It's a Drakken and Shego thing because they're my favorites. Just thinking about origins, adjusting to new powers, and toying with the idea that they go "way back" even if they aren't exactly old friends. Strictly avoiding using names on purpose, my apologies if the she/he gets tiring.

Chapter 1

Save for the rhythm of her own breath and the hum of a fluorescent she'd grown deaf to, her chambers had been dead silent for hours on end until the lull was broken by the long-awaited click of the lock and the quiet swish of the door opening.

"Subject B?" came the wavering call of an uncertain man.

The teenager's lip almost quirked into a smirk. Almost. Fresh meat, she thought wryly.

Her arms were bent uncomfortably over her head, shielding her eyes from the infinite light above as she lay on her cot. For quite some time now, she'd had nothing better to do other than sleep until she ached and then some. If only sleep was easy to come by.

The footsteps neared. "I'm your, uhm. Psychiatrist." He waited. She'd leave him hanging, she decided. "Hello? Are you awake?" Another moment passed. The footsteps began to retreat, and she heard him mutter impatiently to himself, "I must be in the wrong sector."

The girl sat upright then with great exertion, lifting a heavy cast over her head. She slumped forward and glowered down to her hands secured and bound together in the slipshod plaster cocoon before squinting up against the searing white light as a man in a crisp blue suit came into focus.

"M'name's not Subject B," she rasped, voice hoarse from thirst and lack of use. A far more interesting glass of water on the homey little nightstand beside her cot drew her attention away from the stranger, reminding her how parched she was. She'd been encouraged to break her strike for a while now – she'd lost count of the days she'd been on it, honestly – and though she was presently hooked to an IV to treat dehydration, she was still holding fast to her conditions: let her go or she'd find a way to self-destruct. So far the tactic wasn't working.

Her visitor said something she didn't catch – the damn water had her fixated. She could have – should have – knocked it over hours ago, or maybe days ago, but what if another glass never came—?

The girl shook her head and tore her eyes away from the tempting glass. She scrunched her nose as if smelling something foul as she studied the spectacled man again. "You look too young to be a psychiatrist," she deadpanned. "Mommy still do your laundry? Looks like she dresses you too."

Something she said must have struck a nerve. "Listen, you snot-nosed little brat—" the man began, but she lurched to her feet. The wobble of her knees couldn't have been threatening but her glare must have done something. She liked to think so anyway.

"This snot-nosed little brat left yesterday's psychiatrist's face looking like a Picasso," she hissed venomously, and raised her trapped hands a little as evidence before dropping them. "So watch your mouth." She couldn't do much to him in her present state, but he seemed on edge just enough for threats alone to be sufficient.

When she took a step forward, IV stand scooting along with her, the man took a step back. Her eyes darted to the floor. She almost smiled, but he was talking again. "Is that what that is about?" He gestured with his clipboard to her bound hands. "Why?"

The girl arched her brow at the perplexed inquiry. There wasn't an inkling of sarcasm. She looked down to the plaster keeping her primary means of defense at bay. She was sure she could burn the cast off, but not without burning herself again in the process. Her skin was already raw and blistered from earlier attempts to burn her way to freedom. Having a go at her last doctor had been the last straw. They'd said the improvised cast was only a temporary quick fix. They'd said it was to keep her from hurting herself, like a cone on a dog – but that had been a load. The burns lacing her palms and knuckles might have gotten the attention they needed if she weren't so obstinate, but she'd hardly let anyone near enough to check on her in days.

She'd been a lab rat under observation for months – ever since the organization holding her in custody had caught wind of something extraterrestrial practically leveling her neighborhood. She hadn't been compliant with their studies.

The snapping of fingers made her blink. An almost concerned look crossed the man's face. He was stupid enough to take a step closer. He opened his mouth to repeat the question but she cut him off.

"If you'd read my file, you would know what it's for." She narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion as he scrambled to flip through the scant pages on his clipboard. "There was even a hazard sign posted outside the door, last I saw."

"I – uh – I'm just making small talk. Of course, I've read your file," he said, a tentative smile quivering.

