Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The day hung over Shego with an oppressive weight, a constant shadow that had settled into her existence since that devastating event that shattered her world. A month had passed since her light was extinguished, plunging her into an unfathomable darkness.

The sudden flicker of the lamp in the dark room briefly interrupted her thoughts. She squinted wearily before her eyes landed on the nurse entering for her morning round. The woman’s compassionate gaze pierced her with an intensity that, once upon a time, would have sparked her fury. She didn’t need, nor did she want, pity. But now... now Shego was drained, so worn down that indignation felt like a luxury she couldn’t afford.

For a month, her rest had been insufficient—barely a functional remnant that kept her conscious. Her food intake was minimal, just enough to keep her alive. Her world had been reduced to the cold, impersonal walls of the hospital, and with each new dawn, the hope she had tried to hold on to crumbled, taking with it any trace of the desire to go on.

Pain and hopelessness weren’t new to her. Since childhood, she had endured trials few could even imagine. Physical and mental suffering had been constant companions; ones she had learned to ignore. But this time was different. This time, after having experienced true happiness, the depth of her loss was more profound than ever. Knowing happiness had only made its absence more unbearable.

The nurse entered and left without a word. It had been days since anyone had tried to speak to her. There were no words to say. When the light flickered off again and the door closed with a soft click, Shego rose with slow, mechanical movements. She approached the stretcher with a heaviness that seemed unbearable, her pale, trembling fingers delicately resting on the lifeless hand of the only person who had ever truly meant something to her. A single tear slid down her cheek, and in a broken whisper, she begged:

"My princess... please, wake up..."

Chapter Text

Shego smirked with a sharp grin as she launched an aerial attack toward Kim.

"Tired, princess? We're just getting started."

Kim dodged the blow with agility, her eyes flashing with defiance.

"Of course not! You know I have more energy than you."

"You wish!" Shego growled just as an explosion echoed in the distance. Her expression brightened with a sarcastic smile as she noticed the chaos behind her. "Oh, look at that, Pumpkin, saved by the boom."

Kim grinned just as intensely, never missing the opportunity to counterattack.

"You are. Me, on the other hand, I'm about to beat you."

She launched a rapid combination of strikes that Shego barely managed to dodge.

"Again..." Kim added with a half-smile, challenging her to continue.

Shego was about to respond when a desperate scream interrupted their fight. Drakken was approaching at full speed on his hovercraft.

"SHEGOOOOOOOO!"

Shego sighed with feigned resignation and raised two fingers to her forehead in a mocking salute.

"That's my cue. See you soon, Kimmie."

She winked just as Drakken picked her up mid-flight.

"Now what happened?" she asked in her characteristic bored tone.

"We were sabotaged, Shego! This time it wasn't my fault, and I don't think it was the buffoon's either. Someone programmed one of my controls to activate explosives I didn't even know existed!"

Shego's pulse quickened.

"What do you mean, explosives that weren’t yours?"

She turned sharply to look at the lair they were leaving behind. Clouds of dust and smoke were rising from the ground.

"I don't know, Shego! I don’t know!" Drakken responded, increasing the speed.

"Turn around!" Shego ordered, shoving him out of the seat and taking the controls.

"Shego! Why do you want to go back?! We need to get out of here as soon as possible!"

Drakken’s shouting became irrelevant. Shego’s mind was occupied by a single image: a certain redhead she couldn’t spot amidst the disaster. With her heart pounding, she raised her binoculars and scanned the chaos, floating as close as possible without risking the ship.

"Come on, princess… come out already," she murmured desperately.

"What are you talking about, Shego? Why do you care what happens to that brat? Let’s get out of here!"

Drakken tried to take the controls again, but Shego shoved him away violently. The look she gave him was enough to make the scientist shrink into his seat, opting for silence.

A minute later, another explosion shook the ground, and the lair collapsed in on itself. Shego's heart stopped for a second before a guttural scream escaped her throat.

"KIM!"

Without thinking, she jumped off the hovercraft.

She rolled upon impact to cushion the fall and ran toward the ruins without stopping, without worrying about the explosions still rumbling, without noticing the smoke choking her. Only one thing mattered: finding Kim.

"KIM!" she shouted over and over.

Silence was her only answer.

The dense smoke made visibility difficult, increasing her desperation. She tripped several times over the debris, but she didn’t stop. Her torn gloves left her skin exposed to cuts and scratches as she dug through the wreckage of the lair.

After what felt like an eternity, she stumbled upon something soft. She turned quickly, her heart racing even faster as she recognized the figure on the ground.

"Ron…" she whispered in disbelief.

She knelt beside him, and her horror grew when she saw the large bloodstain around him. A piece of metal protruded from his abdomen. Shego shook his face urgently.

"Ron! Ron!" she called, but there was no response.

She pressed her fingers to his jugular, then to his wrist, then leaned her ear against his chest. Nothing. There was nothing.

Ron was dead.

A scream got caught in her throat. Despair consumed her entirely. She forced herself to swallow her anguish and stood up again.

"KIM!" she screamed at the top of her lungs. She couldn’t leave Ron there, but she had to find her.

She ran in circles, expanding her search radius, convinced Kim had to be nearby. And then she saw her. A tuft of red hair stuck out from under a beam.

"No… no…" she whispered as she rushed toward her.

Upon reaching her, tears welled in her eyes as she saw blood on Kim’s head. But the beam had also protected her body from further debris. With extreme care, Shego removed the wreckage and placed her fingers on Kim’s neck.

There was a pulse. Weak, but there.

For the first time, Shego felt like she could breathe.

In the distance, sirens and helicopters announced the arrival of emergency forces, there was no time to waste. She hoisted Kim over her shoulder and grabbed Ron's body with the other.

She found a hovercraft in decent condition and loaded them onto it with as much care as possible. She couldn’t leave Ron behind.

With one last glance at the destroyed lair, she started the craft and sped away.

"Hold on, princess…" she whispered as she accelerated, determined not to let Kim meet the same fate as Ron.

—

Shego jerked awake with a gasp, her breathing ragged, heart hammering against her ribs. For a disorienting moment, she was still there—amidst the smoke, the blood, the wreckage. The weight of Ron’s lifeless body lingered in her arms, the acrid stench of burning metal clogging her throat.

Then, a voice—gentle but firm, cutting through the haze of panic.

“Shego… relax, you're safe.”

Safe.

She blinked rapidly, her vision struggling to focus as the lingering ghosts of her nightmare gave way to stark fluorescent lights. The scent of antiseptic replaced the phantom smoke, the crisp coolness of hospital sheets grounding her to the present. But her body still trembled, her fingers curled as if still gripping debris.

"Mom?" she croaked, her voice raw.

Ann Possible gave her a small, sad smile.

"Hello, dear."

Shego tried to sit up, but the sharp tug of wires restrained her. Her pulse spiked, setting off a cascade of beeping monitors that felt almost as deafening as the explosions in her mind.

"Where's Kim?!" she demanded, panic surging anew as she clawed at the IVs.

"Shego, calm down," Ann urged. "Kim is fine. Nothing has happened."

The words should have soothed her, but they didn’t.

"If she’s fine, why am I not with her?" Her chest tightened, breath coming too fast, too shallow. She barely registered the nurses rushing in, barely felt the hands trying to still her movements.

"Shego, if you don’t calm down, I’ll have to sedate you," Ann warned, regret lacing her tone.

"NO!" Shego’s plea cracked. "Please, no! I need to see Kim!"

A sharp sting.

Then, a familiar pull—heavy, inescapable. Drowsiness wrapped around her like iron chains, dragging her back into the dark.

The moment her consciousness slipped, the nightmare swallowed her whole.

BOOM.

The explosion ripped through the lair again, heat licking at her skin, the force sending her stumbling back. Smoke curled around her like grasping fingers, choking her lungs.

"KIM!"

She ran, feet slipping on debris, her palms slick with blood—Ron’s blood. She tripped, fell, scrambled forward. Her breath came in ragged sobs as her fingers tore at the wreckage, nails breaking, skin splitting, hands shaking—

Another explosion. The ground caved beneath her.

BOOM.

She jolted awake with a strangled gasp.

For a moment, the dream clung to her, the phantom scent of blood and smoke thick in her nostrils. Her hands still shook, fingers curled into the sheets as if she were still clawing through debris. She had to remind herself— here, the air was clean. Here, the ground was solid.

A warm pressure on her arm. A voice. Familiar. Steady.

"Relax, you're safe. Kim is safe."

She turned her head sluggishly, breath still unsteady, and found Ann Possible watching her with quiet concern.

"How long?" Shego rasped.

"Two days."

Shego's stomach twisted.

Two days.

She pushed herself up, but her body felt heavy, sluggish. "No. Too long…" she muttered, yanking at the IVs.

Ann sighed. "You need to rest."

Shego gritted her teeth.

"I need to be with Kim."

“She hasn’t been alone for a single moment. You need to take care of yourself. You can’t help her if you don’t recover.”

Shego sighed, exhausted. She lowered her gaze before murmuring with vulnerability:
“I don’t want to sleep anymore. I don’t want to remember…”

She lifted her eyes, her gaze shimmering with unshed tears.
“Mom… all of this is my fault.”

Ann watched her with sadness.
“Shego, why would you say that?”

“If I had left Drakken earlier, like Kim wanted, none of this would have happened.”

Ann shook her head.
“That doesn’t make what happened your fault.”

Shego didn’t seem convinced, but she didn’t want to keep arguing.
“I just want to be with Kim.”

Ann nodded.
“I’ll arrange for you to be transferred to her room, but you’ll remain under treatment.”

“I don’t want to be sedated again.”

“They won’t sedate you, but you need to sleep.”

“I don’t want to.”

Ann realized that insisting was pointless. She stepped aside and let Shego make her way toward Kim’s room.

—

Two days later, Shego lay on her hospital bed, positioned as close to Kim’s as possible, watching her profile in the dim light.

"Kim, can you hear me?" she whispered, gently caressing her cheek. She ran the tip of her fingers down Kim’s neck, along her arm, until she finally intertwined their hands.

"You know… I was about to propose to you. I had everything planned. Would you have said yes?"

"What did you just say?" Ann's voice startled her.

Shego turned slowly toward the doctor.

"Nothing."

"You said you wanted to propose to Kimmie?" Ann asked, eyes wide in surprise.

Shego held her gaze for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah. I’ve had the ring for months. That was supposed to be our last mission. After that, I was going to bring you all together and ask for your blessing."

Ann stepped closer, placing a gentle hand on Shego’s leg.

"Shego… I would have given you my blessing gladly."

Shego averted her gaze, swallowing hard.

"Thank you… Mom."

The word slipped out before she could stop it. She froze, holding her breath.

"Shego, what’s wrong?" Ann asked, concerned.

But Shego didn’t respond. Her eyes were locked onto Kim’s hand.

A faint squeeze.

For the third time in seconds, she felt a weak but unmistakable movement.

"Princess…" she whispered, kneeling on the bed. Her heart pounded as she leaned closer. "Can you hear me? I felt you, Princess. Please, wake up."

