This is a story about Drakken and Shego. It will be populated by old faces, new faces, and very familiar ones. Hopefully you will enjoy.


Nonetheless, it was an exhausting day. Clients coming and going, experiments conducted (more or less exploded), and the anticipation of coming back to the lair was looming, seductively, over Drakken's head. He, the now go to scientist and genius, was previsioning lounging at the fire place with an adept textbook maybe about biodiversity . . . or maybe botany? Either way, he was yearning for the literature to ease his mind. Perhaps a cup of cocoa moo with it will be meliorate the reading even better, however that is still another 3 hours from now, 3 hours of tattling with clients and doing rudimentary experiments that he could achieve blindfolded.

Sure the hero business is more rewarding, more profitable, other than the alternative, but it was occasionally slow and dull from staying in the lab most of day and discussing experiments with lowly GJ scientists. Sure he loved the pay, and was delighted when he invented an outstanding prototype, yet he missed his lair, his hours for a break. Maybe he could consult with Dr. Director for an at the lair job? It would surely assist in the production of achievements and how fluid they would be in testing. And without remedial scientists breathing down his neck, he would definitely have more progress. But still, 3 hours of crazy haired, bird brained people awaited him and the blue tinted man dreaded it.

Nonetheless, the minutes past gradually, and the numbskulls thought just as slow. A vein on the side of his neck grew with each passing minute, as he scornfully stared at the scientists and so called colleges, as they worked around him. It grew and grew and grew. . .

Drakken could feel his blue skin turning deep cobalt, as the frustration built up within his system, and as if on cue a familiar crashing of glass arose from the room. He pinched the bridge of his nose, as a curse escaped from his lips, and he dragged his fingers down his face. If he could he would bang his forehead against the desk, however he knew that it would imply the he could be in the league of his "coworkers", so instead wrapped his arms around his head and rested it against the cool wood. Hoping the room temperature wood would aplomb his boiling blood, his mind slowly scattered away to his subconscious. It scattered to his job (it was a love/hate relationship), possible cures, and inventions, reverse engineering he has to do, yet even through the boiling blood and heated brain his thoughts landed on Shego.

Ah, his sidekick—or well partner? . . . Friend? Acquaintance? Cohort? Aug! It's been confusing for them in the last 3 months or so, mainly because of the ceremony. Yes, some has to do with the transition from villainy to heroism, yet mostly the problems arise from the ceremony. Dr. Drakken has recently learned that the newly found botany power is wired to his subconscious, so the vines act on his canonic instincts, needs, and emotions. The days that followed were awkward, inapt, and well, disheartening. Secretly, he wished she would react differently other than hiding for that following week, maybe return something heartfelt and warming. However Shego has never been one with emotions or dealing with them, she would more like disintegrate it than address it.

Withal, their relationship has handled even worse than just some subconscious thought (he never told Shego about the subconscious botany fruition, he would like his balls where they are), through failing several times at conquering the world and defeating an alien overload, and then subsequently saving it, yes, they have had more speculative interactions.

Pulling out of his rumblings of his personal life, an intimate sound of a sliding door pried the rest of him out of his (rather spectacular) mind. Dr. Director entered poised and ready for action, her eye swiped across the room, gazing at beakers, graduated cylinders, and burners.

Now's my chance, he thoughts overwhelmed him as he sprung up and literally ran to the Director.

. . . . .

Nonetheless, it was an exhausting day. Sneaking past security cameras, fighting evil henchmen, and the anticipation of sitting by the fire with a good adventure novel predominated, temptingly, in Shego's mind. Obtaining a nitrogen-configuring-whatchamacallit, took all of the energy out of the ex-villainess, and the only thing mediating her and the cozy bed was a 2 hour flight in a hovercraft. Even so, her eyes drooped down to the control pad and her body accidently pushed down on the controls, nearly nose-diving the craft. Springing up, she repositioned and nearly punched the autopilot so no more unsuspected diving would proceed. Reclining (or reclining as far as a pilots chair could go), the green tinted woman solemnly closed her eyes for some much needed rest from heroism.

It was for certain the hero business was more exciting and more action packed than villainy, but it takes a lot out of a girl. Sure it is exuberating to see a criminal's tyranny end—she nearly forgotten how it felt—and the sense of pay was gratifying to see in her pocket, but the stress on the muscles and the mind was torturous. Shego often went to the lair sore and fatigued, and barely had time for what she wanted to do.

She should have suspected this again. Putting people before you philosophy, which has been drilled since she was a young girl ever since that radioactive comet hit—however that wasn't the really reason why she abandoned her brothers for a life of crime (even Hego's explanation that she liked the trade of law-breaking was not so far away). Between Mego's selfishness and Hego's Adam West Saturday morning cartoon approach to heroism, she couldn't stand it anymore, she was annoyed by the white and black area to "good versus evil". And the only resort to leaving that life was living another one opposite to it, like a total 180. It was fun, while it lasted. Not giving a damn, having your own vacations, and people respecting (well dreading) you, Shego relished the business of crime . . . while it endured.

There was always something hollow every time Shego thought about her life beforehand. It wasn't that she missed her brothers (she reluctantly does), and it wasn't that she missed villainy (all good things must come to an end). It was that she went at it all wrong. Just because she was a part of Team Go, doesn't mean she had to follow them exactly as a team, and because she was a villain doesn't state she will always be one. Shego could be a hero, yet on her own terms, and she doesn't need to be on a team, she can do it alone.

That is what irks the tinted woman even more. She didn't cypher that out sooner.

The ex-villainess peaked through her lashes, saw that she had a good hour left, and snuggled closer to the semi-cushioned seat. Her mind finally rested, and soon after her body, both riddled by aches and fatigue. Wandering aimlessly through her thoughts, the mentation comprised of the new Club Banana season coming up, the new exercise she's been dying to try out, and weirdly of a certain blue skinned genius. The sidekick shifted uncomfortably in the equally uncomfortable chair, as she tried to conceive something else besides that buffoon . . . it failed.

Images of the erstwhile boss came flooding in, almost like a water gate opening; once it is cracked it is already flooding. Frustration also followed the images, as she instinctively sat up, abandoning the idea of sleep, she pressed the button for manual control, bidding for beguilement. But still, that only intensified the images of Drakken, and, much to Shego's demise was turned to the only affair she could think about. Plaguing her mind, her lips downturned into her usual scowl with her eyebrows furrowed instinctively, she wished to exterminate those parlous thoughts of her aged employer.

So in the meantime, the hero renounced songs, poems, psychology lessons, anything that could rally her mind elsewhere. It succeeded, yet somehow it seemed paradoxical.

. . . . .

Black boots shuffled across the chintzy linoleum as the tinted women, who the boots were attached to, tardily shambled to her room—on the other side of the lair. Transfixed on the idea of sleep, Shego stumbled and shuffled through the lair, her head low and shoulders slumped in fatigue. However, the chambers were still a decent field away, and she suspected she would have the energy to get there . . . apparently her judgment failed. As she entered the common room, the cozy, plush, red velvet love seat beaconed her over, and she just couldn't balk the welcome, so the exhausted hero dragged her feet to the receiving couch.

Timidly seating herself, she gazed at somehow started fire (maybe one of the henchmen ignited it?), flickering and admitting its warmth throughout the common room. Shego half balled herself up staring at the flames, unconsciously her hand met her chin, and her eyes lolled downward and downward and . . .

The green women soon found slumber, as the fire quivered casting a willowy shadow throughout the room.


So how did you like it? Good? Bad? Obscenely amazing? Chapter 2 will be up in a short bit.