A/N: Talk about a blast to the past. I have no guarantees, just like in my other stories, about anything relating to the length of update times, but for this one I've already got a plot untangled so... that's a positive sign? I think? This is my contribution that I couldn't do justice the first time I tried.

magnetism (n.) a physical phenomenon produced by the motion of electric charge, resulting in attractive and repulsive forces between objects

Two in the morning, and Brussels is fast asleep. The drone of passing cars has turned into a hum, soft and sedate, and the murmur of pedestrian traffic has slowed to a crawl. Modern lights wash against ancient buildings and cast strange shadows. In the center of the city, the Royal Palace is tall and stoic, its lights shut off until morning as the royal family commute to their lavish home on the outskirts of the district.

In the quiet of the night, no one noticed a lone figure leaping their way onto the roof, and certainly didn't notice as they disappeared into the ventilation shaft.

Why do royals always think they can get away with godawful security? Shego huffs a quiet breath. Her catsuit makes only a whisper of sound as she pulls herself through the maze. You'd think after they get enough of their shit taken, they'd wise up.

Behind her goggles, the scintillating glint of the diamond is almost blinding. It lies embedded in a white-gold necklace, the size of a baby's fist, even more gaudy than when she saw it on the neck of the Belgian consort a week ago. From the vent in the ceiling, it's easy to see the complex net of laser-grids that surround it, padded by pressure-sensitive flooring and swivelling security cameras.

Amateurs, Shego peers down into the abyss, blinking behind the military-grade specs, they don't even have audio-sensitive alarms. It's like they're begging for it to be stolen.

She attaches her grappling hook to the edge of the vent, leaning back into the void. Her hair, braided and thrown over one shoulder to avoid the lasers, glints emerald in the low light cast by her blinking equipment. The guard comes, waits, and leaves. A fifteen-minute timer starts in her head.

Shego slowly lowers herself out of the duct, her claws sinking deep into the metal she was just laying on. They leave handholds marked by five vicious gouges as she shuffles her way across the vent - a super-powered version of the monkey bars. When she next looks down, she's hovering directly over the glass case containing her newest prize. She pushes an anchor into the vent and melts it in place, threading the cable attached to her into the eyelet.

Dangling by one hand, she takes a deep breath, and waits.

Here in the silence, she can hear the hum of the security cameras as they move, the almost imperceptible whine of the laser grid, and the distant, echoing footsteps of the guard. Her heart throbs just behind her ears, but it's slow and steady. Shego feels every shift of her body in the abyss, every pound of weight hanging on her fingers.

After being a sidekick for so long, it's freeing to go back to her first love.

The end of the world had been good to Shego. Their nauseating stint in saving humanity had awarded her a temporary reprieve to the watchdogs at her back. Drakken spent over a year on the right side of the law before he came crawling back, and that let Shego do a lot of reconnecting and rejuvenating that had been sorely needed after the world crumbled and got haphazardly pieced back together again. The limelight on her felt too familiar, too close to when she wore the uniform with others instead of alone – Drakken renouncing evil was just the clincher. Without him, any sense of responsibility she had to anyone other than herself just… vanished.

It was time to go back to what she knew, and what she loved. She grabbed her credit card the day after the reception and didn't look back. She forgot how much she hated seeing the same people until she didn't have to deal with them for a year.

Some shopping in Paris, a gem theft in Lima, a night of dining in Tokyo. A museum robbery in Cairo and luxuriation in the hotsprings of Reykjavik. Three months in a remote Chinese temple, slowly flowing through t'ai chi ch'üan forms with a jug of water on her head. More sex than she wants to think about, but still less than she'd like.

(She remembers something about an escort in Thailand licking whipped cream off her stomach, but that's where it ends. The four other days she spent there are nothing more than a haze.)

And now, she thinks as she lets herself go, the harness at her belt slowly lowering her into the room, two years since the world ended and I'm still on vacation. I must've been a saint in a past life.

Eight months ago, Drakken finally realized that his brand of mad science wasn't compatible with mainstream society. Shego wasn't quite ready to go back to work and he was clean out of ideas, but they renewed their frozen contract anyway, confident that something would eventually turn up. She's only seen him a few times since then, stolen a thing or two and broken some others, tangled with Kimmie once or twice. Poor thing looked run ragged, but was obviously getting more accustomed to her fancy battle-suit – Shego got one of her own plasma balls straight to the face the last time they fought.

She was almost proud as she limped away from that one.

With a touch to the button at her throat, the cameras in the room stop with a static hiss. Shego increases her fall-speed, dropping with dizzying precision, coming to rest three feet above the case. She's still a good ten feet in the air and can't help the thrill of excitement that rushes from the base of her skull to her toes and back again.

She clenches her fist once before spreading her fingers out. In the dark, five hovering claws glow bright green as Shego channels her plasma energy into her fingertips with pinpoint accuracy. Eventually, she gathers it all to just her index finger, so hot it goes from green to white. She puts the tip of the claw against the glass and it hisses and sputters, going red in a halo and drooping away like poorly-stretched plastic.

It's amazing what a few years of use can make. Sixteen-year-old Shego, fresh out of fighting crime and on the run, could never even dream of being so precise with her abilities. Back then was a lot of explosions and collateral damage… like now, except these days it's on purpose.

What kind of dumbass doesn't build a grid into the glass? She slowly carves a circle out of the side, watching the glass wilt and run down the pedestal. It solidifies before it hits the ground and disturbs the pressure-plates, but she's still careful to wipe her glove off when she can. Even Drakken remembers something so mundane.

She usually tests his security systems for him – she can always slip by, but having something in place that can catch Shego costs way more than he wants to spend. It used to be worth it just to see the blue-faced frustration each time she appeared undetected, but that frustration gradually turned into admiration, and that's where she stopped. She's pretty sure he was starting to develop actual feelings for her towards the end, and that's just—

Shego pauses her glass-melting to fight down a retch.

"But he isn't here," she reminds herself, carefully pulling out the neat circle she burned into the case. "It's nothing but me, this room, and this pretty shiny that will soon—"

In her ankle-pouch, her phone warbles.

Shego takes a deep breath, holds it, and releases it once she's still annoyed. She's ninety-five percent sure that snatching the necklace straight off the pedestal will trigger some sort of alarm. She's one hundred percent sure if that's who she thinks it is, her hands will erupt when she's holding her prize and turn it into liquid.

(Who wants a royal heirloom that's just a puddle of gold and a burnt rock? Maybe the diamond would stay intact, but it's the principle of the matter!)

Seven minutes, says the timer in her head. She curses, growls, and finally rips her work-phone out of her pouch.

"A little busy here, Doctor D."

"Shego! We haven't talked in weeks! Is that any way to greet your employer?"

Her jaw grinds – she wouldn't be surprised if he could hear it. "I like it that way, Doc. Hence why you haven't heard from me."

"Well now, that's just rude."

The device at her throat dings – five minutes until cameras go back online. She lights her free hand ablaze to channel her frustration, casting the cavernous space with an eerie, pale green glow. Spirits dance in the masks liberated from other nations and traded until they lost their sense of ancestry. Across from her, the ruby-red eyes of a stone lion burn.

"You have ten seconds until I hang up."

"If you're going to be snippy, Shego, then I'll just—"

She snaps her phone shut with a satisfying click. Despite the almost-overwhelming urge, she doesn't crush it into pieces.

Shego closes her eyes, her prize so close and yet so far. Knowing Drakken, any second, he'll—

Her phone goes off again – her free hand turns from a blaze into a wildfire, crawling up her elbow and licking at the hair dangling over her shoulder. She opens it with such a ferocity she's surprised it doesn't break.

"—you're part of the evil family, and I'd think that—"

"Drakken, if you're only calling to pester me, you're going to wish you stayed working for the good guys."

His tirade sputters out with a wheeze. There's a second of awkward silence, punctuated by the quiet sigh of the rope holding her in place, before he clears his throat. "Yes, well, I was letting you know I need you back at the lair. I have a new plan."

"Which lair?"

She wedges her phone between ear and shoulder, sticks both of her hands into the glass case. When she lights them up, it exposes lasers that her goggles couldn't see – the temperature eventually shorts them out and she extinguishes them just as the gold in the necklace starts to sweat.

"The cold one. In Sweden."

"Norway," she sighs, studying the pedestal. More pressure-pads? Maybe. It looks unassuming, but the best traps always are. "I'll be there in a few days."

"But Shego, I need you now!"

"Shoulda thought of that before you signed our new contract, hm?" A new feature was intermittent vacation – she could leave without warning, coming and going as he needs her. Drakken in small doses was better for her health and his well-being: less burn-marks overall.

"You've been rather lippy since I came out of retirement, you know."

"I'm always lippy," she grunts, reaching back to find the paperweight she brought specifically for this heist.

