Something that came to me after watching "Rufus vs. Commodore Puddles." (Which, by the way, if you're a big ol' softie like me, you practically need insulin to get through.) And when I get ideas, I need to write them. So, here we go!

Credit for the title goes to my dad.

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Shadows.

They surround him - some big, some little, all dark and scary and breathing hot breath. All full of more danger than he can even comprehend.

All evil.

He can feel one breathing down his neck, but the second he whips around, it's gone. They dance around in front of him, and they don't stay still.

Suddenly, a little kid appears in front of him - cute, with messed-up dark hair and freckles. But as he stares, the kid grows taller, lankier, loses his freckles, and gains glasses and braces.

Something hurts in his chest, and he squirms. But that transformation is nothing compared to what happens next.

The awkward-looking preteen suddenly splits in two, and a tall, scary figure emerges. It takes one look at him, cowering on the ground, and laughs evilly.

He can't make make his feet move. Can't run. Can't talk. He can only raise his hand -

- and he shot bolt upright in the chair, dropping a pencil as he did.

Pencil. Chair. He gave the room a thorough scanning. All right. It was okay. It was just a dream. And from the light streaming in through the curtains, all the shadows of the night were gone for now.

He got out of the chair and crawled under the table to retrieve his pencil, smacking his head on the bottom of the table as he did so. He must have fallen asleep in his chair again, he figured out. Shego had always said his contacts would become permanently fused with his eyes if he did that too often, but she might have just been trying to scare him.

He could never figure out how she knew he wore contacts, anyway. Maybe she had seen the spare pair of glasses he had hidden in his pajama drawer, should he ever need them, though he was pretty sure he'd rather squint than ever wear them. They made him think of elementary school. And middle school. And high school. And college -

He cut that thought off and replaced it with a mental note - from now on, hide anything private in your underwear drawer.

Okay. What time was it, anyway?

He squinted out the window. Well, I could judge the trajectory of the sun and use that to figure out the approximate-

Or he could just look at the clock. Seven on the dot. Shego wouldn't be here till nine.

Drakken stretched, rubbed his eyes, and ran his hands down his face - and then winced. He'd gotten his stitches out yesterday, but the area under his left eye was still pretty tender.

He looked down at the blueprints sprawled on his lab table. Sometime before he'd fallen asleep last night - or morning; he was never sure - he'd drawn a huge, nasty-looking machine he needed to build and written at the top Operation Global Warming.

Drakken shook his head. No, that didn't sound nearly impressive enough anymore.

He gnawed at the eraser for a minute, then turned the pencil upside-down, erased the words, and wrote Operation EVIL Global Warming of DOOM!!!!!!

There. Much better.

Okay, okay - breakfast, shower, get dressed, work on latest evil scheme, wait for Shego to arrive. That was how it went. He hadn't forgotten, even in the shadows of the night.

Drakken walked over to the pantry, yanked it open, and pulled out the donut box. His heart sank when he felt how light it was. I just got this the other day!

He flipped the lid, and was greeted by the sight of exactly one-and-a-half donuts. That, and a scrap of paper.

He plucked it out and read:

Darn her. Oh, well, maybe she was right. Yesterday, when he'd been really hungry and eaten two whole boxes of the stuff - well, it had tasted pretty good, but after a little while, it didn't feel very good.

Besides, Shego was usually right.

After the donuts were eaten and the glass of milk was drunk (Drank? Dranken? Drunken? Drinked?), Drakken opted for a bath instead of a shower. Every time he took a shower, he would always manage to slip on the bar of soap, fall over, and nearly crack his head open. He was not in the mood for going back to the hospital.

Before that, though, he snuck a glance in the mirror, fingers crossed. Maybe today was the day it had finally worn off -

Nope. Still blue. Rats.

He peeled the Band-Aid off his cheek and then flinched. Yep. That was going to scar, all right. Just what he needed.

After he was clean and dressed, he felt sort of - lost, the way he usually did when Shego wasn't around for him to bounce thoughts off. Even her snorts and sarcastic remarks were better than lonely silence.

So Drakken just kind of wandered around, noticing the answering machine was flashing. A new message. Well, let's see. No one ever called him except Shego and -

"Drewbie!"

Oh, no.

"Hi, pumpkin, it's Mom. I was just calling to check up on you - I heard your stitches were coming out today. You're so brave..."

Shego probably wouldn't agree with that. He'd tried to keep it together, though. He hadn't even thrown up this time.

"Anyway, you didn't pick up your phone, so I guess you're busy with that radio talk show of yours." Drakken heard his mother's voice get thick and soft. "My son, helping needy people with their problems. I'm so proud of you, Drewbie. You're such a good boy."

The answering machine beeped and informed him that was the final message, and he collapsed onto the floor in defeat.

Drakken would never admit it to anyone - not even Shego - but there was a tiny little annoying thing living inside him that didn't want to take over the world. Its residence was constantly changing - sometimes it lived in his stomach and made it churn; sometimes it traveled up to his chest and split his heart in two; sometimes it crawled up even further and put a lump in his throat.

Whenever he heard his mother's voice, it did all three.

But she didn't know. She didn't know, so everything was okay. He took a long, shuddery breath. Everything was okay.

Later, while waiting for Shego to come, he booted up his computer to see if the government had developed any new top secret weapons. It would probably say on the news - and he could certainly use them for Operation Evil Global Warming of Doom!!!!

But the article that popped up said something about having a dog lowering your blood pressure. Drakken felt a little twinge of curiosity. Shego was always warning him about his blood pressure level. "It must be through the roof by now, Doc," she would say.

The article was actually kind of boring, until one sentence jumped up and waved its arms at him.

"Dogs' unconditional love makes them popular pets, but studies have shown that they are actually good for a person's physical health, as well..."

He felt his eyes widen. Unconditional love. That was something his mother always used to talk about. It meant you loved someone no matter what.

Even if they were ugly. Even if they had weird nightmares and slipped on bars of soap and slammed their heads on tables and consumed entire boxes of donuts.

Even if they tried to take over the world, and even if they failed at even that because they sometimes felt like they couldn't do a single - stupid - thing - right.

They loved them.

That sounded very, very good to Drakken, and he made up his mind then and there. He was going to get a puppy.