be true?
Drew held out a hand.
"Mother isn't here – there wasn't enough room in the machine. But she's waiting for you."
Dementor smiled. It was true. He was being rescued.
He grabbed his son by the hand, who pulled him up and brought him into the machine. Inside, buttons and dials flashed and beeped on control panels in a cramped pilot's chamber. It was some kind of underground tunneling vehicle, which they had used to burrow under the GJ prison and bypass the normal security measures. Dementor was impressed. The hatch closed behind him as Drew took the controls. He heard a faint whirring sound as the drill bit on the front of the burrowing machine began to start spinning again, a lurch as the machine used some kind of reverse locomotion mechanism to drag itself back in the tunnel where it could change direction.
They were moving, now. Making progress. Going in the right direction, wherever that was.
"Vere are we going now?" he asked his son. "To the cottage?"
"No, we'll have to leave that behind. Not secret enough - everyone knows about it now."
His son looked up with a grin.
"Home, father. We're going home."
Notes - That's it for this story. Hope you guys enjoyed it, and let me know what you thought!
This certainly isn't my most popular story by a long shot, but out of all the stories I've written, it's my personal favorite - and it has my favorite ending, too. I got the idea a long time ago, around when I was writing Just a Jock. Someone in the KP chatroom brought up the idea of Drakken's mother getting married, which made me think of Dementor as an amusing husband for all the angst and drama it would cause with Drakken. The more I thought about it, the more I thought that it could work not just for laughs but for drama, and as a way to explore Drakken's family issues. I also got the idea for A Pinky Joe Curly Tale not too long afterwards, and how it could intertwine with this story.
I didn't start either story when I first came up with their overall plots - partly because I kept getting sidetracked with other things, and partly because I was nervous about tackling some aspects of them, particularly the shifts between past and present. A Pinky Joe Curly Tale in particular was something I didn't feel comfortable tackling early on, with its story-within-a-story structure. I started them much later, once I was a lot more confident in my writing ability, although even then I got temporarily sidetracked on this one. I was beginning to think it was cursed! :)
It seems appropriate that this is my favorite story, as it might also be my last Kim Possible story, so it's a good one to end on. I haven't seen the show in a while - I've been feeling like I have explored its universe enough, and I've been wanting to take an IRL break and then write for other shows. It's possible I might rewatch KP episodes in the future and get back in the mood to write more for the show, but I kind of doubt it. Maybe I'm speaking too soon, who knows.
Either way, if you want more in the near future, go read old stuff I've written. And I like reviews even on the older stories! :)