"More so than usual." Her pocket is curiously light – where the fuck is that replica? Did she leave it in the vent? "You're not getting any younger, Shego. Maybe it's hormonal changes."

She blinks. "Did you just—I'm twenty-fucking-eight, you blue moron! I'm not going into menopause!"

Her voice bounces off the walls, carrying further into the compound. Shego winces as the footsteps she could hear in the distance slow to a hesitant stop – the device at her throat chimes. Two minutes. Between the heavy boots coming closer and Drakken blathering an apology, it's a wonder she doesn't just bail completely.

"I'll be there in a few days," she finally grits out, "you better hide to save your sorry hide."

This time, when she ends the call, she holds her thumb to a little silver button. The phone hums once before vibrating, signalling all data has been wiped. Shego gently picks up the necklace by one corner, inching it into the air, before slipping the now-inert phone onto its former resting place.

Through some miracle, nothing goes off. She slams the retract button on her winch and goes flying back towards the ceiling, crawling her way through the vent just as the security guard runs into the room. She doesn't stay to watch him stare at the phone, half-out onto the roof by the time he realizes something is wrong, but she still smirks when she hears it ring. A few moments later, the alarms activate, but she's already a shadow slipping unseen into the night.

Ten minutes later and zooming away from the city, Shego reaches into her pocket where the replica should have been. There's a slip of paper instead. When she unfolds it, there's red ink and a wink face and a scrawled phone-number.

Call if you want your jewels back, sweetie. It won't be cheap.

She vaguely remembers the woman she brought home last night – drunk on ten-thousand dollar champagne and wearing a dress that cost some poor schmuck's entire yearly salary, Shego must have made quite the attractive target. She barely remembers anything except her talented mouth and the dead-sleep she fell into right after.

No matter how old I get, pretty women are always my weakness, Shego laughs, I wonder if Princess would wear a dress if she knew.

"Ron, for the last time, I'm not going to see Bloodsucking Sluts: Anaemia with you."

"Aw, KP," Ron whines over the phone, "why not? It's got blood, it's got guts, and it's got babes. You like action movies!"

"Action movies, yes. Weird blood-fetish horror movies? So not. Besides, I have an exam tonight."

"Academia: one, Ron: zero." There's a sigh from the other end, a muted thump as he falls back into bed. "I just never see you these days. It majorly blows."

Kim softens. "I know, Ron. But this is my last one. Once I'm done, we have the whole summer."

"And summer school," he says sourly.

"And summer school. But I'm only taking online classes, so it shouldn't be that bad."

"I think I liked it better when you took a year off. I'm sure GJ would hire you in a snap with or without a stupid piece of paper."

It was true, of course. Ever since she left high school, Global Justice had increased the heat on the young teen, sending offers that were each better than the last. Tuition? They'd pay for it. Reconstruction on their house? Handled. A salary larger than many of their senior officers? Count on it. All she had to do was sign the rest of her life away on the dotted line when presented.

To everyone's shock except her own, she refused.

After the end of the world, after graduation, there had been some cleaning up to do. Kim had already accepted her place at Middleton U, but even though her hometown had faired decently in the wake of the Lowardian invasion, the rest of the earth had not. It would take more than two months to clean up the mess left behind, and Kim, well… despite shafting Drakken and Shego with janitorial duty, still felt a sense of personal responsibility for the aliens that came to wreak havoc. Instead of attending in the fall, she (temporarily) gave up her place to be centered in relief efforts – stemming a flood in the Philippines, unearthing people buried alive in China, airlifting supplies to remote villages in Kenya. Wherever there was a crisis, Kim came running.

After a lot of haggling, she established an uneasy truce with Global Justice. She wasn't exactly working with them, but their mutually beneficial relationship meant that the perks flowed both ways. They gave her the missions that Betty Director deemed too critical and too dangerous for her normal teams – Kim's help opened their tightly-guarded coiffeurs and unleashed a slew of upgrades for Team Possible. Wade nearly cried when he saw the new figures they were working with.

It wasn't anything like a binding contract, but came with the expectation that after she graduated, she'd pick up that pen and put her name down and become the best operative in Global Justice history.

(Agent Possible just doesn't have that good a ring to it, you know?)

"Maybe I want that stupid piece of paper. Having some normalcy isn't always a bad thing."

Ron laughs. "KP, you're the furthest thing from normal."

She stuffs her calculator into her bag, along with a water bottle, sweater, and at least seven pencils. What if all six others break? "My extra-curriculars are a little more involved than most other people, no big."

Kim doesn't have to be there to see the dubious look on his face. "Four days ago, we stopped Dementor from fusing the tectonic plates together."

"I still don't understand what he was trying to accomplish with that. Wouldn't that just kill everyone?"

"Dunno, I'm not a rock expert. Maybe earthquakes bother him more because he's so close to the ground?"

Kim spits the water she'd been drinking, dribbling it down her chin. "Ron!" she says, muffling her laugh behind her palm.

"One for the Ronster," his grin travels through the mouthpiece, "a-booyah!"

She swings the backpack over her shoulders, still giggling. It had been a little awkward when they broke up nearly six months ago, but after a month of moping, he returned to his innate Ron-ness with a vengeance. Kim still can't pinpoint the reason they broke it off – it was like… she doesn't want to say she lost interest. She didn't. He's still her very best friend in the world, and she couldn't do what she does without him.

Something just didn't feel right.

Across the room, her Kimmunicator beeps. "Sorry, Ron. Wade's calling. Nacos after the exam?"

"You bet, KP! Good luck!"

Kim turns the screen on, hurrying out her bedroom door. "Talk fast, Wade. I've got an exam to crush."

"I'm afraid you'll have to put off on the crushing for a little while, Kimberly."

"Dr. Director!" she skids to a halt in the kitchen, "you caught me at a bad time."

"It seems so," the older woman smiles wryly. "I'm afraid your bad time is about to turn into a worse time."

"A mission?" She glances outside, Sadie waiting patiently in the driveway. "I can't miss this exam."

"Already taken care of."

A part of Kim bristles – for promising to stay out of her life, Global Justice is rather tangled up in her affairs. "Can't you get Team Impossible to handle whatever's going on?"

"It's Drakken. I don't want to risk it."

She leans against the counter. "The last huge 'plan' we foiled was his ploy to dye all the world-leaders orange. Orange! Do you seriously think one of your most elite teams can't handle something like that?"

Betty sighs, reclining in her seat. "Normally, it wouldn't be a problem, but it's been confirmed that Shego is with him this time. You know what happens when we send normal operatives against her."

They go home in body casts, Kim thinks grimly, remembering the last time Dr. Director sent a strike team. One of them is still drinking through a straw a month later.

(But honestly, she should just be glad it's not a body bag.)

Kim sighs. "You're sure she's there?"

"Completely."

"Fine." She drops her backpack in the kitchen, going upstairs to find her mission gear. "When's my ride getting here?"

"Two minutes. They'll brief you on-route."

The screen cuts out, and Kim makes a face. No thank you? Not even a goodbye, or good luck? She storms up the steps and yanks on her outfit – Dr. Director will probably already have contacted Ron. What could Drakken be up to now? She hasn't seen Shego in a few months, the woman slipping through law enforcement's collective fingers like smoke. The last time they traded blows there wasn't even time to taunt, a vicious whirlwind of punches and kicks just as the building came down – the last she saw of her, Shego melted straight through a steel pillar to escape in a brilliant flash of green.

Kim wasn't so lucky. By the time she wormed herself out of the rubble, Shego and Drakken were gone.

The roar of helicopter blades stops her from falling any deeper into the memory, but it doesn't stop the forbidden thrill of anticipation from racing up her spine and back again. She needs this. The knot of irritation at her throat has one sure-fire way of unraveling – by beating it into submission.

"Having a bad day, Princess?"

The taunt is followed by a brutal front kick, sending Kim crashing through a pile of cardboard boxes. She hits the ground with a whump, rolling before she can fully regain her bearings to avoid the follow-up blast of plasma. It's only through years of fighting Shego that she isn't there when the claws come down inches from her nose.

"You're limping a little," Shego grins as they circle each other again, "get up to some fun with the buffoon before you got called in?"

Kim's scowl turns crimson. "You know we aren't dating anymore, Shego."

"You're an adult now. Maybe you should try it… loosen you up a little." God, she's even more insufferable than usual today.

And fast.

She ducks under the first swing, realizes the second one is coming, but doesn't quite jerk out of the way fast enough. Shego's knuckles clip her ribs and add to the symphony of shrieking from her over-tired muscles, but she grits her teeth and responds with a roundhouse that would take off a normal man's head.

Shego takes the blow, grunting, and Kim doesn't recoil in time to avoid the hand that grabs her ankle. For crying out—

The next thing she knows, she's sliding down the surface of yet another death-ray, stars rattling around in her head. She blinks to clear her vision but just gets an eyeful of black and green as Shego lifts her easily into the air with one arm.