Ann rushed to the other side of her daughter’s bed. Kim's eyelashes fluttered, her unfocused gaze roaming the room. Shego gripped her hand tighter.

"How do you feel, Princess?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Kim tried to speak, but only a raspy murmur escaped. Ann quickly brought a glass of water with a straw.

"Take it easy, sweetheart," her mother whispered.

Kim took a few sips before trying again.

"What… what happened?" Her voice was hoarse and weak.

Shego let out a shaky smile.

"You had an accident… but you're safe."

Kim frowned, blinking in confusion before turning to Shego with a look that sent a cold shiver down her spine.

"Why are you here?"

Shego stiffened.

"What do you mean, why? I'm taking care of you, obviously."

But Kim’s expression hardened.

"Since when do you care what happens to me?" she asked, her brows furrowing.

Shego felt a lump in her throat.

"Kim… what do you remember?"

"I remember that you’re my enemy." Kim’s voice was cold, distrustful. "What are you up to?"

Shego’s stomach dropped. Her breathing became erratic.

"Kim… we’re not enemies."

The redhead gave her a skeptical look.

"Please don’t tell me you’ve turned into a hero now. I’m not buying it."

Shego turned her face away, her mind spiraling between desperation and heartache.

Ann, who had been watching in silence, placed a supportive hand on Shego’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

"Kim, there’s something important you don’t remember," Ann began softly.

"What is it?" Kim demanded, struggling to cross her arms despite her weakness.

Shego swallowed hard, inhaling deeply before murmuring with a voice barely above a whisper:

"We were more than rivals, Kim. We were… we are… a couple."

Kim’s eyes widened in shock and confusion.

"What?"

The silence that followed was suffocating.

Chapter Text

Shego stepped out of Kim’s room. There was nothing more she could do there, especially now that it was clear Kim didn’t want her near—or worse, simply didn’t want her at all. The doctors and Ann had warned her this might happen; the mind was fragile, and trauma like the one the heroine had suffered inevitably left its mark.

In the best-case scenario, Kim would have only been in a coma, and upon waking, everything would have returned to normal. But there had always been the possibility that she might never wake up… or if she did, she could suffer partial or total memory loss, perhaps irreversible. And amnesia was just one of many possible consequences.

Shego knew this. She had prepared herself to support Kim, to stay by her side no matter the outcome. But never—not even in her darkest fears—had she considered the possibility that Kim might forget her… and with that, stop loving her.

She slid down the hallway wall, letting her body collapse onto the cold floor. The hospital wing was deserted, reserved in absolute secrecy for Kim, and the silence was deafening. Doctors and nurses tended to the young woman inside the room, while Shego remained outside, trapped in silent agony. She closed her eyes and, for the first time since childhood, uttered a desperate prayer.

She begged for Kim to remember her, for those eyes to once again look at her with the love they once held. And if that wasn’t possible—if her Kimmie’s memories had faded like ashes in the wind—then she pleaded for the strength and wisdom to find a way to win her back. Because losing her again… that was the one thing she couldn’t bear.

She was so lost in thought that she didn’t notice Ann’s presence beside her until she heard her gentle voice.

—Hey.

—Hey…

—Kim’s asleep now.

—Is she okay?

—After we calmed her down, we ran all the necessary tests. The only thing out of place seems to be her memory. We still don’t know the extent of the damage… She could wake up from this nap and remember everything. Or she might not, and it could take time to help her regain her memories—or she might never recover them.

Shego swallowed hard.

—How much has she forgotten? What does she remember?

—According to her, she’s sixteen years old. The last thing she recalls is the Bueno Nacho incident with the Diablo robots.

Shego tensed.

—No wonder she hates me… —she sighed in defeat.

—I don’t think she hates you.

—She does —Shego affirmed bitterly.

Ann looked at her with compassion and, without hesitation, wrapped her in a warm embrace.

—I’m so sorry, Shego. What do you want to do now?

—I don’t know… Do you think she’ll panic again if I’m there when she wakes up?

—I don’t know, but it’s possible.

Shego took a deep breath.

—If she doesn’t remember me… then I’ll make her remember.

—How?

—I don’t know. But I can’t lose her, Mom.

Ann gently took her hands.

—So you’re willing to take the risk? To stay by her side even if she doesn’t remember you, and dedicate yourself to helping her regain her memories?

Shego nodded firmly.

—You know I would do anything for her.

—I know —Ann smiled softly—. But it will be difficult. It could take a long time… or she might never remember.

Shego closed her eyes for a moment before whispering:

—Then I’ll just have to make her fall in love with me all over again.

Ann looked at her with a mix of sadness and admiration.

—She’s lucky to have you. Whether she remembers or not, I hope she realizes that soon.

Shego gave a weak smile.

—No… I’m the lucky one.

No more words were needed. Ann hugged her again, and Shego felt tears of gratitude dampen her clothes. If Kim had to forget someone, at least Shego was the best person to be there to win her love again.

-----------------

In the dim light of the hospital room, Shego approached Kim, her heart pounding. She watched her sleep, her breathing steady, her expression serene—completely unaware of the storm raging inside Shego.

With an unusual gentleness, afraid that even the slightest touch might shatter the fragile bubble of that moment, Shego took Kim’s hand, caressing it with trembling fingers. Then, leaning down, she placed a kiss on her forehead, pouring into it all the love and despair consuming her. With a broken voice, she rested her forehead against Kim’s and whispered:

—Remember, Princess… please. I love you.

----------------

Five hours later, Shego had fallen asleep, her head resting against the mattress, still holding Kim’s hand.

When Kim woke and saw the scene, she jolted, pulling her hand away sharply.

—What are you doing here?! —she exclaimed, her voice filled with suspicion and anger.

Shego woke instantly.

—Taking care of you, Kimmie. Relax, I won’t hurt you.

—I don’t believe you! Where’s my mom? I swear if you’ve done anything to her…

—Calm down, Princess…

—Don’t call me that! —Kim growled, her glare fierce.

—Kim… —Shego sighed, feeling her heart break a little more—. I didn’t do anything to your mother. She just went home. She said she’d be back tonight with your family. I don’t know what time it is, but she shouldn’t be long.

Kim eyed her distrustfully.

—What do you want from me? Wasn’t helping Drakken with his last scheme enough? How the hell are you even here after I threw you into that tower?!

Shego tensed.

—Kimmie… that was years ago.

—That’s impossible!

—Princess, please…

—STOP CALLING ME THAT! This must be your fault! Another one of Drakken’s schemes…!

—No, my love…

—I’M NOT YOUR LOVE!

Kim started hyperventilating. Even in her weakened state, she tried to disconnect herself from the machines. Fearing she might hurt herself, Shego pressed the emergency button and tried to calm her down.

—Kim, please, let me explain…

The doctors burst into the room, but Shego barely registered their presence. Her mind remained trapped in the echo of Kim’s voice, in the searing fury of her gaze, in the way her entire body had tensed as if facing her most feared adversary. She stepped aside slowly, sensing that her presence only made things worse, yet the weight in her chest was suffocating. Tears burned in her eyes as she watched, powerless, while they sedated Kim to calm her. Never before had she felt so useless, so utterly broken. She had faced heroes, armies, cataclysms… but nothing had prepared her for this: seeing Kim fight against her, as if Shego were nothing more than a fading specter in her memory.

-------------------

An hour later, Kim’s family arrived. They found both women asleep: Kim in her bed, Shego slumped in a chair beside her, her head resting against the mattress.

Ann gently woke Shego with a soft touch.

—Shego…

Shego’s eyes snapped open, relaxing slightly when she saw Ann.

—Mom…

—Hello, dear. Everyone’s here now.

Shego lifted her gaze and took in the sight of the rest of the family.

—Hi, Dad. Hi, guys…

James Possible gave her a sympathetic smile.

—Hello, Sheryl.

—What’s up, Shegs? —the twins greeted in unison.

Shego sighed, exhausted.

—Kim woke up a little while ago. She saw me and got upset. She thought I had hurt Ann… She wouldn’t listen to me. They had to sedate her. They also ran a scan.

Ann looked at her with sorrow in her eyes.

—Oh, Shego… I’m so sorry. How are you feeling?

Shego averted her gaze and shrugged.

—I knew this was how it would be.

A heavy silence settled over the room. They all shared the same unspoken question:

What if Kim never regained her memory?

But Shego couldn't allow herself to dwell on that. Not now. Because if fate had already taken Kimmie away from her once, she was willing to do whatever it took to get her back.

Shortly after the family arrived, Kim began to stir in her hospital bed, her breathing subtly changing. Instinctively, everyone moved closer, anticipation tightening their expressions. Everyone—except Shego. She remained in the shadows, standing in one of the room’s far corners.

Every fiber of her being ached to run to Kim, to take her hand, to hold her close with desperate longing. But fear rooted her in place. She couldn’t bear for it to happen again—to see those eyes, which had once looked at her with love, now filled with distrust and rejection.

So she settled for watching, her heart pounding painfully in her chest.

When Kim fully regained consciousness, her gaze scanned the familiar faces surrounding her. She blinked a couple of times, confusion flickering across her expression before she offered a small, hesitant smile.

—Why is everyone here? Where am I?

—Hello, Kimmie-cub —her father greeted gently—. You’re in the hospital.

—The hospital? Why?

Shego felt a knot tighten in her stomach upon hearing her words. That question… the very same question she had asked before. And the answer still cut just as deep. No matter how many times she heard it, each instance was like a blade sinking further into her heart. Yet, seeing only her family surrounding her, Kim’s reaction seemed different this time. Perhaps—just perhaps—this time, they could finally move forward in the right direction.

—One of your missions went wrong —the twins explained in unison—. What’s the last thing you remember?

Kim didn’t answer immediately. Not because she was trying to recall, but because something about her brothers seemed… off. They looked different. It struck her as strange.

She frowned before finally speaking.

—Tweebs… what happened to you? You look different.

The twins exchanged a quick glance before turning to their parents, unsure of how to respond. Their mother stepped in to speak.

—Kimmie, before we explain that, can you tell us… what’s the last thing you remember?

Kim shot her a questioning look but answered nonetheless.

—Well… I remember it was nighttime, and it was raining… —she paused, trying to gather more details—. Bueno Nacho was being destroyed… Something to do with Drakken… —her frown deepened—. I was fighting Shego. I was so angry at her… Oh! That’s right! Yes! Drakken took over Bueno Nacho, the little Diablo robots were destroying everything. Erik! Erik was a synthodrone… Drakken and Shego used him against me. Ron and I started dating… I fought Shego and threw her into an electrical tower… That’s all I remember.

Her expression darkened.

—Was that the mission that went wrong? Did I slip off the roof? Is that why I’m here?

Silence fell over the room.

The air was heavy with sorrow.

Shego, still lurking in the shadows of the corner, trembled with frustration. They had come so far since that night at Bueno Nacho… and the thought of losing all that progress made her stomach churn.

She clenched her fists tightly, resisting the urge to speak, to shout, to run. Instead, she gritted her teeth and bit the inside of her cheek, forcing herself to remain still and simply watch.