The girl glanced to the floor again, to the painted red caution line marking the boundary behind him, and a second marking a boundary through the center of the barren room between them, her own personal invisible fence. If he was a stuttering idiot because he was scared, he would have taken the proper precautions when confronting her. She did the math. Something didn't add up right. "Then you wouldn't have crossed the line," she stated in a quiet mutter, eyes fixating on the particular warning line three steps behind him. Personnel without guards were unauthorized to cross it, and as of yet, no doctor had even risked seeing her alone.

Dragging the IV stand behind her, she approached the center of the room, the invisible barrier clear only to her. The tingle of a thick mechanical collar around her throat became noticeable, heating up in warning.

"Line?" uttered the young man, face scrunching as he looked down and all around. By the time he'd noticed them, the warning lines, the sound of her hacking something made his spectacled eyes snap back to her.

She really didn't want to encourage being muzzled too, but she was in a bad mood. Without pausing to think twice, she spat what could only be described as a plasma loogie his way. The man leapt back with a startled yelp, both disgusted and frightened as the green flame bubbled and burned itself out in a tiny pit in the linoleum. Her throat burned like she'd swallowed a hot coal and she choked on the aftertaste, but it had been worth it for the look on the stranger's face.

Her eyes watered. The glass of water had never been more tempting. "How's that for snot-nosed, huh?" she coughed, caught between laughter and choking. She smiled wider than she had in days, or maybe weeks. How long had she been here? Long enough for her hair to grow back long enough to tickle her ears again. She didn't want to think about it.

She focused her heated glare back on the livid man, who now stood a safe distance out of her spitting range marked clearly in the floor by a dozen other divots and of course the red paint. "Why, you little!" he seethed, clenching his fists and gritting his teeth.

"You're not the shrink they sent to get inside my head," she decided, making her way back to her cot. "So who are you?" Talking was getting to be too exhausting, but she could use some relief from the monotony of this hell of solitary confinement. They'd tried to give her a television and other enrichment, but that had been one of the things she'd fired at that had gotten her hands bound up. They kept telling her to behave and cooperate like Subjects A and C and they'd let her go in no time – but she had her doubts and had become increasingly volatile since this had all started a month or two or three or more ago. She didn't even know if her brothers had really been released or if something worse had befallen them. She hadn't seen them since they were put into custody for observation.

The man said something else she didn't catch as she flopped down in her cot and instantly regretted doing so a little bit, the jolt making her body ache ever more and the IV tug in her arm. She leaned awkwardly on her elbows to study the glass at eye level, resting her chin on the nightstand. She had the worst case of heartburn right now. Her eyes stung.

She expected the man to be done with this session and leave to tattle on her for spitting acid at him. To at least take some notes if he was, in fact, her new psychiatrist. Something.

But after a moment and a thoughtful hum, his footsteps neared instead, crossing the warning line again.

The girl twisted around to glare back incredulously at him. He held the clipboard under his arm and was fidgeting with something with an antenna in his palm. "Why don't we take a little walk, Subject B?" he suggested.

She thought she recognized what he held but she wasn't sure, maybe it was just a radio or—

"No thanks, I'm good," she said quickly, scrambling to her knees and pressing herself into the farthest corner, folding her legs up to her chest. Her heart started to pound.

What was this sketchy doctor playing at? He must realize he was playing with fire. Was he brave or just stupid?

She tried to swallow as he approached but she was too parched. She couldn't even draw upon the green alien fire to spit in defense this time.

In the back of her mind, the state of her dress became a concern and she squeezed her legs tighter to her chest. A dress – that was all they gave her – a dress and nothing else, no shoes, no underwear, just the bare necessity to keep her decent. Suddenly the dress didn't concern her anymore. Pants never warded off grubby hands much anyway, she supposed.

Flight wasn't an option. Fight kicked in.

The man had a lot of gall to reach down for her, but she kicked out at him, targeting his groin but her heel making contact with his stomach instead. It knocked the wind out of him at least, and for a split second she fancied the thought of cracking the cast open like a coconut on his stupid head – but he was recovering too soon, and frankly she was too exhausted from malnutrition to fight a grown man, even a sort of scrawny one like him.

