CCWE Chapter 4

Yep another chapter, another step closer to ruling the world. This was actually kind of hard to write (a remedy for writer's block needs to be made!) for some odd reason. But it was also very exciting to do so.

Important: If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes or even if you need me to explain something PLEASE tell me! Either through a PM or a comment. I WILL fix it! Thank you.



Sweat hung in the air, and the familiar taste of it was hinted in Shego's mouth. The green woman was in the training room doing a new exercise she has been dying to use if not for those missions she has been on. She hung several feet in the air, balanced perfectly on two suspended rings on a rod. The woman's arms were spread out to her side as she flexed upward with her head down to the ground. Perspiration riddled Shego's body as the exercise progressed. She bent her arms down further, and suddenly sprung up, letting go of the gymnastic rings and flipped several times in the air. As she came down, her hands grabbed the rings and the woman was again balanced, upright this time.

Music of the rock gender blasted throughout the room from a small jukebox in the corner, and the lyrics were screaming something about murder and pain—implicating perfectly to the assistant's mood. Drakken often commented on her choice of music being mirrored to her mood and views on life; soft rock when she was happy, hard/metal when she was pissed and slow alternative for sadness. And right now she was in the mood of pure and utter rage, coinciding with the border-lined screamo coming from the speakers. It's not that she was enraged by a certain person or people nor was it on herself. She was just in one of those moods where everything wasn't right or nothing seemed satisfying to the superhero.

And other bystanders suspected this too, because once she stepped foot inside the room, the previous tenants (leftover henchmen with no job or place to go) left at the sight of her, taking notice of the scowl written across her ivory face. They're smart, she might add, because she was known to have not-so-volunteered sparing sessions with them, mainly to blow off steam—or more specifically plasma. Smoke radiated from the target range—all bull's-eyes I might add—from the anger she possessed. Once that was out of the way, the green woman went to her usual routines; stretching, running on the treadmill, punching and kicking dummies (that curiously resembled a certain former enemy). Yet the woman grew blasé by the routineness and went to a new workout she wanted to try out.

So there she was hanging from the gymnastic rings, flipping and twisting beautifully, as the music blared through the stench filled room.

. . . . .

Finally, the doctor heard the thumping of bass over head as he worked (more or less when he saw his equipment shaking from the rhythms). He cocked an eyebrow, and tilted his head up to the story above him. Drakken knew what the ruckus was, but the reason behind such a thing finessed him. Shego was never the one to blast her choice of music across the place, let alone do it with such nonchalance. This was wholly unlike her—which in itself affrighted the blue scientist. Deliberating whether or not to proceed what he was doing or investigate the reason behind the tumult above him. If he continued what his was doing, he would avert unwanted scorching. But if he still didn't, Shego could take it as him being insouciant about her welfare, and therefore lead to more unwanted and unnecessary nagging and botheration. Aug! Even so, if he went to insure on the woman, and said woman not want the attention. . .

The man could not win even if he tried. The doctor released a sigh of frustration, still contemplating on his actions he'll soon take and the concomitant aftermath. His assistant is so grueling to read at times and at most, to the highest degree, maverick woman he has ever known. Always changing her mind, and always undecipherable in all the time he has known the woman. Oh the complications. . .

Just then the bass gradually grew within seconds implying that the hero was turning up the volume to the stereo, which caused noticeable shaking to the scientist's machines and chemical substances within beakers. Suddenly Drakken's mind was made—which frightened the man—so he straightened, made mental bookmarks of his advancements, and left the safe haven called his lab. As he tacitly made his way to the exercise room, the blue man rummaged through his—possibly fatal—outcomes of engaging the enraged woman in conversation.

Putting aside the notions of fatality or the possibility of bone breakage, the doctor was authentically worried over what could perchance the atypical relinquish of emotions of Shego. Normally, he would let her be, to inadvertently sway her to conclude her misfortunes. Then after she would "cool down" he would accompany her and silently pry to see what was troubling the young woman. When she reluctantly stated what was bothering her, he would listen, knowing that one, single, improper comment and she would close up, and rewind to her tentative deliberation. These menial conversations (to Shego at least) were few and sparse, and even though they barely reside in the green woman's mind, they would haunt the older doctor. Much to the point that he contemplates what her life was like before they started their business relationship, before they even laid eyes on each other. Was she rich? Was the woman popular in school or an outcast like he was? Did her brothers contact her often since she reposed back to her hero ways? Or was she still isolated?

These questions ran through his mind as he made his way to the elevator, increasingly nearing the exercising room harboring the blasting music. Sometimes his enforcer can be so off-putting or mordant that she is hard to decipher through the satire and inert expression, that sometimes the seemingly distant subject can really be more close to her than it really is (take her return to the lair after he recruited Warmonga and her reaction to being "replaced"). The blue man sighed in the small elevator waiting for the doors to close. Why was she so complicated? Sure she can show some enthusiasm once in a while, just to give the doctor more of an idea of what goes through the enigma called her brain. But once that thought raced through his mind, it immediately met a scoff from the scientist.