—No, Kimmie —Ann finally spoke, her voice soft, careful, trying not to alarm her daughter—. That’s not why you’re here.

Kim frowned harder. Ann watched her for a moment before continuing.

—That Bueno Nacho incident was five years ago. That’s why the twins look so different. A lot has changed since then.

Kim stared at her mother as if she had just started speaking in a foreign language.

—Five years? How is that possible?

James sighed.

—You’re here because your last mission failed. There were multiple explosions in the lair where you were. You didn’t make it out in time, and a support beam collapsed on your head. You’ve been in a coma for a month. You only woke up today.

—A coma? —Kim whispered, trying to process the words.

Then, a sudden realization dawned on her.

—Wait… What happened to Ron? Is he okay? Where is he?

Her family’s exchanged glances did nothing to soothe her growing panic.

—Kimmie… —Ann began gently.

—Where is Ron, Mom?

Ann inhaled slowly, as if the words were too heavy to carry.

—Kimmie… The collapse from the explosion was devastating…

—Where. Is. Ron? —Kim’s voice cracked as her frantic gaze darted from face to face, desperately searching for reassurance—something, anything—that would prove her fears wrong.

—I'm so sorry, Kimmie…

—No… No, this can’t be… Ron!

Her agonized cry ripped through the room like a blade.

Kim broke down in tears, her body trembling as she clung to Ann, who held her as tightly as she could.

Shego wrapped her arms around herself, allowing the tears to flow unchecked, blurring her vision with unbearable pain. Her chest tightened with every strangled sob, her heart beating in sync with Kim’s suffering. She had learned to withstand pain, to take hits without flinching. But nothing had prepared her for this. Nothing had prepared her to see Kim shatter like this.

After so much time, Shego had come to see Ron as more than just an annoying rival. In the past year, she had discovered in him an unlikely friend, a bond forged in the quiet understanding of loving the same person. But it wasn’t just Ron’s loss that devastated her—it was the emptiness he left in Kim, the open wound that would never truly heal. Ron and Kim had been two halves of a whole, and now… one of those halves had vanished forever.

And Shego couldn’t bear to see her suffer like this.

Ten minutes later, Kim pulled slightly away from her mother, wiping her tears with trembling hands. Her eyes, still red and swollen, hardened with new resolve, tinged with anger.

—Who was the villain? —she asked, her voice raw and filled with rage.

—Kim, I don’t think…

—Whose lair was it? Who was that mission against?

—Drakken —Ann answered, defeated.

—Drakken and Shego!

—No, just Drakken.

—She wasn’t there?

—She was, but…

—Then it’s her fault too! —Kim sat up abruptly, her breathing erratic—. Shego killed Ron! She was there! She works with Drakken! Don’t tell me she had nothing to do with it!

—That’s not true, Kim. None of this was Shego’s fault.

—Why are you defending her, Mom?! What is going on?! She killed Ron!

—Kimberly Ann, no. Don’t say that. It’s simply not true.

—How can you defend her?! —Kim asked in disbelief.

Ann held her gaze with careful sincerity.

—Because she is important to me… and to you as well. —Ann hesitated for a second before continuing, carefully choosing her words—. More than you realize, Kimmie.

—What are you talking about, Mom? Shego is a villain, she works for Drakken, she willingly takes part in his plans, which makes her just as guilty. How could someone like her be important to me?

—Kim, please, that's enough. We can explain everything, just… please, calm down. I know losing Ron hurts, but it was an accident. You know the risks of the missions you take on—Ron knew them too. This time, unfortunately, he was the one who paid the price. But what happened isn't anyone’s fault. Maybe Drakken’s, but certainly not Shego’s —her father said, his voice soothing but firm. However, his words only earned him a look of anger and disbelief from his daughter.

—You too? Why are you all against me? Don’t you care about Ron?

—We’re not against you, Kim, we’re just telling you the truth. And you know Ron was like a son to us, his loss hurts us too —James replied. Somehow, this managed to calm Kim down, if only slightly.

—I’m sorry, Dad… Mom… It’s just that… I can’t believe Ron is gone… and… and… I can’t just sit here and do nothing. The ones responsible have to pay.

—I understand, Kim. But revenge won’t bring Ron back. And if you want to blame someone, at least make sure you're blaming the right people.

—And who would those be?

—Well, maybe Drakken. We don’t know anything for certain beyond that.

—And if Shego was there, why shouldn’t I blame her too?

—She had nothing to do with it, Kim. —Ann took a deep breath, her gaze cautious—. Besides, in these past five years… a lot has changed between you and her.

—Changed how? —Kim asked warily.

—Kim, I know this will sound absurd to you… impossible, even. But you have to believe me. —Ann swallowed; her hands clasped tightly—. When I say Shego is important to me, it’s because I see her as a daughter. And to you… —she paused, as if the words were too heavy—. To you, she is so much more. Shego is your girlfriend, Kimmie. And you love her. And she loves you.

Chapter Text

The news was not well received by Kim. She stubbornly refused to accept what they were telling her, but at least this time, she didn’t become so agitated that they had to sedate her. After talking with her family for no more than half an hour, exhaustion overtook her once again, and they left her to rest.

Shego, on the other hand, managed to slip away unnoticed. She couldn’t bear the fact that Kim didn’t remember her and that, with such vehemence, she insisted that Shego meant nothing in her life. However, when the heroine’s family left and Kim fell asleep, Shego quietly returned to her side, watching her as she slept.

The next morning, when Kim woke up, Ann and Shego were in the room. Shego, as usual, withdrew to the least illuminated corner while Ann greeted her daughter. A faint relief washed over Shego when she noticed that Kim remembered what her family had told her the night before. If her memory had reset again, they would have had another problem. As painful as it was to not be part of her memories, knowing that Kim could retain information gave Shego hope. Her well-being was also her peace of mind.

Shego remained motionless, even when the doctors arrived to take Kim for more tests. She didn’t move from her spot until the heroine returned to the room. This time, Kim saw her. Neither of them spoke; they just stared at each other—Kim’s eyes cold, Shego’s full of sorrow.

—Mom, what is she doing here? —Kim asked, not taking her eyes off Shego.

—Sheryl has been here the whole time, Kim. She just wants to take care of you —Ann responded gently.

— I don’t want her here… wait… Sheryl?

Shego didn’t answer, so Ann did.

—Yes, that’s her real name.

—And how do you know that? —Kim spoke as if the villain weren’t even in the room.

—Because you’ve been dating her for over a year, Kim. She’s part of our family. Of course, we know her name.

Kim frowned, visibly irritated. Her mother tried to take advantage of the moment.

—Why don’t you talk to her? Maybe if you try, you’ll see how things really are now, and—

—I don’t want her here.

—Kimmie...

Shego couldn’t help herself. She spoke her name, her voice breaking with emotion. But Kim didn’t even look at her—she remained firm in her rejection.

—Kimmie, at least listen to her...

—I don’t want her here.

Shego lowered her head and walked toward the door.

—It’s okay, Mom —Shego said, her voice laden with a weight that only Ann seemed to notice. She took a step toward the door, her movements rigid, mechanical, as if every muscle in her body were fighting against the order to leave. But the worst part was Kim’s expression. Disbelief, absolute rejection. It was as if seeing her hurt, as if her mere presence was an insult. Shego felt a knot form in her throat, but she swallowed it down fiercely— I can leave.

But she couldn’t go far. The moment she stepped out of the room, she leaned against the hallway wall, taking a deep breath, trying to pull herself together.

-

Later that day, Kim started her rehabilitation therapy. Shego tried to stay and help, but she was rejected once again. Hurt and exhausted, she decided to return to her apartment for the first time in five weeks. She thought about staying there, about not returning to the hospital—at least not for a while. But after taking a shower, cleaning up, and eating, she found herself walking back to the hospital.

She didn’t want to face more rejection, yet her feet guided her instinctively. She was surprised by her own behavior. Years ago, she would never have tolerated such humiliation. She would have turned her back and moved on without a second thought. But Kim... Kim had a power over her that made her do things she never imagined. Giving up crime, opening her heart, accepting a family… and now, returning to a place where she would only find more pain.

She stopped outside Kim’s door, watching her sleep through the small window. Then, in silence, she entered and sat beside the bed.

Hours later, Kim stirred. Finding Shego’s green eyes staring at her sent her immediately on the defensive.

—I know, Kim… you want me to leave —Shego said before she could speak. She stood up and walked toward the door.

—If you know I don’t want you here, why do you keep coming back?

Shego paused for a moment, not turning around.

—You know why.

—No, I don’t.

Shego turned her head just enough for her voice to reach Kim.

—Because I love you, Kim.

Kim’s gaze turned icy.

—You love me? How can you say that after everything you’ve done to me?

Shego sighed and walked out without answering.

—Don’t come back —Kim ordered as Shego crossed the doorway.

—I can’t promise that —Shego whispered, closing the door behind her.

-

The following days, Shego remained nearby. Kim didn’t acknowledge her directly, but she was always there. At night, she would slip into the room while Kim slept, sitting beside her until sleep overtook her too, her head resting against the edge of the bed. If Kim woke up, Shego would disappear into the shadows until she drifted off again. During the day, she stayed seated by the door, attentive to every medical test, every therapy session, never moving unless absolutely necessary.

Kim’s family, and later Monique and Felix, tried to convince her to take breaks, but Shego refused. She wouldn’t leave Kim’s side. Meanwhile, her family tried to make Kim see Shego’s devotion, but the redhead remained firm in her resentment. Eventually, they stopped pushing to avoid interfering with her recovery.

But Kim couldn’t ignore her. She knew Shego was there. She caught glimpses of her from the corner of her eye, overheard her asking doctors about her progress. And most recently, she heard her playing the guitar.

The first time she heard the notes, she felt a flicker of curiosity. She had no idea Shego could play. Her mother explained that she wasn’t just a musician, but actually quite skilled. Against her will, Kim felt a spark of surprise. How much about Shego didn’t she know? But the moment she realized where her thoughts were leading, she forced herself to dismiss them.

Days later, as Shego played the same melody again, Kim snapped.

—If you’re going to play, could you at least stop playing the same damn thing?! —Kim nearly shouted from her hospital bed, frustration dripping from her voice.

Shego's fingers froze on the strings of her guitar. Her heart pounded at the sound. It was the first time Kim had voluntarily spoken to her. For a fleeting moment, she thought she had imagined it, but then she heard the slow, dragged footsteps approaching the door.

Kim appeared in the doorway, her breath labored from the effort of moving with her walker. Her gaze was a mixture of exhaustion and irritation as she repeated:
—Could you stop playing the same thing over and over? —Her tone grew sharper—. Or better yet, could you just not play at all and get the hell out of here?

Shego’s eyes narrowed slightly, and any trace of surprise vanished, replaced by her usual smug smirk.

—Sorry, princess, but I can’t do that.

Kim clenched her jaw.
—I already told you to stop calling me that.

—But you are my princess —Shego replied smoothly, tilting her head slightly—. What else should I call you?

—I don’t want you to call me anything. I don’t even want you here.