He glared hard down at her and held up the device to wiggle mockingly. She blanched. It was exactly what she'd thought it was – it went to the damned obedience collar locked around her neck to keep her under control for those special occasions she went batshit. It even kept her behind the invisible barrier. He must have seen the fear flicker in her eyes because he grinned maliciously.

Her stomach turned.

"You know, it's funny," he ground out, not particularly amused as he stood back and held the device out of reach when she lunged for it, forgetting for a second that she couldn't grab at things in this state. His hand on her head was enough to hold her at bay. She could have bitten him. She wanted to. She scowled instead and threw herself back against the wall, legs tucked tight again. "When I stole it, I thought this was the remote to the inexhaustible nuclear weapon I heard rumor of Global Justice obtaining. It goes to something alright, but I'm not sure about the weapon being inexhaustible. Or nuclear. Hm."

He studied the remote as if it determining the ripeness of a piece of fruit in a produce aisle, and then looked back down at her. "Oh well," he sang, idly spinning a knob of settings like some sort of wheel of misfortune that made her heart thunder. "I suppose it still functions for the intended purpose, but I wasn't expecting the weapon to be some kid."

The sick bastard was just plain taunting her now. "I'm a freshman," she snapped. Or at least she was supposed to be.

She didn't have time to argue about it, bracing herself again to thrash when the questionable doctor stooped over her a second time.

The man was wrestling her for her arms now. "Don't be a pill! I'm as displeased about this as you are," the man assured her unsympathetically.

She tried screaming, even though she knew her chances of getting any help were slim to none. She'd already cried wolf countless hours before – so any guards in the area were desensitized to her screams and whoever was on monitor duty must be napping on the clock or there would have been an intervention by now.

"What are you doing?" she squawked, writhing and kicking, but her weak legs were useless in prying off her assailant.

"You don't need this where we're going. Just – ow! Stop that!"

A headbutt only dealt her more harm than him. She was dazed just long enough for him to get a grip on her, and she nearly resumed her thrashing again until she realized his target was the IV in her arm. She went rigid then. She wasn't keen on having it simply ripped out. She hadn't eaten in days but she felt like puking when she finally surrendered, if only for the moment. Pressing her face to the wall, she squeezed her eyes shut against the sight. It didn't help knowing he was holding the remote carelessly between his teeth now as he worked to remove the catheter – she didn't want to think about the voltage burns that could be inflicted by the accidental press of a button.

The vinegar breath and entire weight of his presence backed off suddenly, the foreign object dislodged from her flesh as well. She stared at the little piece of gauze taped over the site, a dot of blood blooming already.

"Now," said the man with an exhausted huff of frustration as he stood back from her. He tried to smooth his hair back into place and pointed the remote at the door. "How about that walk?" His eyes narrowed at her bare feet as the cautious girl put them on the floor. "I don't suppose you have any shoes—?"

"No."

"Huh. You know, you'd really think they'd be more hospitable than that," he uttered, stupefied for a second. She didn't have a chance to ask him to clarify who they were. The man shook his head then and shuffled away, fidgeting with the controller and then aiming it back at her.

The girl tensed when she saw his thumb hover over the control pad and heard the tiny beep.

She waited.

There was no electric shock, no heat, no choking – nothing they'd used against her to get her under control when typical civilized methods failed.

There was, however, the sudden absence of a barely-perceivable vibration she'd grown numb to.

She started to reach for her throat, blinking in surprise, but remembered about her plaster-bound hands and dropped them. She stretched her jaw instead and tried to swallow, readjusting to the missing sensation. "Would feel better if it was off," she rasped.

The sketchy doctor was leaned out the door, peeking into the hall. He scoffed as he looked back at her incredulously. "I don't think so."

"Can't blame me for trying," she sighed.

"Let's go, Subject B."

"I have a name."

He sighed impatiently and rolled his wrist at her in encouragement. "Then what is it?" he demanded in a hiss.