Kim watches the play of muscles from underneath her catsuit, wondering not for the first time just how strong Shego really is. They're both covered in sweat and Kim is already bruising, flushing a dark red and purple all over her body. There's a score across her cheek from Shego's glove that weeps red, and it stings terribly whenever sweat rolls down her temples; the older woman sports significantly fewer injuries, but there's a hint of a dark green halo spreading along her jaw where Kim managed to land a desperate hook-kick.

"You're really off your game, Kimmie," Shego drawls, "I'm almost concerned."

A distant bang from the far-side of the base. The two of them clearly make out Drakken's enraged howling, bouncing off the cavernous ceiling before echoing back.

"Looks like Ron isn't."

Shego rolls her eyes. "The buffoon doesn't have game. Just idiotic luck."

Kim grits her teeth, wiggling a little in Shego's hold. Maybe she is off her game? The second they started fighting, Shego pressed her, never letting up but never seeming to tire. She wants to blame the all-nighter she pulled to study for her exam (the one she's missing, right now, because Drakken couldn't wait three damn hours to unleash his latest plot), but she's fought better on less sleep.

"Sometimes, that's all you need."

She drives the toe of her shoe into Shego's tender ribs, digging her fingers as hard as she can where the muscles of her forearm meet. Shego crumples, just a little bit, just enough so that Kim can give a desperate, mid-air twist and wrench herself free. She falls on her ass without feeling it and backpedals so quick she's sure the floor underneath her is polished to perfection.

Still, as Shego turns to look at her, she's never felt more like a mouse caught between the claws of a cat.

"What has Drakken been feeding you, Shego?" Kim grunts as she vaults into a back-handspring to avoid the latest barrage of plasma, years of tumbling and cheerleading guiding her haphazardly out of harm's way. "Steroids?"

"Hah," Shego barks, still far too close for how much jumping she just did, "if that idiot tried anything like that, I'd burn him to a crisp." Her hands flare, almost blindingly bright. "Two years of vacation was good to the glow."

That's exactly what I need, Kim thinks sourly, heading off another incoming attack. She can't deny that fighting Shego is (maybe, definitely) a rush, more than anything else she's had to do over the years. Maybe sometimes (not that she'd ever admit it) she looks forward to it. But Wade had taken her battlesuit in for upgrades, and for the first time since she can remember, she's had to fight Shego without the enhancements that seem to be almost second-nature now.

It sucks.

Her kicks are bone-crushingly strong, her claws sharper than steel, and her plasma oppressive with its heat. Each reaction is just a millisecond too slow to counter. How the hell did she survive for so long without it?

Maybe you're only here because she let you be.

The thought stalls her to the point where she doesn't see the hook coming. One second she's standing and the next she's on the ground, bright lights flashing behind her closed eyelids. When she next cracks them open, Shego is standing above her with a sickly-sweet grin.

"Oh, is it nap-time, Cupcake?" A foot comes down over her throat. Not so much suffocating as pinning, a measure of dominance.

She tries to respond, but her tongue has turned into a sandbag. Her nerves are already sorting themselves out, waking up after Shego temporarily put them to sleep, but nowhere near fast enough to avoid whatever else is coming to her. After so many years of push-and-pull, give and take, she isn't even surprised that it'll end in a lair somewhere in a cold, forgotten corner of the world.

Kim always thought Shego would be the one to end her life. Who else? There's no-one else on this earth (or beyond it) that matches her in skill like the villainess. As Shego had said when they faced down death come from space and three sizes too large, only Shego was allowed to hurt her. At the time, it was almost… flattering.

The thought that she wasn't even a match at all leaves a bad taste in her mouth.

"Just do it," she mumbles thickly, spitting blood from a split lip, "get the gloating over with before you kill me."

Shego's eyebrows shoot up. She crouches close to Kim's vulnerable form, her plasma extinguishing with a hiss. The foot on her neck is replaced by a hand. "Kill you? Now why would I do that?"

Kim blinks. The points of Shego's nails draw five equal droplets of blood – they're so sharp she hardly feels the sting. "But… you…" Her hand comes up to Shego's wrist, a bracelet rather than a shackle.

"You're right, Kimmie. I'm the one that gets to kill you. But why would I bother when you aren't putting up a fight?"

Kim sputters indignantly, the fingers wrapped around Shego's wrist already seeking a weakness, but the older woman flexes her grip until it feels like a steel collar around her throat. Despite the smirk on her face, there isn't anything malicious about it.

"Don't try and argue, Princess. I put you down in record time today."

She grinds her teeth, Shego's grip moving with it. "Then why…"

"What's the point if it isn't fair? I wanna get you because I beat you, not because you can't keep up without your battle-suit."

Kim scowls. "You aren't wearing a battle-suit."

"I also have superpowers. Don't get your panties in a twist just because you need a handicap." Shego's thumb digs into Kim's lower lip, never quite breaking the plush skin. "You wouldn't be the first person."

Kim's eyes flash, and Shego's smirk turns into a grin. "Did I hit a sore spot? Don't look at me like that, Cupcake, or I might get a little wet."

I'm not just anyone, Kim fumes, curling her body to wedge her foot under Shego's jaw. Her face burns, half from exertion and half from embarrassment, as she straightens her legs as hard as she can. Her bruised and battered ribs groan their displeasure but she still manages to pry Shego's hand from around her throat, leaving five light lines that bead red as she sends the villainess flying.

Kim staggers to her feet. She cups her left side that might be broken, never keeping her eyes off the tangled mass of black and green on the other side of the floor. Shego flows to standing, effortless, and Kim's muscles groan. As infuriating as she is, she's also right.

The two opponents ready themselves to face off again. It's quiet save for the shuffling of their footsteps and the odd shlip of Kim's blood hitting the floor.

"Shego…"

A loud explosion rocks the floor they're standing on. The whole space goes dark, only to be lit up by flashing red lights.

"SHEGO!"

"That's my cue," Shego smirks, vaulting onto a pile of boxes. "Get well soon, Kimmie. I won't go easy on you next time."

Kim takes a step towards her, but thinks better of it. A tactical retreat might be in her best interest.

"Shego," she says anyway, not all that surprised when the other woman waits, "a few years ago… I could fight you without the suit. What happened?"

Amidst the shaking and crashing, it's hard to see Shego's face. The light trembles above them, casting shadows under the villainess's cheekbones – from the ground, she looks to be ten feet tall. "I got better, Pumpkin. Just like you."

"Shego's right, Kim," Wade's apologetic face says from the screen of the Kimmunicator, "her physiology alone puts her in another class."

Thirty-thousand feet in the air, Kim watches the twinkling lights of Oslo gradually fade out into obscurity. It's five in the morning here, and it'll be three back in Middleton by the time she gets in after going through the required debriefing. There's a Global Justice agent circling around her, taking her readings, making sure that there's nothing grievously damaged or broken. Kim just wishes her ribs would stop hurting.

"But Kim put Shego flat on her butt a few times," Ron protests, "even without the suit."

"That was… what, five years ago now? Six?" A security footage reel begins to play – Kim's seen this fight dozens of times, rewound and fast-forwarded to find a weakness, the two of them engaging in a dance Kim's long since memorized. "You have to admit, they've both really tightened up their styles over the years."

Then-Shego takes a kick to the back of the ankle, thrown offscreen by a much younger version of Kim Possible. It was sloppy, but back then, it worked.

"So even if we're equal in skill—"

"You totally are, KP."

"—thanks, Ron—Shego's just, what? Naturally better?"

"Stronger, Kim. You can't argue it."

She winces when she shifts, her body letting her know just how much stronger the villainess can be.

"The suit augments your body, brings it up to her level. Fills in the gaps."

"A handicap," Kim mutters darkly, but Wade shakes his head.

"Think of it more as an… equalizer. Shego's got a pretty unfair advantage over you."

"Do you know how she works?"

"No clue," the boy genius sighs, "but I really wish I did. Just think of the technology I could make out of it!"

Kim leans back in her seat, at once unbelievably tired. "Thanks, Wade."

"No problem, Kim. Take it easy, you definitely deserve it." His face disappears, leaving Ron's worried frown in the reflection. She stuffs it in her pocket and eases her leg out straight, digging her fingers into the knot of bruised flesh left behind by a particularly well-placed heel.

"Are you sure you're okay, KP?" Ron asks, watching his best friend poorly hold back a grimace. "It's been a while since I've seen you this beat up."

She grunts, blinking back stars when the Global Justice agent presses clinical fingers against her ribs. "Hey," Kim snaps, taking the entire plane by surprise, "easy!"

"I-I'm sorry, Ms. Possible…"

Kim sighs. "No, I'm sorry. Just… careful, please. Shego really decided to kick my butt today."