—And yet, I already told you—I’m not going anywhere.

Kim exhaled sharply, gripping the handles of her walker with white-knuckled frustration.
—At the very least, stop playing the same thing!

Shego shook her head with infuriating composure.
—Can’t do that either, pumpkin.

Kim rolled her eyes, her shoulders slumping with fatigue.
—And why the hell not?

Shego plucked the strings gently, almost as if speaking through them.
—I’m composing a song. But don’t worry, it’s almost finished.

Kim let out a dry, incredulous laugh.
—You? Writing a song?

—Yeah. A song for you.

Kim’s heart did something strange—something she didn’t want to acknowledge. But the feeling was quickly crushed beneath the weight of her anger.

—What? I don’t want you writing me a song. I don’t want anything from you. Just leave me alone. Please.

Shego shrugged, an easy, careless smile on her lips.
—Too bad, pumpkin. It’s almost done.

Kim scoffed, exhaling sharply in frustration. Her body was already aching from standing too long. This wasn’t worth her energy. With one last irritated huff, she turned on her heel and made her way back to her bed.

Shego, meanwhile, let out a quiet, amused chuckle. But beneath her facade, her heart beat with an unexpected thrill.

-

The next afternoon, Kim heard the same familiar guitar chords again. She huffed in frustration, already reaching for her pillow to bury herself under it and block out the sound when, suddenly, the melody changed.

And then, Shego began to sing.

The sound caught her off guard. It wasn’t the teasing or defiant voice she had expected. It was soft, laden with emotion, carrying a depth that sent a shiver down her spine. Without realizing it, she lowered the pillow and remained still, listening.

"Si un mar separa continentes,
cien mares nos separarán a las dos.
Si yo pudiera ser valiente,
sabría declararte mi amor..."

Kim blinked. Not just at the lyrics, but at the language. She couldn’t fully understand the words, but they felt familiar. Was it Spanish? She remembered studying it in school, but not well enough to grasp the meaning entirely. Yet the melody, the tone of Shego’s voice, conveyed the message with an impossible clarity.

"Que en esta canción
derrite mi voz.
Así es como yo traduzco el corazón..."

Kim felt a lump forming in her throat. And then, the lyrics shifted, turning raw, almost agonizing:

"Me llaman loca por no ver lo poco que dicen que me das,
me llaman loca por rogarle a la luna detrás del cristal,
me llaman loca si me equivoco y te nombro sin querer,
me llaman loca por dejar tu recuerdo quemarme la piel..."

Her heart pounded. She didn’t want to admit it, but the song was getting to her. The way Shego sang, as if pouring every last part of herself into the words, made the anger she had felt toward her falter—if only for a second.

In the end, curiosity won the battle.

Slowly, she sat at the edge of the bed, then stood up and reached for her walker. Step by step, she made her way to the door, hesitating once she reached it. She had no idea why she was stalling. Why was she doing this? Why did she want to see her?

But Shego already knew.

She didn't stop when she heard Kim's hesitant movements on the other side of the door. She didn't turn around, didn't interrupt the song. But that signature smirk of hers appeared, laced with quiet satisfaction.

Kim, unable to resist any longer, took a deep breath and turned the doorknob.

The door creaked open, slowly.

"Para mi locura no existe una cura que no sea tu boca..."

Shego kept singing, never looking at her.

"Que hable el mundo, que yo me derrumbo si te marchas sola..."

And Kim, furrowing her brow, her heart pounding against her ribs, stood there—silent, unsure whether she hated or needed to keep listening.

When Shego finally stopped singing, Kim remained in the doorway, watching her in a silence thick with tension. She said nothing, but her expression was a storm of restrained emotions—disbelief, confusion… something deeper, something she herself refused to acknowledge.

Shego set the guitar aside and, without losing her usual lopsided grin, turned her head slightly toward Kim.

—Yes, Kimmie?

The sudden flush on Kim’s cheeks didn’t escape Shego’s notice, and her own heart responded with an involuntary quickened beat.

—Do you speak Spanish? —Kim asked abruptly, her tone striving for indifference but failing miserably.

Shego shrugged, utterly nonchalant.

—Yeah. Among other languages. Are you surprised?

Kim hesitated for only a second.

—No. I just wanted to know.

She started to turn away, but Shego stopped her with a question that froze her in place.

—Did you like your song?

Kim frowned, pausing deliberately before responding, her voice carefully cold:

—I didn’t understand a word.

Shego let out a soft chuckle, not bothering to hide her amusement.

—I taught you Spanish, you know —she remarked, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—. Maybe, little by little, you’ll start to remember. If you want, I can keep singing it every day. It might help you.

There was sincerity in her voice, a quiet tenderness that unsettled Kim more than she cared to admit.

—Shego, don’t start with that again —Kim snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, exhaustion lacing her voice—. I still don’t believe you and I were ever… anything. This whole thing… —she gestured vaguely around the room, at her situation, at the very fact of her existence in this place—. I think it’s some twisted plan of yours and Drakken’s. I’m trapped in another dimension, or some kind of experiment. I just need to recover quickly and figure out how to get back to my real world.

Shego stared at her, and for the first time, there wasn’t a hint of mockery in her expression.

—This is your real world, Kimmie.

—Sure —Kim scoffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then, without giving Shego a chance to respond, she spun on her heel and shut the door behind her.

Shego let out a long sigh. Lately, she seemed to be doing that far too often. But instead of letting herself drown in frustration, she picked up the guitar once more and, with a quiet melancholy, resumed the melody.

"Si un mar separa continentes,
cien mares nos separarán a las dos.
Si yo pudiera ser valiente,
sabría declararte mi amor..."

From her bed, Kim listened.

And against her will, her mind automatically translated the words.

"If a sea separates continents,
a hundred seas separate us.
If I could be brave,
I would know how to declare my love for you."

A chill ran down her spine.

She didn’t understand how, but she knew—without a shadow of a doubt—that the translation was correct.

The sudden recognition sent a ripple of fear through her. A sharp pain pulsed at her temples, but she said nothing. She didn’t tell her mother. She didn’t tell the doctors. She chose to keep it to herself, locked away in the quiet corners of her own thoughts.

For the remainder of her stay in the hospital, between therapy sessions and medical examinations, Shego sang that song at least once a day.

By the time the two weeks of rehabilitation had come to an end, Kim understood every single word.

And she had no idea what to think about it.

A small part of her felt… pity.

Was it possible that Shego actually meant what she sang? That every note carried something raw, something real?

But another part of her—stronger, sharper, still on guard—only burned with deeper anger.

Chapter Text

The day had finally arrived—Kim was being discharged. She, her family, and even Shego shared a palpable sense of relief and joy. Thanks to her exceptional physical condition before the accident, Kim had progressed remarkably in her therapy, allowing her to recover faster than the average patient. She could now walk unassisted, though only for relatively short periods, and her strength was far from what it once was. Still, she no longer needed to remain hospitalized; weekly checkups would suffice.

That day, the entire Possible family—including the twins—arrived at the hospital to take her home. They walked eagerly down the familiar hallway toward Kim’s room, only to be met with an unexpected yet unsurprising scene: Kim and Shego stood face to face, locked in a heated argument.

—"Stop invading my space! It’s bad enough that you’re still here after I’ve told you a thousand times that I don’t want you around, but now you’re going through my stuff? That’s a whole new level!" —Kim snapped.

—"I wasn’t going through anything! I was just helping you pack!" —Shego shot back, her voice laced with indignation.

—"Oh, sure. Shego, so noble and helpful—just as you’ve always been," Kim retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

The family, unnoticed until that moment, decided to step in.

—"Hello, girls," Dr. Possible greeted, instantly drawing their attention.

—"Hey! Great, you’re finally here!" —Shego exclaimed, visibly relieved.

—"What are you doing on your feet, young lady? I hope you haven’t been standing for too long," Ann scolded, her gaze sharp with disapproval.

—"Told you," Shego muttered with a victorious smirk.

—"Stay out of this," Kim snapped at her.

—"Kim! Be nice," her father intervened, attempting to de-escalate the situation.

—"But Dad! Shego has been annoying me all morning!"

—"That’s not true!" Shego protested, visibly offended. "I was just helping Kimmie pack her things and making sure everything was in order for her discharge." She turned toward the doctors, seeking some form of validation.

—"Thank you, Sheryl, that’s very thoughtful of you," Ann said warmly, stepping closer and placing a reassuring hand on Shego’s shoulder.

Kim folded her arms in stubborn defiance, making her dissatisfaction with the situation abundantly clear. The twins chuckled at her reaction, while their parents exchanged knowing glances with Shego, silently offering their support.

Once everything was settled, they made their way back to the Possible residence in the family car. Ann and James had invited Shego to join them, but upon noticing Kim’s disapproving glare, she politely declined. Instead, she decided to stop by her apartment first and then ride her motorcycle to the house.

Shego arrived shortly after Kim had been settled back into her old room.

—"Kim is in her room," Ann informed her as they walked toward the living room, Shego following closely behind.

—"Alright, Mom. But I don’t think she wants to see me. Honestly, I’m just here to check how she’s handling the return and to see if you need help with anything," Shego said as they both took a seat.

Ann sighed, her expression softening.

—"Oh, Shego... I know none of this has been easy for you, and yet, you’re still here. You have no idea how much that means to me."

—"It’s nothing, Mom. You know why I’m doing this."

—"I do, and that’s exactly why I appreciate it so much," Ann replied, gently squeezing her hand.

—"So… how’s Kim? How did she react to being back?"

—"She said everything felt familiar, yet foreign at the same time. We explained to her that she hadn’t lived here in three years, and I think that only reinforced what we’ve been telling her—that her present is, in reality, our past. After that, she asked for some time alone."

—"Makes sense. This has to be incredibly difficult for her. That’s why I’m trying to be patient. Honestly… I have no idea how I’d react if this had happened to me," Shego admitted, letting out a humorless chuckle.

—"Yeah… I can’t even begin to imagine what she must be going through. But one thing’s for sure—she’s lucky to have you by her side."

—"And she has all of you, too. I know that with your help, she’ll get through this." Shego exhaled deeply before continuing. "Is there anything you need? Anything I can do to help?"

—"You’ve already done so much, Shego. But of course, we’ll keep you updated. Do you plan on visiting Kim? Would you like to see her?"

—"No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Even if she’s starting to accept the situation, that doesn’t mean the emotions she remembers having toward me aren’t real. I’ll keep checking in, but for now, I think it’s best to keep some distance."

Ann gave her a knowing look.

—"You know this will always be your home, right? Maybe if she sees you often, if she watches how you interact with us, little by little, her feelings might start to shift."

Shego let out a long sigh.

—"Maybe," she muttered before shifting gears. "In the meantime, I want to start hunting down whoever did this. I’ve already wasted too much time. I just hope I’m not too late… but I know the danger hasn’t passed. I need to talk to Tim and Jim about security measures for the house."

Ann nodded approvingly.

—"That’s a great idea. But… do you really think Kim is still in danger? It’s been a month and a half since the accident, and nothing else has happened."