Shego was never one to present her woes to people, let alone a college drop out. And she is certainly not a person to trot around needless emotions of disgust or happiness and definitely not despair. In fact the only indication to those prevalent expressions was "the incident". The man shuddered at the intellection, which brought up undesirable memories and contradicting emotions within the intellectual's mind.

Try as he must, the doctor suppressed those retentions to the best of his abilities, which was a tedious task in itself. Occasionally, his thoughts would wonder back to that impertinent day of roller coaster emotions and actions. The tears shed, the plasma fire thrown and dodged, the lip locking—

The kissing was nice. . .

No! He will not go back there. She was under mind control, not in her right mind. And from an effete device too! A moodulator? What purpose was to invent such a gimmick, or even buy such a matter? It posed no scientific intuitiveness, no backbone, or relativeness. Why. . .

The doors opened and the doctor entered a corridor, and was pulsed by the bumping of bass and accords from the music. He grunted, and preceded down the hall, unwillingly he might add. If it wasn't for the shaking of his equipment he wouldn't be here, he would be on his way to creating the next prestigious invention since sliced bread.

He paused at the door, taking in the closeness of his abrasive former sidekick. So without any more hesitancy, he pressed the button, and entered through the sliding door.

The deafening rhythms bombarded the man as he entered the scorched premises. It was a fairly large room (for the henchmen, no doubt), with all of the latest equipment and necessaries for physical exertion. Padded red floors rested under the scientist's feet and white, high walls surrounded him. The familiar smell of smoke hung in the air with the dominated stench of perspiration. To the doctor's right it seemed to be the source of the smoke—the target range of course.

The room was empty save for the flying woman in the air, who beautifully twisted into a triple back flip and landed as equally active. She wore exercise apparel, clad with white, grey, and green adornment, which barred Drakken momentarily. The man just can't seem to get away from the casual Shego. Not that his expected her to be always suited in the black and green spandex, it is still taboo to him for her to be so casual around him. He didn't really mind, however.

He screamed her name, but no response seemed to be imminent. She was turned to the side, and he was out of her peripheral vision, so a visual stoppage was out of the question. He could always throw something at the woman, but he wasn't fully trustful of his physical aim. When he was younger he threw a dodge ball at a bully. It went nowhere near his tormenter, but it landed on the other side of the room—and it hit his then crush. Let's just say when he asked her out, the incident was still fresh in her mind. Ever since then he was never entrusted with projectiles, unless it was behind a computer screen. Pushing the thought away, he went to the next best thing: her stereo.

It wasn't the best option (Shego was very protective of her stuff—remember she had four brothers and they were young once), yet it was better than battling it out over the music in a verbal confrontation. Drakken then slipped further inside, located the stereo, and made his way to it. He pressed the button and whipped his head around to scream her name again, but there was no need.

Apparently, the green woman was entranced in the music that the sudden disturbance disoriented the woman. Her grip was ready to release, her brain wasn't, and her momentum went with the former. Unwillingly, she flung herself in the air, but her form wasn't there so she opted out. She landed 10 feet away from the bar, setting on the balls of her feet using her arms to stabilize herself on either side. She quickly turned her head to the source of the music and the unsuspected visitor.

"What the heck Dr. D!" She brushed herself off, put her hands on her hips, and pierced a glare at the intruder. He stood, crossing his arms over his broad chest, and evenly growling at her.

"I can't work with your music shaking my equipment, now can I?" He scorned, with his usual childish voice. Shego just stared and then retorted:

"Shaking your equipment? How can that—" The green woman stopped herself as something suddenly hit her. She cocked an eyebrow, "Why are you using your lab? Aren't you working at Global Justice's headquarters?" Wasn't he? Usually he was gone when she wakes up—if she ever got the opportunity to sleep in. The only reason she didn't question his actions this morning was because she acquired free food from the man. Then another thought rushed through her mind: Is he . . . fired?

Drakken softened, slightly. The topic of his new at-lair position hadn't come up in their feast over pancakes, so Shego didn't know he was there working below. Realizing this, his voice went calm and level, "I, uh. . . I applied and got an at-lair job. Now I work here full time."

Originally, the tinted woman's reply was going to be an unproblematic 'oh', but the usual satire rose in her mind. She smirked, and replied, "So now you're the maternal figure?"

She knew this would exacerbate him, and his expression that crossed his face satisfied her need to annoy him. His teeth clamped shut, the vein on his neck slightly showed around his collar, and his blue skin turned into a deeper shade. Most of the time, she would think how she could possibly be tired of such a reaction (she highly believed she wouldn't . . . and yes she would continue mocking him with stride). But today, after the impromptu awakening that resulted in a compromising position, the fidgeting slumber, and the refined banquet her thoughts went elsewhere. The thoughts pelted along to . . . "the incident"; the turmoil of emotions, the inexcusable activities, and her feelings on the matter.