No question about it. Her eyes narrowed at the phony doctor's back as she followed two steps behind him down the blinding white halls. "Are you kidding me?" she balked. "It's on my paperwork." She knew that much, even if she hadn't been called by name in months. And in any case, phony or not, he should have at least known what he was targeting.

"Yes, well, I didn't read them, so—"

The girl rolled her eyes. "Of course you didn't. You're not a real doctor."

"Am too."

"Are not."

"You little sh—shush!" he snipped under his breath, whirling on her. He might have poked her in the chest with a sharp finger if she was standing any closer, but instead he jabbed at the air. "I demand you behave yourself and act natural. Don't make me use the, the uh—" He waved the device menacingly. "This."

"Obedience collar," she supplied. The young man glowered, nostrils flaring, holding his tongue. She sighed, shoulders sagging. "Whatever. I'll play along." It should be pretty fun when he got busted and it sure beat sitting around doing nothing for another day, she decided.

"Thank you," he said, spinning back around.

A couple minutes passed as she followed the man through twisting corridors and security doors that took a mere sweep of a card to open. It was soon clear he'd lost his sense of direction by his frown. "You don't know what you're doing, do you?" she whispered behind him, making him jump. "You didn't think this through at all."

"I – I did too," he hissed back. His hands flailed in the air, gesturing at her in frustration. "I just wasn't expecting – augh!" He bit back a curse and skulked ahead, hands still flapping. "You were supposed to be a thing. Like a gun or something."

"Sorry I'm inconvenient." She rolled her eyes. "What do you plan to do with me?"

The man glared over his shoulder and swiped his pass card again. "Keep moving."

She wasn't one to be rushed, and certainly not by a bumbling idiot. He looked about ready to throw her over his shoulder to speed things up, but she doubted he had the muscle to do so. Then again, she'd lost quite a bit of weight recently. She was probably as light as an armful of kindling by now. She certainly felt like a walking stick anyway.

Following the stupid black mop ahead of her became the only thing keeping her legs moving, like following the white rabbit down the rabbit hole. She was zoning out again, the man's complaints never quite reaching her ears. Every once in a while, the sketchy young doctor looked back to frown at her or wave the remote in threat, and his grip wrapped around her arm at one point to all but drag her along when she paused to rest.

They passed legitimate personnel, typical doctors and science geeks in white lab coats, in the hall at one point, and she was vaguely aware of the intruder beside her straightening up and fixing his pokerface. Act natural. Whatever that meant. She walked along, feet dragging on the cold linoleum, like the prisoner she was, on her way to whatever destination her phony doctor had prescribed for her.

And then they were outside. The hot air hit her like a wall, every fiber of her being soaking up the evening sunlight. She had to stop to enjoy the moment, even if the blacktop was searing hot underfoot. It was nothing compared to the fire she'd been burdened with.

She was being manhandled again, shoved into a car and pushed down to the floorboard. "Hide there until I give the all-clear," the phony doctor instructed, throwing his jacket down at her face. She got the hint. She was being smuggled out. She had her doubts how well it would work, and almost voiced her criticism from beneath the cover when she heard a spoken exchange above.

She held her breath. Crouching beneath a glovebox like some sort of lumpy painfully-obvious frog had to be one of the stupidest things she'd done, but it was too late to suggest the trunk as a better hiding place.

Moments after the brief chat with the gatekeeper, there was a light rap against her head and she climbed out of the cranny, collapsing back into the passenger seat and heaving a sigh from all the exertion.

"So what flavor of hell does my new captor have for me?" she wondered idly, head lolling to study the man. "Rape, murder, desecration – the standard procedure? Wow me already. Say something. Cripes you're boring. You're not very good at kidnapping."

He pushed his glasses back up his button nose, grimaced, and shook his head. He was chewing on something he didn't want to say.

As they hit the highway, he almost commanded she put on her seatbelt, but she held up her bound hands before he could finish the word, and he groaned, reaching over to fumble for it himself to stretch over her awkwardly.

"Thanks," she said dryly.

He only grunted in reply.

She slumped uncomfortably against the window, the vibration of the wheels covering ground soon lulling her effortlessly to dreamland.