—"I think that’s only because I made sure the hospital’s privacy and security were airtight. I also ensured that reports on the accident were vague about her condition. That might have bought us some time, but it definitely didn’t stop whoever’s behind this. Believe me, if there’s one thing I learned from my time as a villain, it’s how these people think… and I’ve gained a few useful contacts along the way."

Ann studied her for a moment, concern flickering in her eyes.

—"I trust your judgment, Shego. But please, be careful. I don’t want anything happening to you either."

—"Don’t worry, Mom. I don’t think I’ve lost my edge just yet. And I won’t do anything illegal, if that’s what you’re thinking. I made a promise to myself—I won’t give you any reason to be ashamed of me."

Ann’s gaze softened.

—"Oh, Shego… that’s not what concerns me. I trust you. And I’m proud of you. Never forget that."

Shego swallowed hard, her heart tightening at the warmth in Ann’s words. Without hesitation, Ann leaned in and pulled her into a firm embrace, one Shego returned without a second thought.

When they pulled away, Ann smiled.

—"The boys will be thrilled about the security project. They’re in their room if you want to go talk to them now."

—"Yeah… I think I’ll do that."

—"Good. And I’ll start getting lunch ready. You’ll be staying to eat, right?"

Shego hesitated.

—"I don’t know… depends on how Kimmie reacts. I don’t want to make her uncomfortable."

Ann nodded in understanding and stood, heading toward the kitchen. Shego remained seated for a few more minutes, taking a deep breath, trying to collect herself before finally pushing herself up and walking toward the twins’ room.

Just as Ann had anticipated, the boys eagerly welcomed the chance to collaborate with their sister-in-law. They spent an hour brainstorming ideas, sketching blueprints, and refining details until Ann called them for lunch. The twins bolted toward the dining room, but Shego, hesitant, lingered behind.

When she arrived and saw that Kim was nowhere in sight, she finally accepted the invitation to stay. They began eating without her; Kim had claimed she wasn’t hungry. However, halfway through the meal, she appeared in the doorway.

At the sight before her—Shego sitting comfortably at the table, eating with her family as if she belonged there—Kim’s expression darkened. It felt wrong. But she was exhausted, confused, and the last thing she wanted was another argument. She decided to let it go.

—"I’ll eat in my room," she muttered.

—"No," Shego said, standing up. "Stay. Eat with your family. I’ll go."

Kim stared at her, caught off guard. James quickly interjected.

—"That’s not necessary, Sheryl. You can stay. You haven’t finished your meal. Kim, you could at least let her finish."

—"Really, it’s fine," Shego said before Kim could reply. "I’m sure Kim would be more comfortable without me here. I was almost done anyway."

She picked up her plate and carried it to the kitchen in silence. No one spoke. A subtle tension settled over the room, lingering in the air like an unspoken truth.

Finally, Ann stood, offering a gentle smile.

—"At least take some food with you for later."

Shego accepted without a word. Once her leftovers were packed, she bid everyone goodbye with a smile—one that, despite her best efforts, couldn’t quite hide the quiet sadness beneath it.

Kim took her seat at the table soon after, and her family simply watched her, their expressions a mixture of relief, concern, and sorrow.

The rest of that day, and the ones that followed, unfolded in a carefully balanced routine. The Possible family did their best to support Kim as she tried to navigate a present that felt both familiar and foreign. They remained patient, present, kind… all while grappling with their own conflicting emotions.

During those days, Shego didn’t return. Her name was scarcely spoken, and when it was, it was in hushed tones, as if saying it aloud might shatter the fragile harmony they were struggling to maintain.

Of all the things that had changed, the emotional chasm between Kim and Shego was what hurt the most… and the one thing none of them knew how to mend.

-

It had been a week since Kim had been discharged from the hospital, and Shego had kept herself thoroughly occupied. Though she had yet to make a formal visit to the Possibles, she remained in close contact with Jim and Tim regarding the security upgrades being implemented at the house. The twins had made significant progress, and Shego had even gone over to run some field tests with them the day Kim attended her therapy session.

Every night, she patrolled the perimeter of the Possible residence, standing silent watch beneath Kim’s window. Until the defenses were fully operational, she refused to allow her princess—or her family—to remain exposed. During the day, she dedicated her efforts to tracking down whoever was responsible for the explosion. So far, her investigation had been confined to diving through the darker corners of the internet, combing through posts and underground forums frequented by villains in the months leading up to the incident. She hadn’t uncovered anything conclusive yet, but experience had taught her that egos often led people to say more than they should.

Today, however, marked the beginning of a new phase in her plan: a direct conversation with Drakken, and a thorough search of his former lairs.

She began with the Middleton base. Upon arrival, she found it empty and abandoned, clearly unused for some time. She made her way to the control room and accessed the central system that linked all of Drakken’s hideouts. From there, she pinpointed which locations had seen recent activity or were currently online. She also checked to see if any security footage from the day of the explosion still existed. When she found the files intact, she immediately began downloading them for detailed review later.

While the transfer progressed, Shego skimmed through some of the footage, but nothing unusual caught her eye at first glance. Once the download was complete, she visited her old quarters within the base, gathered a few personal items she wanted to keep, and then searched for a hovercraft to take her to the Painted Desert in Arizona—the location the system had identified as Drakken’s current whereabouts.

She was relieved he wasn’t too far away. She didn’t want to be away from Kim for long. With the right transport, the entire trip—journey, confrontation, and return—would take no more than four hours. Her goal was clear: extract the information she needed and close this chapter of her life once and for all.

Upon arriving at the desert hideout, Shego immediately knew where to find him. From the kitchen came the unmistakable hum of the tune Drakken always sang when making coco-moo. Instead of announcing herself, Shego relied on her usual stealth, slipping past the hopelessly incompetent henchmen Drakken still insisted on hiring. She checked her room first, but finding nothing worth taking, she finally made her way to her real target: the man himself.

This time, she made no effort to mask her presence. Still, most of the henchmen failed to notice her arrival, and the few who did simply froze, staring with open mouths, unsure of how to react. Shego rolled her eyes, as unimpressed as ever by their uselessness.

She was headed toward the kitchen when she suddenly heard Drakken’s voice coming from the heart of the base—the area he always used for his experiments. She followed the sound and found him there, back turned, muttering to himself, completely absorbed in his thoughts.

Without a word, Shego entered the room, took a seat in one of the chairs, and casually began examining the claws built into her gloves. To anyone watching, it would have looked like just another lazy afternoon in the lair.

Drakken stood with his back to her, cradling a steaming mug of coco-moo.

—"Oh yes! With this formula, I shall not only control Canada's telecommunications, but the world will kneel before the great—!"

It took him a few minutes to turn around. When he finally did, he reached for his mug with absentminded ease, still unaware of Shego's presence. Shego counted silently in her head: “Three… two… one…”

—"SHEGO!" he shrieked, high-pitched and theatrical, sloshing hot coco-moo down the front of his chest. "Ayayay! It’s boiling! My genius nipples!"

Shego burst into laughter, a genuine, unfiltered laugh she couldn’t hold back. Only after the laughter died down did she begin to speak.

—"You still call yourself a 'genius' when you can’t hold a cup without injuring yourself?"

—"Where have you been? You abandoned me in the middle of chaos! You didn’t answer a single message! Shego, you left me at the mercy of… of myself! Do you know how dangerous that is?!"

—"Yes, and yet here you are. Miraculously alive."

—"You owe me an explanation! And emotional damages! Look at this!" he cried, pointing to the stained front of his robe like it was a battlefield wound.

Shego stood and slowly walked toward him with a kind of calm that only ever felt dangerous.

—"Drew Lipsky."

Drakken froze.

—"Shego, we talked about the real-name rule… remember the boundaries?"

—"Drew. Lipsky."

—"Oh no, it's happening again," he whispered, glancing around as if searching for an escape route.

—"Are you done with your little performance? Because now it’s my turn."

—"Shego, wait—if this is about the contract, we can renegotiate! I’m flexible! You could have Saturdays off! And a raise! A symbolic one, of course..."

—"Drew," she said, stepping in until they were face-to-face. "That contract expired the day of the explosion. I did my part: I got you to safety. From that moment on, whatever I did with my life was no longer your concern."

—"But Shego, think of all our years of mischief! Of plans that never worked! Of hysterical screaming in volcanic lairs!"

—"Nostalgic, huh?" she whispered with a crooked smile. "Then frame it. Put it in an album. It’s not happening again."

—"What?! You can’t do this to me! I need—"

—"Drew. I’m not renewing any contract. Not verbal, not emotional, not nostalgic. I’m done. It was fun while it lasted… sort of. But I’m finished."

With that, the now officially ex-villainess took a couple of steps back, her gaze still fixed on him, razor-sharp and silent—as if bracing for an explosion. And she wasn’t wrong.

At first, Drakken was frozen, mouth agape like a fish out of water. His lips moved, but no sound emerged. Only after several long seconds did he finally break the silence—with laughter. Loud, unrestrained, absurd laughter.

—"HAHAHA! Oh, come on! This… this has to be a dream," he wheezed between chuckles. "That’s not Shego! My subconscious is staging a drama! What a brilliant mind I have—never resting, even in dreams! Wajajajaja!"

Another wave of manic laughter overtook him, complete with a dramatic twirl and a bow to the empty room.

Shego narrowed her eyes. Her patience was running thin.

With a tired sigh, she conjured a small orb of plasma—hot enough to burn, not to kill—and hurled it at the sleeve of his blue robe. The fabric caught fire, slowly devouring itself.

Drakken noticed the flames for a second… and kept laughing.

—"Oh no, no, no! These special effects are way too realistic! I must be dreaming in IMAX!"

Shego rolled her eyes. She counted mentally again: "Three… two… one…"

—"AAAAAAGH!"—The scream was high-pitched, dramatic, and infused with the theatrical flair only Drakken could muster. He ran in circles, flailing his arm as if swatting at a swarm of invisible bees.— "I’m disintegrating! MY ROBE!"

Shego didn’t laugh. Not this time.
With swift precision, she strode over, grabbed his arm like a weary mother dealing with her toddler's tantrum, and slapped the flames out with brisk, unapologetic force.

—"Ouch! Was that really necessary, Shego?"
 

—"I just threw fire at you. Still think you’re dreaming?"

Drakken paused, pensive.
— "Hmm… maybe it’s a lucid dream..."

—"Doctor D..."

—"Alright, alright! I get it. Not a dream. It’s you. But… what do you mean you're not renewing your contract?!"

—"My reasons are personal."

—"But what about the evil family? The chaotic duo! You and me, ruling the world while I scream and you blow things up! Shegooo!"

—"Drew, I can’t explain it. Not now."

Drakken actually pouted. Literally.

—"But... but... after everything we've been through! Remember when we dressed as penguins? And the freezing ray that ended up in the Caribbean!"

—"Drew..." Shego closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.—"I didn’t think this day would come either. But it has. And what’s pulling me away from all this... is something bigger than any plan or ambition. Bigger than my own life."

Drakken opened his mouth to protest, but Shego silenced him with a raised hand.