Shego quickly shook off her daze, tightening her grip on her hips, distracting her from her rummaging of that godforsaken day. Thankfully the doctor didn't seem to notice her internal conflict, and the green hero relaxed ever so slightly.

"N-n-no!" He fused, still collaborating words to fill his mouth. The woman in front of him smirked even more.

Oh, yes. She could not get use to this.

"Well, what is it then?"

"It's a job! At the lair!" She was surprised she couldn't see steam erupting from his ears.

She pried, "And I work away. Face it Dr. D I bring home the bacon."

A growl broke from his throat. "You—I—she . . . oh forget it!"

She giggled sadistically, turned and headed for the door. Over her shoulder, with a wicked smile on her face, she continued, "Okay, Doc. Whatever makes you sleep at night."

He followed suit raising his hand, trying to prove his weakening point. "I am so not the wife in this association. I am the man!"

She snickered, "I'm sorry but who was the one who bore an apron this morning? Oh, right. It was you." She twirled around to point at him—


Shego hit something (astonishingly) hard and fell forward with it. The air was knocked out of the green hero's lungs as her body landed on the mysterious wall. Grumbling for the fulminant downfall, the woman rigidly lifted her head to the stone hard palisade. But all her eyes could see was blue; Blue coat, blue shirt, and blue skin. Her breath hitched in mid inhale as she realized what precisely happened. Apparently the doctor thought it was a justifiable idea to follow his mordacious assistant to the exit, step by step. And because of his stubbornness and her verbal tirade, they ended up like the previous night. Shego was straddling Drakken on top and the man underneath her was shell-shocked and catatonic by the positional oscillation.

The blue man suppressed a gulp as his vision was engulfed by green, and the full complexities of the situation swarmed over him. Shego was atop, legs on either side of him, and palms pressed firmly against his chest. His hands, however, was—unintentionally—grasping her hips in an attempt to brace the fall of the woman. Both of them wide eyed and mute and both of them tacitly enjoying the warmth radiating through each other's bodies.

The tinted woman pushed undesirable and conflicting thoughts out of her mind as her fingers sprawled across the doctor's chest. Particularly toned and brawn pecs—

Shego withheld a scoff as the sensation of curiosity crossed her consciousness. This was her boss, not some beach-baked bodybuilder from the spa or a Wall Street executive. She knew he worked hard to stay trim and she knew he had to be in good physical shape to run from their old arch-foe and from GJ. The woman just didn't know he was this fit or that he was this muscle prominent through his lab coat. It made her wonder . . . what else he was hiding from her. Immediately she repressed the intimate dubiousness that plagued her brain. So she focused her psyche and gaze on something else like his deep obsidian eyes or the electricity coursing through her fingertips as they were held against their will by her aghast body.

As she gazed into the oblivion called his eyes, she noticed that fluorescents above them casted a spot light on his face, illuminating his irises. What the ex-mercenary saw enraptured her. She never noticed—maybe it was the lighting or that her own ignorance got in the way or even that she never truly looked the scientist in the eyes—that there are flakes of ultramarine encircling his pupil, like bursts of secret color outshone by the darkness of the rest of his iris. Perhaps it was because of his flunked experiment in the past or it was just natural before then, but Shego had an indocile impulse to lean forward and examine more. Yet woman stopped herself before she ended up doing something regrettable.

This whole debacle lasted only a few seconds, but to the two abnegations on the floor of the gym, both intertwined in each other's limbs, warmth, and electricity, it seemed like hours maybe days of indulgence.

Shego was acutely aware of the doctor's gloved fingers on her skin (which is revealed by the grey crop top she had on), and the scientist was mindful of how his assistant's fingers straggled on his chest and how her body seemed to react to his own. And as they laid there taking in each other's essence, both competent and complete, they did not say a single word.

Because, finally, the dewy-eyed, toothy, and prolix Drakken collided with the apathetic, pungent, and reticent Shego.

Until that doggone communicator rang.

Both visibly jumped at the interruption and both lost the haze of impinging with each other. Shego relinquished her hands from the blue man's chest (much to his disappointment) and sat back on her heels, placing her hands back on her hips (which Drakken didn't possess anymore from the sudden disturbance). A tepid smirk played across her face, but it felt forced and without backbone. Before she spoke, she eyed him and their position.

"I told you Dr. D, I'm dominant in this family."


I had a lot of fun writing this chapter. Maybe it was because of the plethora of fluff or that it was interesting to write. I hope it compensates for the previous chapter and hopefully this does make up for the lack of D/S in the last chapter. Hopefully you liked (or loved if you prefer) this installment of CCWE and Please reply!

Again tell me if I missed any grammar or spelling mistakes in this or in other chapters I posted (or maybe you don't understand something I wrote). Please do through a comment or Private Message. Thank you.

Thanks for reading—if you did at least. And comment if you will. Those blue numbers rising will motivate me to get writing more and post more. Though I will not condescend to make chapter hostages, but it will prompt me to write and update pronto. Thank you for reading my rant and I will virtually see you next time!