Rufus leaves his place in Ron's lap, jumping up to his shoulder then across to Kim's. He tucks fallen hair behind her ear and clicks his little tongue at the state of her skin, carefully inspecting the wound on her cheek.

"It's fine, buddy," she says, letting him jump onto her palm, "just a scratch."

Rufus chitters as he runs along the length of Kim's outstretched leg. "More! Ouch!"

"Okay, maybe more than a scratch." Kim tries to get herself comfortable once the agent finishes, wrapping herself in a standard blue flight blanket. She settles into her battered bones like an old house sighs at night.

"Kim…" Ron starts in the voice that says she won't like what he has to say, "have you thought about… I dunno… slowing down the hero business until you finish school?"

"Ron, we've been over this."

"But as your best friend and sidekick, I feel we need to go over it again." Surprisingly enough, he doesn't back down from the glare sent through her cracked eyelids. Dating for a year did wonders to improve his backbone… if only when it came to Kim. "The world will still be there when you graduate."

"Will it? We're here right now because Dr. Director doesn't trust any of her agents enough to handle a blue super-villain who has flowers growing out of his neck."

"She doesn't trust her agents to fight a really scary green lady that shoots fire out of her hands. A really scary green lady who's nearly killed you, the best hero in the business, way more than once."

Kim shifts and feels the echo of Shego's fists all over her body. She remembers holding those hands to the ground to keep them away from her, never thinking for a second that Shego would ignite them and burn off her fingers. It would have been so easy, too – just hold her close and press 'incinerate'. No more botched heists, no more wasted time. Just a flash of light and the rest of her life free of interruptions.

"I wouldn't go so far as to say she's nearly killed me." She touches her throat gingerly, her fingers fitting in the pinpricks of blood left behind.

"Uh, KP? Did your head get hit too hard?"

"My head's fine, Ron."

"Are you sure? You don't have that thing where you think you're saying one thing, but you're really saying a completely different thing? Because that's what it sounds like."

"I said I'm fine," she stresses, wincing when her ribs shift.

Her tone says he isn't going to get much out of her tonight. Ron sighs, wrapping himself in an identical blanket and settling down next to her. "Just think about it, KP," he pleads, his fingers on her forearm, "it's great you want to go to school, but you can't do it while being a walking bruise for four years."

"Anything's possible for a Possible," she mumbles, drooping to the side. Her head thumps lightly into his shoulder and she's asleep before she even has time to readjust.

Ron stays upright and tangles his fingers in the waterfall of red hair that cascades down his arm. Kim looks a lot younger when she's asleep these days, missing the weariness she carries with her like a physical weight. He doesn't miss high-school, exactly – culinary school is even better than he could've dreamed, especially because this means he'll have a back-up if Global Justice doesn't want him – but he thinks he misses how free they were in comparison. Sure, they were dismantling death-rays and stopping the world from turning into a giant snowball, but…

Were the villains nicer, or were they just less experienced? He thumbs a bruise on Kim's cheek, the slightest streak of blood coming away on his glove. Shego's claws were inches from Kim's eye here… what happens if she doesn't miss next time? Will he have to be the one to tell the Possibles that their daughter is dead?

Absolutely not, he clenches his fists in his lap, I don't know how I'll do it, but I'll protect her.

They may not be dating anymore, but that just made their bond stronger. The fondness he feels for Kim is confusing at the best of times and downright dizzying at the worst, but no matter where she goes, he'll be at her side.

"Who am I kidding?" Ron sighs, letting his hands relax, "I'm no match for someone like Shego."

The Mystical Monkey Power has only turned on twice since the invasion – once to catch an exploding golf-ball aimed right at his face, and a second time while he was doing his culinary final. Having a knife that chops vegetables without you having to touch it is both helpful and earns you an eleven for preparation.

Rufus chitters and drops Ron's phone in his lap. The contact he brought up blinks. Yori.

"Practice," he squeaks, pressing the button to start a message, "monkey ninja."

"Never call me that again, buddy," Ron shudders, but picks up his phone regardless. If he has any chance of helping Kim, maybe this is the only way.

Deep down, he knows he'd never be the one to tell the Possibles, because if Kim was dead, he would be too. He just hopes it'll never have to come to that.

Sunlight streams in through the curtains. Kim groans and shoves her face into the pillow to escape it, but a lick of pain dances across her cheek. She pauses, breathes, fists her hands in the sheets. This is her bed… she thinks.

She cracks open an eye and immediately winces. It's her room all right, complete with a glass of water on the table and her bloody mission clothes on the chair across—

Kim bolts upright, unable to smother the groan in her throat as her ribs scream. The cover falls from her neck and exposes her dappled skin to the light; no longer red, she's a patchwork mess of black and blue, the worst of her cuts cleaned out but obviously not completely taken care of. She shakes out the tangled mess of hair at the back of her hair and slowly shuffles to get her feet on the ground.

"Absolutely not, young lady. You stay right where you are."

Her mother's red hair pops up from the stairs – she's too disoriented to even pull the covers back over her chest. "Mom? What…"

"I'm not surprised you don't remember coming in last night. You almost gave me a heart attack when Ronald carried you inside, all bloody like that." Anne gives Kim a critical look, her eyes taking in her colours now that her bruises have had time to settle. "Back in the bed."

"But Mom, it's—" she glances over to the clock, nearly choking, "noon? I have to get up! My make-up exam is—"

"On hold until further notice," Anne says sternly, putting down a large plate of eggs, a bagel, and a mountain of fruit on her bedside table, "physician's orders."

"I'm fine, I promise. It's no big."

Her mother turns around, eyebrow raised. "Fine."

"Uh huh."

She presses one finger into Kim's ribs – not even that hard, just enough to divot the skin. The pain takes her breath away. "Okay," she wheezes, "maybe not fine."

Her mother puts the familiar white first-aid kit on her lap as she perches on the edge of her bed. It's a box Kim has seen many, many times over the years.

"I cleaned the worst of them last night, but I was coming off a sixteen hour shift so I decided I'd do it in the morning instead."

"Lucky me," Kim mutters, stuffing half a cantaloupe in her mouth in one go.

Anne gives her assorted injuries another searching look before deciding to focus on the scrapes and cuts first. Between the sting of antiseptic, Kim keeps packing food away, popping strawberries and grapes into her mouth as her mother works around her moving jaw.

"Wade warned me you were in bad shape," Anne murmurs, properly cleaning out the gash on her cheek, "but I didn't expect anything like this."

Kim winces, the wafting fume of the antiseptic causing her eye to water. "I'm just lucky I'm not missing anything."

"Shego?"

"How'd you know?" Kim asks, debating on how to get that entire egg into her mouth without dropping it on the bed.

"These look like claw marks," Anne plops the plate into Kim's lap so she doesn't have to do laundry, too, "you've fought her enough times over the years that I recognize the signature."

She scans down Kim's arms, her brow furrowing. "Are those burns?"

Kim grins sheepishly. "Maybe?"

"Where was Ronald in all of this?"

"Trying to find the auto-destruct button. Drakken always has one."

Anne rubs some salve into her burns – they're light, just grazes of Shego's plasma, but they still sting like nothing else. She's just amazed that the explosions didn't take off an entire limb… or four.

Maybe she was doing that on purpose.

Kim scowls. The insistent murmur at the back of her head wasn't just a figment of her exhausted imagination, then. Great.

"Kim, should you think about taking back-up to fight Shego?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Mom," Kim scoffs, "this was a one-time thing. I didn't have the battle-suit, so she walked all over me."

"Not helping your case, Kimmie-cub."

"Once Wade gets it back to me, we're equal again. It's so not the drama."

"I just think that with all Shego's capable of, it might be smarter to bring some help. Like… what were they called, Team Impossible?"

Kim twists her fists in the bedding. "Team Impossible are okay in regular missions, but they'd just get in the way with Shego. They don't know how to handle her like I do. She's dangerous, Mom."

"All the more reason to—"

"No, you don't get it!" Kim swallows her rising tone, forcibly settling herself back into her pillows. "I've seen her melt through reinforced beams with nothing but her hands. She's probably one of the best martial artists in the world. Add in the fact that she literally has super-strength, I don't want anyone to face her but me. She's too much for anyone… anyone…"

"… normal?" Anne offers softly, surprised when Kim doesn't immediately deny it. She and James have always been very careful to foster a loving and mutually respectful environment all their children; they were each brilliant in their own right, but Kim was different. Special. She outshone even her parents.

Kim, with modesty and humility drilled into her from a very young age, never wanted to see that. But the world ending and putting itself back together again had a way of getting people to open their eyes.

"I've been fighting her for nearly half my life," Kim says eventually, her brow furrowed deep, "and Shego's always said she'd be the one to finally defeat me. I just… it goes both ways, you know? I have to be the one to do this. There's no one else who can."