—"Maybe I never showed it, but I am grateful for what you did for me. Especially in the beginning. So yes, we can still be family… just not a villainous one. Not anymore."

The doctor fell silent. For the second time that day, he was utterly disarmed.
The woman before him wasn’t the Shego he knew—not the one who threw plasma with sarcasm in her voice. This Shego spoke from the heart. And honestly, that terrified him.

His eyes widened. The dumbfounded expression slowly shifted into an absurdly wide smile, and the tears glistening in his small dark eyes seemed both out of place and heartbreakingly sincere.

—"You really mean that...?"— he asked in a voice so soft, Shego almost felt guilty.

—"Yes, Drew. I mean it."

—"Oh, Shego..." he opened his arms, ready for a melodramatic embrace.

—"No!" she cut him off, igniting her finger with a tiny spark of plasma.—"Don’t let this go to your head. None of this changes my decision. I’m not renewing the contract, and you won’t be seeing me around for a while."

—"But why? What’s going on?"

—"I can’t tell you."

—"But...!"

—"What I do need," she interrupted firmly, —"is for you to tell me everything you remember about the day your lair exploded."

Drakken straightened like a scolded child.
— "Umm... well... everything seemed normal. Oh! Larry! He ran out of the bathroom yelling something about explosive diarrhea. Literally. Said he had to go home. So I requested a replacement. And they sent someone super fast! HenchCo’s really stepping up their game!"

—"Do you know who the replacement was?"

—"Shego, do I look like someone who checks attendance rosters?"

—"Don’t answer that. What about the staff manager?"

—"Carson. He’d know."

—"Perfect. Do you remember what caused the explosion?"

—"It was so weird! I was about to activate the trap for the buffoon. I had the remote, but nothing happened. I pressed every button—even the one for disco lights—and still nothing! Then... BOOM!"

—"And Ron or Rufus didn’t do anything?"

—"They were just laughing at me! I swear!"

—"And you really have no idea who might’ve been behind it?"

—"I swear on my favorite crocs!"

—"...Thanks for that. Have you heard any chatter about someone trying to take out Kim? Any recent villain gossip?"

—"Oh! Yeah! About two months ago. Fiske, Killigan, and a few others. They added me to a group chat. I told them Kim was yours. They insulted me and kicked me out. So rude!"

—"Do you still have access to that thread?"

—"Maybe… Carson could probably help with that too."

—"I’ll contact him."

Shego turned toward the exit without waiting for another word.

—"Shego, wait," Drakken called after her. She paused, not looking back.

—"You can always count on me…"

Shego turned just enough to glance over her shoulder and offered him a soft, fleeting smile.

—"Thanks, Doctor D. Take care."

And with that, she walked away.

Chapter Text

Upon arriving in Middleton, Shego headed straight for the Possible residence. She wanted to see Kim, even knowing Kim wouldn’t want to see her. She landed the hovercraft in the backyard and activated her cloaking device. Then, with slow, measured steps, she made her way to the front of the house.

From there, she could hear the sounds of home—voices, movement, the familiar hum of a family preparing for dinner. Instinctively, her pace slowed until, just before rounding the corner toward the front door, she stopped completely.

That was when she felt it—her heart beating faster than usual, her breath turning shallow, her palms growing clammy with cold sweat.

Frustration hit her like a punch to the gut. Since when did she start acting like some nervous schoolgirl about to face her first love? But then, with a cruel kind of irony, she had to admit the truth—she was in love. Had been for a long time.

And yet, this wasn’t the first time she’d stood at this doorstep looking for Kim.

The memory of the first time she met the Possibles after their relationship became public surfaced unbidden. She remembered how Kim had opened the door that day, how she had greeted her with that radiant smile—the kind that could light up Shego’s entire world. A sharp ache settled in her chest as she found herself wishing, just for a second, that history could repeat itself. But she wasn’t that naïve. This time, Kim would greet her with anything but a smile.

She shook her head, trying to dispel the weight of those thoughts. Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands down the fabric of her pants in a useless attempt to dry them. Then, with a sigh, she brushed a hand over her face and turned away. Maybe it would be better to try another day.

—Sheryl.

Dr. Possible’s voice stopped her in her tracks.

—Dad, —she responded as she turned around, managing a small smile.

—Aren’t you coming in? You’ve been standing here for a while. At least say hello.

—I’m sorry, Dad… I thought maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. But… how did you know I was here?

—The twins saw you on the security cameras.

—Ah… so they’re up and running now. Guess I was too distracted to notice, —she muttered, rubbing the back of her neck, a bit embarrassed.

James shrugged with a half-smile.

—You looked like you were debating something. Want to talk about it?

—It’s nothing important, don’t worry.

—It’s about Kim, isn’t it?

Shego let out a breath, her shoulders sagging slightly, as if part of her strength had drained away.

—Yeah.

—Come on, walk with me for a bit, —James invited, his tone warm.

—But you’re about to have dinner. I don’t want to intrude.

—It’s fine. We can eat later. Right now, I want to talk.

Shego hesitated for a moment but eventually nodded, stepping up beside him as they began walking through the quiet neighborhood streets.

—Sheryl, all of this with Kim… it’s hard for everyone. But I know it’s even harder for you. I just want you to know that Ann and I are here for you. If you ever need anything, you can come to us.

Shego lowered her gaze, almost embarrassed by how much comfort those words brought her.

—Thanks, Dad… I guess I’m still not used to having parents again.

James smiled kindly.

—I understand. But Ann and I didn’t ask you to call us that just for show. We mean it. If you ever need help, or just someone to talk to… we’re here. Though… —he chuckled awkwardly— Ann might be better at this kind of conversation than I am.

Shego let out a genuine laugh.

—Good to know I’m not the only nervous one here.

They continued walking in silence for a while. The sun was setting beyond the horizon, casting long shadows over the quiet streets, while the streetlights flickered on, bathing everything in a soft, golden glow. It wasn’t an awkward silence—quite the opposite.

Shego was surprised by how much she liked it. It had been years since she’d felt anything close to the warmth of having someone genuinely care about her like a father.

She stole a glance at the man beside her, hands in his pockets, the air of a scientist lost in thought. And despite everything, she smiled.

Who would’ve thought? Shego—the former arch-nemesis of his daughter—walking side by side with James Possible, sharing what felt almost like a father-daughter moment.

She remembered how complicated it had been at first. When Kim revealed their relationship, Ann and James were understandably wary. Shego had never blamed them for it. Ann, though always polite, watched her with a sharp, silent vigilance, ensuring she understood that if she ever hurt her daughter, there would be consequences. James, on the other hand, never even tried to hide his skepticism.

That day, after overcoming the initial shock, Dr. Possible took her to his study. He wasted no time interrogating her about her intentions with “his Kimmie-cub,” then launched into a protective speech that included warnings about space rockets and black holes should she dare break his daughter’s heart. From then on, every time Shego visited the house, James made sure to remind her of that conversation.

But over time, everything changed. As her relationship with Kim deepened, the scrutiny began to fade. Then, one day, without Shego knowing exactly how, the Possibles learned what had happened to her family when she was a child. That was the turning point. Ann was the first to reach out, and after several deep conversations, she openly offered Shego a maternal place in her life. James, likely influenced by his wife, eventually followed suit.

At first, it was strange, but little by little, Shego lowered her defenses. She found herself trusting them in a way she had never believed possible. She shared parts of her past that she had never spoken about before. And when Kim’s accident happened…

She closed her eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the lump forming in her throat.

When the accident happened, she had feared losing them. She feared they would blame her, look at her with resentment. But they didn’t. Instead, they were there for her, unwavering, as if she were truly their own daughter.

Since then, their bond had only grown stronger. And now, here she was, walking beside James Possible, about to talk to him about everything that had been tormenting her.

—Dad?

James turned his head slightly, signaling that he was listening.

—Hm?

—Have you ever been afraid of losing Mom?

James smiled wistfully.

—Oh, yes. In fact, I once did.

Shego raised an eyebrow, surprised.

—Really? What happened? If you don’t mind me asking…

—I won’t bore you with the long version,— James said with a chuckle. —Let’s just say we met young—not quite as young as you and Kim, but close. She was nineteen, and I was twenty-three. We were at the same university—she was starting her second year, and I was in my first master’s program. We became a couple after our second date because our chemistry was strong from the start. But I was immature and an idiot, and I neglected our relationship. Not on purpose—I just didn’t know how to balance my passion for my studies and work with my personal life. And because of that, I wasn’t the boyfriend I should have been. So, after two months of zero effort on my part, and with Ann being the strong woman she is, she told me that if I wasn’t going to take our relationship seriously, it wasn’t worth continuing. And me? On top of being an idiot, I was also proud… so I let her go.

Shego listened intently, fascinated by the story.

—Wow. And what did you do after that?

—At first? Nothing,— James admitted. —But when I saw her start dating someone else, I couldn’t ignore my jealousy. I let it go on for a month until I finally swallowed my pride and accepted my mistakes.

—So how did you win her back?

James let out a sigh, accompanied by a smile.

—It took time and effort. By the time I realized what I had lost, she was already with someone else. Robert was a good guy, but I couldn’t let him keep my Ann. So, patiently, I started trying to win her back. She rejected me many times over several months, even after she broke up with Robert. But I didn’t give up. I wanted to prove to her that I was willing to fight for her and that she could trust me again. Eventually, Ann agreed to give me another chance, and from that day on, I’ve worked every day to show her that she didn’t make a mistake.

Shego smiled, genuinely moved.

—I’m glad it all worked out for you two. You make a great couple… I can’t picture either of you with anyone else.

James stopped walking and looked at her with warmth.

—Thank you, Sheryl.

When Shego paused beside him, she felt the weight of his hand on her shoulder. James made sure he had her full attention before continuing.

—I know my story with Ann isn’t exactly the same as yours with Kim, but there’s something I want you to know. It’s going to take time and effort, but don’t give up. I never thought I’d say this, but after these months of getting to know you and seeing how deeply you love my daughter… I’m certain that you’re the one for her. And as much as it pains my overprotective father’s heart to admit it, I trust you. I know you’ll do what’s best for both of you.

Shego felt her throat tighten, her eyes starting to sting. She clenched and unclenched her fists, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She took a hesitant step toward him, raised her arms as if to hug him, but let them drop to her sides. Her face flushed, and feeling suddenly shy, she cleared her throat before extending a hand toward James.

—Thank you, Dad,—she murmured awkwardly, as if the words were foreign to her.

James let out a soft laugh and, instead of shaking her hand, closed the distance and wrapped her in a warm, firm hug. Shego, startled at first, let herself relax into the comfort of his embrace. This time, with more confidence, she repeated:

—Thank you, Dad.

—You’re welcome, Sheryl,— James replied before stepping back and resuming their walk. Shego was grateful he didn’t make a big deal out of the moment, because as much as she had liked it, she still wasn’t used to the warmth of such a genuine family bond.

As the Possible house came into view through the trees, Shego took a deep breath and spoke with determination.

—I promise I won’t betray your trust.

—I know you won’t.

—I know, in a way, I have to win Kim’s heart all over again. But I still don’t know how to do it. I’m not the same person she remembers, the one she fell for when she was the age she believes she is now. I’m afraid that the real me won’t be what she wants… or that she won’t even want to know me again.

James regarded her with understanding as Shego sighed.

—I’m not giving up. But if Kim decides she doesn’t want me in her life, then I’ll respect her choice. I just want her to be happy, and if that means staying away… then I will.

James offered her a gentle smile.

—That’s exactly why I know you’re the one. Thank you for loving my daughter that way, Sheryl. No matter what happens, you will always be part of this family.

Shego didn’t say anything. She just nodded, her gratitude evident in her eyes and the small smile on her lips.

By then, they had reached the doorstep of the Possible home.

—I'll let you enjoy your dinner now, —she said, preparing to walk toward the hovercraft. —Thanks for the talk, it helped me a lot.
—You're welcome, Sheryl, but no goodbyes yet—you still have to stay for dinner.
—I wouldn't want to be a bother, and I'm not sure it's a good idea.
—Nonsense, Ann will be happy to see you. Besides, when was the last time you ate?

Shego remembered that she had only eaten a light breakfast early that morning, and now that she was aware of it, she could feel the hunger in her stomach. She gave the doctor an embarrassed smile, which was enough of an answer for her to now find herself walking toward the dining room, where she could still see the rest of the family gathered, including the redhead who made her heart race.

Kim had her back to her, but Shego couldn't take her eyes off her, barely aware of the others. Ann and the twins noticed James and Shego’s presence and greeted them enthusiastically, causing Kim to turn around, and their eyes met. For Shego, the world stopped; those green eyes always had that effect on her, and although the gaze lasted only a couple of seconds, it was enough to make the butterflies in her stomach stir and her cheeks warm up.

On Kim’s part, when she noticed Shego, her body tensed instantly. The heroine attributed it to the habit of being on alert for any fight that might break out, though soon her mind reminded her that that no longer seemed to be the case. So, frowning slightly, she shifted her gaze to her father, whom she greeted with a warm smile. Ann noticed all of this, and a hint of nostalgia crossed her heart as she remembered the previous months when it was common for Kim and Shego to get lost in each other's eyes as if they were the only two people in the world. She wished they could regain that connection soon.

Shego and James sat down to eat, automatically taking their assigned seats—James at the head of the table and Shego next to Kim. An uncomfortable silence settled over the dining room for a few minutes until Ann broke it:

—How have you been, Sheryl? Feels like I haven’t seen you in a while.
—Good, Mom. Sorry I haven't stopped by to say hi, it's just that… well… I've been busy with a lot of things.
—Well, I’m glad you came today because the security system is finally ready, —Tim said.
—And we're going back to college in two days, so we need to show you everything before that, —Jim added.
—That’s great, guys, but can we go over it tomorrow? I just got back from messing with a couple of Drakken’s lairs and talking to him, and interactions with him are always exhausting.
—I can check out the security system, —Kim offered, finishing her plate at that moment, surprising everyone. In the few similar interactions they had, Kim would either stay silent or just walk away. The twins were the first to recover from the surprise and said:
—This is a project we have with Shego...
—...we’ll only discuss the details with her, —then both stuck their tongues out at their sister.
—Whatever, —Kim grumbled, standing up with the intention of heading back to her room.
—Wait, Kim, —Shego hurried to get the heroine's attention. She had seen an opportunity in Kim's interest in helping with security—an opportunity to get closer to her or at least spend more time with her, and she wasn't going to waste it.
—What? —Kim turned around with a scowl.
—You can help with the security system. This concerns you, and we should keep you informed.

Before Kim could respond, the twins interrupted with their complaints:
—Why do we have to involve her? It won’t be fun anymore.
—Mom! Tell Kim she can't get involved. Isn't she supposed to be resting?
—And who says I even want to get involved now? Go ahead, do your little project with your beloved Shego. It's always "Shego this, Shego that." You know what? I don’t care anymore. And you...

Now she was speaking directly to Shego, pointing at her accusingly.
—I hope you're happy. You already stole my memory and my best friend, and now my family too… what's next?! What's the next phase of your plan?
—There is no plan, Kim, —Shego replied, trying not to show the pain Kim’s words caused her, instead letting some compassion and patience seep into her voice.
—You always say that, and I still don’t believe you, —Kim snapped, her voice cold as ice. She turned to leave, but Shego couldn’t let her go. She rushed to reach her and, gently taking her arm, asked:
—What can I do to make you believe me?

The desperation Shego had been feeling all this time was evident in her voice. Though Kim felt a spark of curiosity at the emotion in the raven-haired woman’s voice, she quickly replaced it with irritation. She turned around, ready to shake off Shego’s grip and start a fight right then and there, but when she did and saw Shego’s eyes like she had never seen them before, she froze in place.

There was so much vulnerability in them, so much sadness—something in that electric green invited her to get lost in them.

The tension in the room was palpable. Kim’s family watched, holding their breath. Kim didn’t remove Shego’s grip, and Shego didn’t dare to move or say anything. She just held her gaze, trying to make her see her sincerity. Slowly, Shego let go, without breaking eye contact. In Kim’s eyes, she saw a flicker of confusion—a fleeting moment in which her walls seemed to crack. But like lightning, she covered it with irritation, straightening up with unwavering determination, as if doing so could drown out any doubt threatening to surface.

—You can’t do anything, —Kim finally said after a long moment of silence. —Because the thing is, I don’t trust you. —With that, she turned and left for her room without opposition.

It was logical that Kim didn’t trust her, Shego tried to console herself. No matter how much Kim had accepted her memory loss and the passage of time, the last real memory she had of her was the worst. Shego knew that, but still, hearing Kim’s words was like feeling her already shattered heart break all over again, as if the pain would never end.

Without turning around so the family wouldn’t see the tears beginning to well up in her eyes, Shego tried to gather enough composure to say goodbye.

—Thanks for the meal, Mom. I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, but I need to… I still have things to do. —She didn’t wait for a response and began walking toward the front door.

The Possible doctors said nothing but gave the twins stern looks, forcing them to react.
—Shego, wait, —the twins approached. —I think we ruined a chance for you to get closer to Kim.
—Please, forgive us, —Tim added.
—I forgive you. If that’s all, I have to go. —And with that, Shego walked out the door and rushed toward her hovercraft.

Chapter Text

Following the disastrous dinner at the Possible household, Shego returned home feeling utterly shattered. From the moment she climbed into her hovercraft to the second she stepped into her apartment, silent tears streamed down her face. Her chest tightened with suffocating pain, her mind trapped in a relentless cycle of past wounds resurfacing. Once, Kim had been the one to help her navigate those dark corridors of her past, guiding her toward something lighter. Now, with just a few careless words, she had ripped those wounds open again.

—I don’t trust you.

The phrase echoed in Shego’s mind like a cruel refrain. Did Kim have any idea how much those words had cut her? Probably not—not now, when they felt like strangers all over again. How could Kim possibly understand that Shego had spent most of her life feeling unwanted, cast aside? That the lack of trust and affection in her past had carved wounds so deep they had shaped her into the very villain Kim still seemed to believe she was?

Standing beneath the freezing spray of her shower, Shego willed the icy water to wash away the pain, to drown out the memories clawing at her consciousness. But it was futile. Her body naturally radiated heat, and no amount of cold could dull the ache left by the one person she had ever let in completely.

Now curled up on her couch, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, she rocked herself slightly in another useless attempt at comfort. Images flashed through her mind—her parents' deaths, her abusive uncles, her early years as a villain, and now Kim’s accident, the look of distrust in her eyes, the words that had shattered her all over again. This turmoil wasn’t unfamiliar, but since becoming Kim’s partner, Shego had never faced it alone. Kim had always been there, whispering reassurances, holding her close until the storm passed. But now, that warmth was gone. And the more Shego fought to reclaim it, the more it seemed to slip away.

Her blurred gaze landed on the guitar and piano by the window. Wiping her face, she stood and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. Music had once been her escape, but for years, she had distanced herself from it, associating it with a past she wanted to forget. Kim had changed that. Kim had helped her rediscover her love for music, had made it safe again. And now, it was the only outlet she had left.

Her fingers traced over the guitar strings, searching for something—anything—that could soothe the chaos inside her. As she played, the tight knot in her chest loosened slightly, and the storm in her mind quieted just enough for her to breathe. A melody formed, unbidden, and with it, the words came. She retreated to her home studio, guitar in hand, and surrendered herself to the music.

-

She knows me too well

The good and the bad 

She knows what calms me

And what makes me explode

When I ask my friends If we should be together

They say we should leave it for another life

Because you tear me apart But I still love you 

Staying in your arms feels like Running with scissors

Because you hurt me But I keep holding on 

Waiting here feels like Running with scissors

Running with scissors

Night blurred into morning, but Shego barely noticed, losing herself in the music, pouring her pain into every chord, every lyric.

-

She woke up slumped over her desk, momentarily disoriented. As her mind cleared, reality came crashing back—Kim’s words, the ache in her chest, the song she had spent the night crafting. She inhaled shakily before saving her work and dragging herself to the kitchen.

Sitting at the breakfast bar, she forced herself to eat, but each bite tasted like nothing. She chewed absently, her mind too cluttered to focus on anything but the weight pressing against her ribs. Hours passed, and she remained there, her untouched plate a testament to her growing detachment. She sighed—probably for the hundredth time that morning—before finally forcing herself to move. Grabbing her laptop, she settled onto the couch and began reviewing the security footage from her investigation at Drakken’s hideouts, saving the recordings from the lair where the accident had occurred for last.

Nothing. Three months’ worth of footage showed nothing out of the ordinary—Drakken pacing in his lab, guards slacking off, herself conducting patrols, and even a few encounters with Kim. She lingered on those clips, watching Kim move, remembering what had been happening in their lives outside of those battles. A sad smile ghosted across her lips. But after hours of combing through the footage with nothing to show for it, she shut the laptop with a frustrated sigh.

If things were normal—if things were the way they were supposed to be—she would be calling Kim right now. She would tell her about her day, listen to her stories, maybe even tease her a little. But that wasn’t an option anymore. So she settled for the next best thing: calling the twins. It was an excuse to talk about the security system, a practical reason to call them. But deep down, she knew the real reason—just to feel close to Kim, even indirectly.

Shego scowled at herself as she dialed Tim’s number. She felt pathetic. And maybe a little masochistic. But desperate times called for desperate measures.

—Shego?— Tim’s voice carried his surprise clearly.

—Why do you sound so shocked, twerp?

—We thought after last night, you’d disappear for a while.

—Well, the security still needs to be finished, doesn’t it? You two are leaving soon, and the sooner we get this done, the better. Or am I wrong?

—No, you’re right… Uh, so do you want to come over now and go over everything?

—Yeah, that’s why I called—to see if you were free.

—We are. Kim’s home.

—That’s not what I asked.

—But it’s what you wanted to know.

Shego rolled her eyes. It was irritating how well the twins could read her now. —Whatever. The system is fully set up, right? We just need to test it?

—Yep.