A few years ago, maybe Kim would have thought about it. But Shego's saved her life twice already, and bringing someone else into their own private dance seemed… disrespectful. Like she wasn't worth the gift she was given – even if Shego insisted it wasn't meant for Kim.

Anne pats Kim's thigh. "She's your nemesis, darling. If you think you know what's best, I believe you." She then puts a hand over Kim's side, testing the sharpness of the wince it draws from her. "But the next time I see her, I'm going to give her a stern talking-to about bruising your ribs."

Kim grins tiredly. "You do that, Mom."

She helps her into a tank-top – taping your ribs can give you pneumonia, Kimmie-cub, you're just going to have to hurt for a while – and throws her a pair of sweatpants when they're done, wounds dressed and burns salved. Wade had sent her an ointment that he had been working on, a novel new implementation of nanomachines; no miracle cure, but every little bit helps. Anne wonders absently what medicine will look like in fifty years. Will she still have a job?

To be fair, in fifty years, she's fully expecting to be retired.

"No missions for two weeks," Anne stresses, ignoring her pout, "preferably three. You need time to heal."

"But Moooooom."

"No whining, young lady," her voice is firm in a way that tells Kim she isn't winning this one. "Ronald carried you in half-dead last night, and you are not endangering yourself again until you're fully recuperated. You're also on house arrest for the next three days."

"What?!"

"I know you, Bubble-Butt. You'll conveniently make up an excuse to go hiking for half the day, and that's not what your body needs right now."

"What about my classes?"

Anne throws Kim a smile that could be a smirk in the right lighting. "You're on break now, remember? Maybe you can study more for that make-up exam?"

Kim groans.

"Also, you had a phone-call."

"From who?"

Anne hands her a scribbled number. "An inventor in Hong Kong. Apparently you saved his workshop from being overrun with cyber-controlled rodents last year?"

"Oh, Doctor Tsang! Anyone could have rerouted their circuits through his microwave, no big."

"He says he has some new creations he wants to show you. Maybe give them to Wade?"

Kim bounces a little. "Spankin'! New gear is always the best. Can I go?"

"Not for at least a week," Anne threatens, "even if it isn't a mission, I want you resting at home first."

Kim snatches the phone from the wall and kisses her mother on the cheek, already dialing it in. "Thanks, Mom! I'll go tell him right now!"

Left standing alone in the kitchen, sunlight pouring in and down over her shoulders, Dr. Anne Possible sighs. What is she ever going to do with that girl?

No strenuous activity, Anne had threatened before she boarded the twelve-hour flight to Hong Kong, eleven days after Shego returned her home as mince-meat. I mean it, Kim. You need rest.

Doctor Tsang was making this extremely difficult.

"And these are my spring-boots," he thrusts a pair of red shoes that look like Doc Martens into her hands… if they were made of carbon-fiber, "do you like them?"

"I do, they're stylin'." She twists them around, her hands glossing over the perfect seams. "So they… spring?"

"The sole is attached to a supercoiled carbon thread. A button press releases, and the force generated is enough to fling the user up to twelve feet in the air. Shock-absorbent knee replacements are recommended." He blinks. "Would you like to try them?"

Kim swallows back the instinctive yes that chips the backs of her teeth. "No," she says, chewing on each syllable like she doesn't want them to leave her mouth, "I need to let my body rest."

"Understandable. You rock nine percent more when you put pressure on your right foot than average."

Kim grimaces and hands them back. "Still that bad, huh?"

He arranges them neatly, side by side, together despite the chaos that swallowed the entire laboratory. They sit on top of a complicated looking diagram of a prosthetic joint, so many notes scribbled into the margins it makes her eyes hurt to try and read them.

"I spend my life around machines," he reminds her, "I notice when they malfunction. The human body is no different."

"Can you fix them?"

"Repairing them is your mother's work. In a way, it is hopelessly more complicated than anything I will ever accomplish."

They skirt around the table in the center of his room and turn left towards the back. His walls are cluttered with formulae, diagrams, and art. Half-finished components hang amidst their blueprints, and Kim spies something that looks suspiciously like a mechanical rat.

I guess Dr. Tsang wasn't fazed by his previous rodent mishaps.

"Here it is," he says, sounding almost proud. A massive chalkboard is filled with drawings, a backdrop to the explosion of jumbled components and strewn tools around his desk. On a section of grease-smudged cloth sit two rectangular cylinders, formed by overlapping panels. "You were the first person I contacted after I completed them."

"I'm flattered, Doctor," Kim draws nearer, noticing a blueprint of them attached to a sort of suit, "but what are they?"

"Years of experimentation in magnetic engineering, and the first step towards limitless application." He picks one up delicately, balancing it on the tips of his fingers. "After you rescued me, I asked Mr. Load to share a copy of the blueprints for your battlesuit."

"You did?" Kim asks incredulously. "And Wade gave them to you?"

"He was reluctant at first. Understandable. Your suit is a work of art, Ms. Possible. It took many conversations before he did, and only under the condition that I not attempt to replicate it. I agreed."

"I told you to call me Kim."

"And I told you my mother raised me to be more respectful than that."

She sighs. "So what did you make instead?"

"An augmentation to the suit. Added at the back, seamlessly flat when not in use, but flared out at a fifty-two degree angle for maximum effect and stability in the resulting magnetic propulsion. That can be adjusted, of course, for your intended direction of travel."

Kim takes a moment to digest and unpack his explanation. "You… built me a jetpack?"

"No, not a jetpack." He begins pacing, the sound of his bare feet a soft tap-tap against the tile flooring. Kim notes that the paint underneath him has been worn away. "Too many variables. Earth's magnetic core creates crooked fields that are unpredictable against the relatively fixed position of your counteracting force, and also was the issue of long suspension times when paired with the inability to install a battery—"

"Doc, the short version, please and thank you."

He adjusts his glasses, swaying a little as he stops in place. "Think of it more as a jump-jet."

"A jump-jet?!" Kim nearly lunges for it, kept in check by the way Dr. Tsang cradles it like a child. "On my suit?"

"That is its intended place, yes."

"That is just so ferociously cool! Does it work? Of course it works, I mean—but how does—can it—" Kim takes a deep breath, settling herself. "Give me the specs, but remember I'm not the Tweebs."

"A liquid superconducting magnet is stored in your belt and cooled with liquid nitrogen. When activated, it moves into these vents, and creates a sudden magnetic field strong enough to counter Earth's gravity. The result is a fairly stable hover."

"Kinda like Magneto," Kim says before she can stop herself. God, that is so wrongsick. I've been spending too much time with Ron.

"The amount of superconductor forced into the vents alters how quickly you will accelerate. This can be altered, but only has two settings. A half-press will only boost you a little bit, but a full press will send you very far."

"How far?"

He shrugs. "I didn't have the suit to actively test as I was making them, so that remains inconclusive."

"But it can't fly?"

"Not in the traditional sense," he agrees, "but in the right conditions, your jump could scale up to sixty feet. In that instance, I also recommend prosthetic joints."

Kim blanches. "I'd like to keep my own kneecaps, if I can help it. What are the right conditions?"

"Plenty of sunlight, a mild wind, and colder temperatures. The field falters when the superconductor reaches critical temperature, and there is no known way to keep it cool for an extended period of time. That is why it is currently a jump-jet, and not a jet-pack."

She gingerly approaches the other vent and picks it up, rolling the metal between her fingers. It's remarkably lightweight, almost as thin as the air surrounding it. When she rubs her thumb along the underside, the delicate metal slat bends outwards.

"Oh shi—" Kim bites her tongue, "did I just break it?"

"It is meant to be flexible. It will be worn on your body, after all." He puts the invention down. "Did you bring your suit to Hong Kong, Ms. Possible?"

"Yeah, it's in my room. Why?"

His lips curve into the first smile she's seen since coming here. It makes his face look younger, more at home with his actual twenty-nine years than his brain always forging decades ahead. "Would you like to test them?"

Her mother's words echo about traitorously in her head. "I have to rest…" Kim says, so unconvincingly it makes Dr. Tsang's eyes twinkle.

"This is levitation, not true flight. It will be as taxing as a regular jump for the peanut butter stuck on a high shelf."

Her reluctant façade splinters almost instantaneously. "Well, when you put it that way…"

An hour and twenty seven minutes later, Kim shrieks in delight as she soars across the small, neatly kept garden in Dr. Tsang's backyard. The new vents at her back whine almost imperceptibly, the path that the fluid magnets take cool but not unpleasant against her skin. She grabs a tree branch before she begins to fall, hooking her legs around it and peering down at the doctor below.

"This is amazing!" she laughs, her belt clicking softly as it resets itself, "it's effortless!"

"It works very well for its first true test," Dr. Tsang agrees, scribbling something down in his notebook, "only minor adjustments are needed."

Kim hauls herself on top of the branch and inches out as far as she dares. When the wood starts to groan, she presses her belt, and goes flying again.

"Jumping in a direction will take you along that path," he calls out, "with minor discrepancies due to the state of the Earth's natural magnetism, of course. The dial at your belt can alter the angle of the vents for more precise control."

She cranks it one way and starts to climb much more rapidly, nearly vertical. "Can I just hover?"

"Pull the belt out, but be careful. It cannot sustain it for very long."

Kim does just that, and comes to a stop roughly twenty feet in the air. She grins, looking out at the trees that back Dr. Tsang's laboratory and the sprawling forest they create, her vantage point giving the hills and valleys the appearance of a waving green carpet.

True to his word, roughly ten seconds after she achieved levitation, her belt gives off a warning chirp. Kim feels herself start to fall slowly and unevenly, landing a little awkwardly on the ground. She shakes out the sting in her ankles with a bright grin.

"It's the coolant system that always fails first," he says apologetically, "I find it troubling to keep it online for a sustainable amount of time. Even in full sunlight, the solar converter struggles to keep the required power for more than a minute."

"It's solar powered?"

"Yes. That was my work-around for being unable to come up with a suitable battery. It can keep a superficial charge, but not enough for more than a quick boost or two."

"Spankin'," she murmurs, twisting her arms for a better look. The blue stripes of her suit are a slightly different hue now, the only outward indication that a new component had been installed. "Does it work indoors?"

"In short bursts. You won't be able to hover, and it will recharge much more slowly."

"I remember the Tweebs trying to do something like this, but the superconductor always had to be too cold for it to be practical."

He smiles. "Mine is a novel invention. It functions at temperatures of two-hundred and thirteen Kelvin."

"That's…" she does the math in her head, "only negative seventy degrees!"

"Seventy-six, but yes. Or negative sixty Celsius."

"How did you do it?"

"A man must have some secrets, Ms. Possible."

Her Kimmunicator chirps on her wrist. She goes to answer it but pauses, glancing nervously to her belt. "Will it wreck my other gadgets? They're made of metal."

"While in your belt, it is shielded and inert. You may wish to ask Mr. Load to replace any parts with inherent magnetism, but it shouldn't be a problem."

"Good enough for me," she presses the button on her wrist. "Gfpo, Wade."

"Hey, Kim. How's it—whoa. You're wearing your suit."

"Yep! I'm with Dr. Tsang, he created a super nifty new gadget for me."

The boy leans forward a little bit, like it'll miraculously appear on-screen. "What is it?"

"A jump-jet," Kim grins, "using magnets."

Wade's jaw drops slightly, forgetting he has a mouthful of soda that dribbles over his chin and onto his keyboard. He sputters in a desperate attempt to clean it to the backdrop of Kim's giggling.

"I have a lot of questions, but I'll sit on them for a while. This is actually a business call."

"A mission?"

"Not really. More of a notification. There was a triggered alarm at a research facility about a half-hour from where you are."

"Police?"

"On their way. But Kim," he grimaces, "I'm pretty sure it's Shego."

"What is she after?"

"I'm not sure, but there's plenty of stuff that would interest Drakken there."

Kim nods. "Send me the co-ordinates, Wade."

He hesitates. "You still aren't cleared for missions. Your mom said—"

"I know what she said, but it's been eleven days, I'm practically normal again." She turns away from Dr. Tsang's incredulous gaze, leaning close to Wade's image. "Please, Wade. I'm going crazy doing nothing. I already have my suit on, so it won't be like last time."

Wade chews on the straw of his drink before sighing. "Your mom is gonna kill me."

"You're the best, Wade! Hopefully I can get there before Shego leaves."

From behind her, Dr. Tsang clears his throat. In his hand is a tiny remote with an intricate looking dial. "I may be able to help with that."

He turns the dial on, and a drone swoops down from his roof to buzz around Kim's head. Two prongs open, looking almost like… handholds.

"Spankin'," Kim whispers for what must be the twentieth time today.

Shego doesn't like Hong Kong. It reminds her too much of Go City. All the glass and tall buildings and the lights, always bright, always reflecting off too many surfaces until she can barely see her own silhouette. Not to mention glass is a pain in the ass to climb.

It would be so much easier to just storm through the front door, knock out anyone who stood in her way, and take what she needed before high-tailing it out of there. She's been jittery all day, playing with fire on the tips of her fingers, her skin crawling like a current is caught underneath it. A little venting would help her calm down – but after her last mishap, she needs to prove (if only to herself) that she can still be as slippery as her wanted status in thirteen countries represents.

Besides, going in through the front door is so… basic.

"Drakken and his fucking doom-rays," Shego growls, burning a lopsided hole into the skylight. The alarm panel on the roof has one charred handprint on it, electricity still arcing between the shorted connections. She imagines the security folk are whipping themselves into a frenzy right about now. "What now? One that sucks up the clouds? Yeah, definitely something he'd pull."

She snorts, securely attaching her belt just outside of the now-open skylight. "'Shego, don't you see? Using this, the planet must bow to my commands or be bombarded with constant sunlight! I will fry all my enemies and wilt their crops! Yadda yadda, whine, the world will be mine!'"

Halfway through the hole, she stops to consider. "Actually, that sounds great. I could tan whenever I want… maybe I should suggest it to him."

Why anyone would build a skylight in a storage room is beyond her - it's not like the inventions need vitamin D. Still, it makes her job easier, as she lands lightly on one of many shelves that stack the area. Across from her, the camera that keeps watch has gone still, its little red light turned off.

Shego rolls her shoulders. Maybe if I finish this quick, I can go see Midas before heading back.

She leaps from one shelf to another, careful not to overbalance. Outside, she can hear the distant panic as they struggle to restore power, the generators delayed by a particularly nasty surge of ionized particles that took out their transformer. Unfortunate how that can happen.

"Now… where are you?"

On a low workbench, directly across from the door, she spies a mass of rolled blueprints. Shego takes her time, landing delicately on the other end of the bench without disturbing the screws and bolts strewn across its surface. There must be dozens of them, all looking exactly like each other.

Just my luck.

He wanted the blueprints to a Metallurgic Transmogrifier… whatever that meant. She tuned out after the ranting started, but the name suggests it belongs more in the hands of mad science than a legitimate research lab in one of the major tech capitals of the world. They'd never be able to use it the way Drakken will, anyway. Following the rules is no way to get ahead.

Shego flips through at least ten before her phone buzzes. After last time, she made sure that Drakken would only ever text her on a job to prevent any further mishaps.

(It would be unfortunate if your hair stopped growing because it all got burnt off, wouldn't it?)

"It's going to be something stupid," she says firmly, ignoring it. She flicks through another few blueprints before it buzzes again, more insistently.

"I'm not picking it up."

Four more hums.

"For fuck's sake," she rips it out of her leg-pouch and jabs the button to bring up her messages.

Shego

I know ur in HngKng for blueprnt

I need u 2 pick smthn else up

It is of utmost important

Importance*

SHEGO

Texting with these claws is an exercise in futility; Shego grinds her teeth before hitting the call button. "I'm going to regret this," she says before it even starts ringing, her free hand coming up to pinch the bridge of her nose.

"Shego! I see you got my texts."

"You write like a fifth grader on daddy's cellphone."

"Don't be absurd, kids these days have their own devices. They come out of the womb with small thumbs."

"What, as opposed to your small hands?"

"My hands are average sized!"

She huffs a sigh, half-heartedly flicking through the other blueprints sprawled around her. "What do you want me to get, Doctor D?"

"Oh, right," he clears his throat, "pay close attention, Shego. These are imperative to my next plan's success."

Shego wedges the phone between her ear and shoulder and tunes it out, looking for her blueprint with both hands. The sound of the chaos outside is louder now, feet thumping left and right – you'd think that a lab this fancy would have more than one back-up power supply.

Drakken actually spent some time here on the right side of the law, doing work with clean energy (or something). All their lairs run on a mixture of solar and wind energy these days, sometimes hydro if they're near a suitable water source. Being off the grid means they're a lot more difficult to track, and more money to pour into Shego's bank account because it isn't being wasted on absurd amounts of electricity.

What's good for Mother Nature is good for Shego, she thinks idly, peeling back the lip of her second-last blueprint. Not what she's looking for. Which means…

"—and that's why I need you to go buy at least two dozen."

She blinks, her fist firmly around the last schematic. "Wait, buy?"

"Yes, buy. Unless you want to slip into a Chinese bakery and steal at least two dozen egg tarts. I promise you, Shego, those little old Chinese women would give even you a run for your money."

She stares at the space above the doorway for a moment, struggling to decide if she even wants to respond. "You… text me on a job… to buy you… pastries?"

"Not just any pastries," he whines, "haven't you been listening? Egg tarts! Famous egg tarts! They're crucial to returning me to the state of mind I was in while I was working at the—"

"Egg tarts?" Shego roars, her bared teeth traveling down the phoneline in a way that makes Drakken shiver in their lair. "Out of all the stupid, idiotic, absolutely absurd things you could have said, this is worse than Operation fucking Gherkin, Drakken! Do you even think before you speak?!"

"I-I like to embrace a train-of-consciousness style of speech. It's more honest."

"Then tell your consciousness to go crawl up your ass!" Around her, the snap and hiss of static stands her hair on end. Little bolts of lightning flash next to her skin in an invisible cloud. "I am your sidekick, but that doesn't mean I'm your bitch! Get someone else to pick up your precious egg tarts."

"Shego," Drakken implores nervously, "language, please."

She nearly lets the blueprint go up in flames. Instead, she clutches her phone even tighter, the metal starting to soften under her fingers.

"I'm only going to say this once, Drakken, so listen up," she growls. He's miraculously silent on the other line. "You picked the wrong day to piss me off. So once I get back, you and I are going to have a sit-down and talk very seriously about what you can and can't ask me to do. Understand?"

"Yes, Shego, of course." There's a shuffling from his end, followed by a sigh. "So… no egg tarts?"

With a strangled snarl, Shego clenches her fist and crushes the phone by her ear. It rapidly melts in her clenched fist and oozes out between her fingers, dripping down her wrist as white-hot slag.

The power from the previously unknown second generator chooses that time to turn on. Molten metal drips from her hand and onto the floor, whose pressure-sensitive tiling has just been reactivated.

Shego watches the metal fall in slow-motion, still seething too hard to try and catch it.

Great.

The room is immediately awash in red light as the sirens kick in, shaking her out of her stupor. She swears and snatches the blueprint, flipping onto the nearest shelf to make her way back to her rope. She just needs to get out of here, eat a good meal and take a really, really long bath with that new waterproof vibrator she purchased a few days ago. It's always been the fastest way to loosen the roiling cramp of anger and anxiety that comes with Shego's natural state of being.

The anger, anyway. The anxiety is new.

"Hey!" Two gunshots explode from the door, whizzing by her ear. She spins on her heel, barely even focusing, channeling her frustration into the plasma ball that she lobs towards the hapless security guard. It explodes in a great roar and sends debris raining around him, knocked off his feet and flung into the wall.

"Whoops," she grimaces, "didn't mean to get you that hard."

He groans but doesn't move. At least he's alive.

Shego slots the schematics between her teeth and climbs manually, hand over hand, to get back on the roof. Her muscles bulge in her catsuit as she hauls herself up, her claws making great gouges on the lip of the skylight as she yanks herself up and over the edge.

She takes a deep breath, her irritation lessening now that she's back outside. Okay, to the jet, and then—

"Going somewhere, Shego?"

Nope, there it is again. Shego scowls and turns just in time to see Kim Possible drop from a remote drone and block her best exit, her battlesuit nearly neon blue in the full, beaming sunlight. Her entrances are getting dramatic enough to make Triple S proud.

"Not in the mood, Princess," Shego growls, crushing the schematic in her left hand, "shouldn't you still be licking your wounds after I beat you to a pulp?"

"Been there, done that. It gets boring after a while. My mom has a few strong words for you the next time you see her."

Shego doesn't even so much as scoff – Kim raises her eyebrows. "Wow, you really are mad today. Who peed in your cereal?"

"A certain blue moron who doesn't seem to appreciate the skillset of his lieutenant." She sucks a breath of air in through her nose, resisting the urge to grind her teeth again. Her dentist warned her some very expensive dental-work was in her future if she didn't control her temper. "You aren't going to let me go, are you?"

"Not a chance."

She chucks the blueprint across the roof so she doesn't singe it, falling into stance. Her plasma explodes from her hands in one great gust, crawling up her forearms before she reins it in. "Let's make this quick. I have a date with a four-hundred dollar bubble bath."

She springs forward, lashing out with a quick jab. Kim weaves around it, responding with a front kick that gets slapped aside. "That's just excessive."

"Don't be jealous because you can't even afford soap on a student salary." A flurry of punches, a sweeping kick, and an open palm strike. Kim grabs her and uses her own momentum, flinging her to the other side of the roof. Shego flows back to standing from a roll and pivots, anticipating Kim's running punch and ducking underneath it.

"I have a full scholarship, thank you very much," Kim responds, snapping a roundhouse to Shego's thigh. It hits with a meaty thud and ripples along her entire leg.

"Of course you do," Shego rolls her eyes, feinting a hook to the head but hitting her side instead. Despite the suit's analgesic properties, her trained eyes take in the way Kim flinches and backs off just a step. "Not healed yet, are we? Naughty girl."

Kim flushes, settling back into her stance. "You're one to talk."

"Me? Oh no, Kimmie. I'm not naughty. I'm bad."

Shego claps her hands together – the resulting plasma shockwave has Kim scrambling for cover, throwing up a blue shield just before it hits. It flickers and crackles but holds, allowing her to fling away the kinetic force that would have sent her flying.

"That's new," Kim says, looking so genuinely impressed that it coaxes a smirk of out Shego.

"I'm just full of surprises."

They circle each other again, Shego's claws catching Kim's arm to create a set of superficial lines. Despite the way that fighting Kim usually settles her, the flurry of fighting only makes her more tense. She gulps an annoyed breath of air and springs back a pace, lobbing a broken section of brick at the quick-moving redhead.

What is wrong with me? Is it menopause?

The distant wail of sirens start to creep closer. Shego scowls and clenches her fists, pulling her flaring energy into two concentrated points in the middle of her palms. "It's been fun, Princess, but here's where I leave you." She stretches her hands out and lets them loose, the twin beams of light flying for the ground at Kim's feet. Even if the blast doesn't knock her out, it'll make it impossible for her to be followed.

At least, that's what she thinks before Kim hits her belt and goes sailing into the air.

"Huh," Shego echoes, "that's new."

"Guess we both have some new tricks," Kim says as she lands just in front of her, staggering Shego with a powerful cross. That familiar, bubbling frustration rears its head – Shego's plasma licks her elbows and haloes outwards, the air around her humming with a powerful electric charge.

"Tell me about it another time," Shego responds, catching Kim's wrist in her hand and delivering a devastating blast of plasma to her chest. The suit absorbs the heat but only some of the force, and Kim goes skidding across the ground.

"I told you," she follows the hero, concrete shattering where her fists land, "I'm not," Kim is on unsteady feet, barely able to keep up with her strikes – Shego takes a lunging step forward and cocks her left arm back, her claws so hot they hiss, "in the mood!"

Kim raises her arms to block. Shego watches her own hand fly forward like she watched the molten metal earlier, that same anger un-censoring her strike. The heat makes Kim's suit shimmer.

Shego's claws gleam like five falling stars as they hook around Kim's right hand. There's a strange resistance as she finally makes contact, flesh meeting and then yielding, carrying her momentum forward.

Together, they watch as all four fingers and the top of Kim's palm detach and go flying across the rooftop.

For an awful, aching moment, there's silence. Her plasma extinguishes without even a whisper. Sound drains out of the bubble they've found themselves in; all Shego can hear is her own heartbeat thudding in her ears and Kim's stuttered gasp. The charred, bubbling stump of her right hand smells like cooked pork.

Then Kim takes one staggering step back, her heel like a gunshot. She doesn't take her eyes off what remains of her fist.

Shego's legs tense, every inch of her screaming to run, to get away from the smell and the sight and the sound of her broken nemesis; she can see the veins in Kim's face and the way her eyes haze, disbelieving, as she wobbles. She looks… fragile. It's not something Shego would ever willingly associate with her.

Get out now, howls her head, but Kim's tongue trips over her name. Her heart gives an unsettled lurch in her throat.

"S-S-Sh-Sheg—" Kim's knees buckle underneath her and she crumples to the floor. Shego shakes the cement shackles from her ankles to run in the opposite direction she should, awkwardly holding Kim against her chest. "Oh fuck," she whispers to herself, "oh fuck fuck fuck."

"S-Shego," Kim gasps again, a formless plea. For what? Shego doesn't know. Still, she carefully lowers the girl to the side of the roof, her back propped against the lip. There's no blood – Shego's claws were so hot they cauterized the wound instantly, nearly charring the flesh they passed through. Her thumb looks huge and awkward in relation to how small her hand suddenly is.

"Fuck—shit—okay, Kimmie, okay," she tucks fallen hair back behind the girl's ear, like fire next to her paper-pale skin, nearly translucent, "okay, just… just breathe. Deep breath. Don't look at it, look at me."

She does, her eyes glossy, breath starting to hiccup a little. Shock, most likely. Shego doesn't blame her. "Good girl," Shego murmurs, raking her hair back anxiously. Her other hand supports the girl's arm at the wrist, careful not to touch the burnt flesh. Even the best doctors in the world aren't putting that back on, not after Shego sealed all the nerves and vessels shut.

She fights the overwhelming wave of guilt that splashes bile at the backs of her teeth. Kim is nearly vibrating under her desperately gentle touch, barely keeping a hold on her breathing despite Shego's murmured commands. God, wasn't this what she wanted? Killing involves maiming, and maiming involves, well…

Kim chokes on a sob, her free hand fisting in the material of Shego's catsuit. She isn't even trying to defend herself, not even when they're so close they're sharing air, clinging instead for comfort that her nemesis is ill-equipped to provide. Shego flexes her hands helplessly.

This is what she wanted. Right?

"Shego," Kim's voice cracks, "p-please…"

"Fuck," Shego hisses again, more to herself, before cupping Kim's jaw in her free hand, "stay here, okay, Kim? I'm gonna fix this. I don't know how, but I'll fix it."

She darts to the other side of the roof and picks up the discarded remains of Kim's right hand. The four fingers are deathly pale, the gleam of bone peeking through in places, grit and dirt worked into the warped flesh. It looks like some sort of mutant spider – the cough that Shego muffles into her elbow is suspiciously wet like a gag.

When she brings it back, Kim leans over and loses the eggs she had for breakfast this morning. Shego grimaces. "Do you have water?"

The girl just stares at what Shego's holding. "Water, Kim," Shego snaps, not unkindly. Eventually, she gets a slow shake of her head.

"Fuck," she mumbles for the countless time today, casting her gaze around. A pipe feeds down into the building with the symbol of a water droplet – when Shego cuts it with her claws, a jet of water bursts from the hole.

She rinses the appendage, careful not to lose her hold and send it flying off the side of the building.

What am I doing? I should be halfway across the city by now! Instead, I'm comforting Princess like a dog that got hit by a car. God, it would have been easier to just kill her. This is the opposite of killing.

Shego scowls. I realize that, thank you.

Then you should also realize that what you're doing isn't—

"I'll listen to that little voice in my head when I'm not literally holding Kimmie's hand," she growls, turning on her heel, "right now I need a plan."

A plan? There's no plan for this. She's cut things off before, but never worried about putting them back on. Her thumb runs instinctively along the silver-fine scar that wraps around her smallest finger before pausing.

Okay, maybe there's a plan. Half a plan. An idea? It's better than nothing. Will it work? She isn't sure, she's never done it on anyone other than herself before. But when Kim looks up at her as she returns, lips the palest pink and eyes far too wide, Shego shucks the rest of her doubt like a heavy blanket.

She crouches down, taking Kim's wrist in her hand again. "Okay, Princess," Shego says, softer than Kim's ever heard, "we're gonna try something."

"A-are you—"

"Quiet," she murmurs, lining up the stump and its former partner, "conserve your energy. This is probably going to hurt."

The girl scrapes her soles across the ground. "Shego…"

"I need to concentrate for this." Then, before she has chance to think about it, "Do you trust me?"

She nearly smacks herself, but Kim nods. Her disbelief stalls her hand on-route to her forehead.

Wait, really? She nearly says, but the sirens are louder now, she doesn't have much time. So instead she puts both of her hands over Kim's, pressing the wound together, realigning bone and sinew. She takes a deep breath and wonders why she's shaking, too.

"Whatever you do," her hands ignite in a brilliant flash of green light, "don't move."

Shego closes her eyes, all her power and intent focused in her fingers. In this tiny little reality, just the two of them, all that matters is the ebb and flow of her power and the rhythm of Kim's breath. She sinks to her knees and dives further, deeper, searching for the girl's heartbeat. The halo of light around her hands extends to her forearms, crawling past her elbows and up her biceps. The way it burns paints Kim's skin the same shade as Shego's.

Static rakes itself along her flesh. In her ears is the crackle and pop of electricity, Kim flinching as it bites her. Still, she stays stationary, enraptured despite her own pain as the light flows like liquid over Shego's shoulders.

Shego was seventeen when she accidentally blasted off her own finger. She was still unused to how her powers behaved in a lot of ways, and a plasma ball detonated too close to her outstretched hand. In the resulting panic she managed to fuse it back on, but it was crooked, so she had to rip it off and try again.

But that was you, the voice in her head reminds her, Kim is normal.

Shego grits her teeth and increases the power; wind stirs at her feet, the ground underneath hissing and steaming. Sweat rolls down her temples. Green fire sprouts on the tops of her feet and sets her shins ablaze.

The sirens are close now, screaming just a few blocks away. Shego presses her hands so tight it must be agonizing for Kim, but the other girl doesn't even offer so much as a whimper. There's a nuclear reactor going off inside her chest, electrons bombarding her heart working triple-time to keep up with demand, but even so it isn't enough. Kim's flesh won't knit.

"I can't do it," Shego gasps, the light dimming. The wind stops, her light fading to her elbows. She doesn't even try to fight down the wave of crushing disappointment; her catsuit sticks wetly to her back as she looks away.

Something touches her face. Kim's free hand carefully wipes the sweat from Shego's forehead, wicking it away before it drips into her eyes. Her fingertips vibrate like someone is rattling her bones from the inside. "Anything's p-possible f-for a Possible," she rasps, her shaky smile more of a grimace, "a-and you're just as g-good as me, right?"

Shego stares at her a moment before chuckling, letting Kim clear the sweat that rolls under her jaw. "I'm even better," she reminds her. "Alright, Pumpkin. One more try."

This time, Shego draws Kim's hand close to her chest. Her light grows slower this time, steadier, slipping back along her elbows and down over her shoulders to the strong spread of her back. She takes that anxious thing that has been roiling around in her chest and eats it and lets it flow through her, adding its strength to her own.

The green halo they're in spreads outwards. Shego screws her eyes shut and listens to the wind scream around her, feels the firmness of Kim's hand in her own. Her hair stings her own cheeks as it whips her, gulping fire into her belly with each gasp of breath. It's not enough. It'll never be enough. It's— no. It has to be enough.

Shego reaches into her chest and begs the chains inside herself to loosen, to unlatch the door and unleash the seal on that seething flame that always smoulders behind her sternum. She's never needed its power, never wanted it, too afraid of the overwhelming heat she felt only once as the comet crashed through her family's backyard.

(It touched her mind as well as her body, crawled in and then back out so quickly she was convinced it was a ghost.)

But Kim's other hand cups her own, a steadying anchor, and Shego takes a deep breath before unlocking the gate.

There's a sonic boom that shatters the glass of all the buildings around them, and a surge of green fire that spirals to the sky. Shego screams in a voice that isn't quite her own as she forces it all into her hands, unable to feel her fingers, unable to think as her slumbering core scorches her thoughts away. It feels like there's a livewire running through her, each and every one of her cells combusting, a fire in their atoms that rips their electrons from their orbits.

Between her palms, Kim's flesh writhes. She clings onto the edges of her sanity for as long as she can, until it stops twitching and grinding, before slamming the gate shut again. Her plasma extinguishes almost immediately, a tired hiss that sounds like a wheeze. Shego slumps to the side. Her head feels cavernous, echoing like someone had been pressing on it from the inside with a heavy hand.

She takes a moment to just… exist. Her lungs take such deep breaths that it hurts, not that it matters much when every single particle in her body aches.

"Shego?"

Shego cracks open one weary eye. "Yeah, Cupcake?"

Kim is where she left her, staring at her hand. There's a thick, white line running around her palm, but all her fingers curl cautiously into a fist. "How did—" she stops herself, shaking her head. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me," Shego rasps, rolling with difficulty to her knees, "I'm the one who tore it off in the first place."

Kim says nothing as she gathers herself, and even less as she staggers to her feet. She only has about another thirty seconds to make her getaway, or else she's going to jail for a few days. Not that she'd mind, really, but she doesn't want to deal with the court system right now. Even having thoughts is exhausting.

"You aren't going to stop me?"

Kim shakes her head slowly.

"Okay, well…" Shego stands awkwardly in front of her for a moment, resisting the urge to scratch the back of her neck, "I'll see you, I guess." It's too much effort to come up with a snappy comeback.

Halfway across the roof, Kim's voice stops her. It's a lot like deja-vu, eleven days ago and much more conflicted, but she turns her head anyway. The hero has an expression on her face that Shego's never seen before, and it makes her stomach do tight, uncomfortable flips.

"Shego, if… if you ever need…"

"Don't go soft on me, Princess," Shego interrupts, "I'll go back to kicking your ass soon enough."

It takes all her energy to jump to the next building, but once she does, she finds herself desperate to get as far away from that rooftop as her body will allow.