—Good. Activate everything now. We’re running a simulation. I’ll act as the villain trying to break in.

—Oooh, so original.

—Shut up,— she muttered before hanging up.

-

Dressed in her signature green-and-black suit, Shego guided her hovercraft toward the Possible residence. Hovering above the house, she initiated a preliminary scan, ensuring the security system was blocking all internal heat signatures, sound leaks, and electromagnetic traces. Satisfied with the results, she turned her attention to the house itself, noting the presence of pressure-sensitive traps on the roof. Leaving her hovercraft floating above, she leaped onto the rooftop with feline grace.

She meticulously analyzed the traps, making mental notes for potential improvements. Moving to the balconies, she identified hidden surveillance cameras at every entry point. She smirked and offered a playful wave to each lens before examining the laser grid protecting the windows. After checking the door locks, she moved to the yard, garden, and perimeter, identifying potential vulnerabilities.

She couldn’t ignore the irony—she had done this before, many times. But back then, she had been looking for weaknesses to exploit, not testing defenses. That realization made her chuckle dryly.

Finally, she turned her attention to the chimney. It intrigued her; she couldn’t immediately tell how the twins had secured it. And that alone made it the perfect challenge.

With a smirk, she crouched low, ready to make her move.

She slid effortlessly down the brick interior of the chimney, her keen senses alert for any hidden mechanisms or traps. Yet, as she landed soundlessly, nothing happened. The room remained eerily silent, and she found herself in the middle of the darkened living room, scanning her surroundings for anything suspicious. Not sensing any immediate threats, she ventured further, moving through the dining area and into the kitchen, her every movement controlled, measured. Still, nothing.

Ascending the staircase, her sharp eyes caught the delicate weave of a laser grid midway up. She paused, analyzing its pattern before twisting and weaving her way through with precision, each movement a testament to her agility and years of experience. By the time she reached the top, she was impressed—most intruders wouldn’t have stood a chance. But she made a mental note to discuss the ease of disabling them with the twins.

The second floor presented a new challenge. Every door was locked. Approaching the twins' room first, she tested the doorknob and immediately felt a jolt of electricity course through her hand. Instinctively, she withdrew, though the shock was nothing more than a mild inconvenience to her, thanks to her plasma’s conductivity. A grim smirk played on her lips—if it weren’t for her unique abilities, that voltage would have incapacitated anyone else. It reminded her, fleetingly, of the moment Kim had slammed her into a tower, a memory that she quickly pushed aside.

Checking each door, she confirmed that they were all outfitted with the same security. Yet, despite all the defenses she had encountered, something felt off—why had no countermeasures activated? Why had she faced no resistance?

Her gaze landed on the attic hatch leading to Kim’s room. Approaching cautiously, she placed a hand against the handle and felt a stronger current running through it, enough that even she found it mildly uncomfortable. Raising a brow, she let out a breath before summoning her plasma. Channeling the energy into her palm, she pressed it firmly against the lock, disrupting the electrical flow just long enough to grant her access.

Alright. This definitely needed to be discussed with the twins.

The room was still, empty. She pushed the hatch open fully and climbed inside, scanning her surroundings. Just as she took her first full step inside, two things happened simultaneously—she sensed an electric field buzzing ominously in front of her, and before she could react, a familiar presence struck from behind.

Kim tackled her with full force, nearly sending her straight into the high-voltage trap. But Shego’s reflexes were sharper. Planting her feet, she twisted mid-motion, barely avoiding the deadly surge of electricity. Before she could regain her footing, Kim’s arms wrapped around her neck in a tight chokehold.

—What are you doing here?!— Kim’s voice was sharp, accusing, her grip tightening around Shego’s throat.

—Relax, Princess,— Shego rasped, her tone firm yet calm. The hold was strong, but not enough to prevent her from speaking—Kim still hadn’t regained her full strength.

—I knew you were up to something. Trying to gain my family’s trust just so you could strike when they least expect it?— Kim’s hold tightened further, exerting all the strength she could muster. Yet, Shego remained unshaken.

—Kim, listen to me,— Shego whispered, her voice softer now. —I’m not attacking anyone. This isn’t some kind of plan. I’m working with your brothers to improve security.

Kim hesitated for a split second, and that was all it took for Shego to free herself. As Kim lost her grip, she stumbled backward, falling onto the floor. Shego tensed, instinctively reaching out, worried that Kim might hurt herself, especially with the unseen electric field just a step away.

—I don’t want to fight you, Kim.

—Oh yeah? Then what do you want?— Kim snapped, pushing herself up into a defensive stance.

—Nothing. Just calm down—you could get hurt.

—The only one getting hurt here is you!— Kim launched forward, throwing a kick toward Shego, but the older woman blocked it effortlessly. Kim’s movements were fast but lacked their usual force—she still hadn’t fully recovered.

—Kim, stop—there’s an electric field right—

Ignoring the warning, Kim swung again. Shego dodged, closing the distance between them. Kim took the opportunity to throw a punch, but Shego caught her wrist mid-swing, pulling her in before wrapping her arms around her in a firm embrace.

Kim froze.

—Calm down,— Shego murmured near her ear, inhaling the familiar scent of her hair, savoring the warmth of holding her close after so long.

Kim stiffened, snapping out of her brief moment of shock. She struggled against Shego’s hold, but the woman’s grip only tightened.

—Let go of me!— Kim demanded, thrashing harder.

—Not until you calm down. I don’t want you getting hurt,— Shego said, her voice low, almost pleading.

—Kim, it’s true,— came Jim’s voice from the doorway.

—Shego was just testing the security measures we set up,— Tim added.

—Tweebs! How long have you two been standing there? Why didn’t you help?!

—For a while,— Tim admitted.

—But we didn’t want to interrupt your moment,— Jim teased.

—What moment?!— Kim’s voice shot up indignantly as she redoubled her efforts to break free. Shego, a little reluctantly, released her hold and took a step back, meeting Kim’s furious gaze.

—If you were just checking security, why did you come into my room?

—You’re the primary target for any real threat to this house,— Shego explained evenly.

—And?

—And I take my job of protecting you seriously. I was treating this like an actual infiltration scenario while evaluating every security measure.

Kim turned to the twins with an exasperated look. —Why didn’t you tell me you were running a simulation?—

—To make it more realistic,— they said in unison, grinning.

—Just get out of my room. Now.

With a sigh, Shego and the twins left without protest.

-

They sat in silence for a few minutes in the living room, the twins exchanging glances while Shego stared at a fixed point in space, unmoving.

—Uh… Shego?— Jim ventured cautiously.

—You okay?— Tim followed up when Shego finally looked at them.

Shego exhaled, a slow, deep breath. Despite everything, she felt… content. Maybe she should be frustrated with the twins for not warning Kim, for constantly creating misunderstandings. But on the other hand, it had led to something she hadn’t expected—holding Kim, even if just for a fleeting moment.

—Yeah,— she said at last. —I’m good.

Shrugging, the twins proceeded to explain the security measures in detail, starting with the external defenses. Shego questioned the lack of protection around the chimney, to which they clarified that a hidden heat sensor was embedded in the bricks, activating a second-degree burn-inducing trap. However, since Shego’s heat resistance rendered it ineffective, she suggested increasing the temperature. Moving on to internal security, they discussed the laser grid on the staircase, which could either cause severe injuries or, if deactivated externally, trigger a sticky trap. Shego also pointed out the need for countermeasures against non-human intruders like robots, which the twins acknowledged as a valid oversight. Regarding the individual rooms, the doors were equipped with high-voltage electric locks, strong enough to immobilize most threats, though Shego recommended increasing the voltage for added protection.

The twins admitted that their time had been split between university projects and their research on restoring Kim’s memory, so while they planned additional automated defenses, they were behind schedule. Their current strategy relied on early detection—if an intruder was identified before breaching the property, all occupants were to retreat to the basement, which was reinforced to withstand even a nuclear attack for up to three months. Should an attacker manage to infiltrate the house, the existing measures would delay them long enough for reinforcements to arrive. Satisfied but expecting more from the tech-savvy duo, Shego pressed for a timeline on additional defenses, learning they would be ready in two to three weeks. Before leaving, she ensured they would finalize the discussed improvements before their departure the next day and brief the family on how to activate and deactivate the system. As she stood to leave, the twins sheepishly apologized for unintentionally causing more tension with Kim. With a smirk, Shego dismissed it, knowing the situation was far from over.

-

Over the next two days, Shego remained deeply immersed in her investigation, combing through every piece of footage she had gathered from Drakken’s lair. She meticulously reviewed months of recordings, with the exception of the day of the explosion—an avoidance she knew stemmed from her reluctance to relive the event that had upended her life. Yet, despite hours of scrutiny, she found nothing unusual. Frustrated but undeterred, she redirected her efforts to searching the deeper corners of the internet, resuming where she had previously left off.

By the second day, the usually pristine state of her apartment had deteriorated into a chaotic mess—clothes strewn across the floor, papers scattered on every available surface, empty wrappers and half-finished meals abandoned in the living room and kitchen. The exhaustion weighed heavily on her, compounded by the sleepless nights she had accumulated throughout the week. Her vision blurred as she attempted to focus on old online discussions between Killigan and Fiske from two months prior, but the words swam before her eyes, their meaning slipping through her grasp. Recognizing her diminishing ability to concentrate, she surrendered to sleep almost instantly.

Hours later, she woke disoriented, groggily attempting to will herself back into slumber, desperate to reclaim the dream she had just lost. It had been about Kim—that much she knew—but the details had already begun to fade, leaving behind only a hollow ache in her chest. With a frustrated sigh, she turned her gaze to the window, where the sun was already beginning its descent. Stretching, she sat up, still irritated by the abrupt end to what had been, she was certain, a rare moment of happiness. The weight of loneliness pressed against her chest, an all-too-familiar sensation that burned behind her eyes.

Enough.

Pushing past the melancholy that threatened to consume her, Shego forced herself into action. She methodically cleaned the mess she had let accumulate, took a long, steadying shower, and, with renewed determination, grabbed her motorcycle keys. It was time to stop running in circles. If she truly wanted things to change, she needed to face them head-on. Without hesitation, she set off toward the Possible household.

Chapter Text

Halfway there, Shego's determination began to waver. Her mind filled with excuses—each more convincing than the last—as to why showing up unannounced was a terrible idea. By the time she reached the Possible household, she was entirely convinced that the impulse had been a mistake. Without a second thought, she turned the bike around and began the ride back.

Or so she thought.

Torn between two impulses—go back and try to see Kim, or accept that Kim wanted nothing to do with her and resign herself to living in quiet misery—she didn't realize she wasn't actually heading home. She was just riding aimlessly, lost in a tangle of conflicting thoughts.

Frustrated and disoriented, she finally pulled over and looked around to get her bearings. She was close to the city center. With a sigh of resignation, she decided to wander the streets, letting the shop windows distract her.

She had barely walked ten minutes when she came across a flower shop—half florist, half nursery—with a display window filled with cacti. She stopped abruptly, transfixed. Without noticing, she stood there in silence, memories flooding her senses. A melancholic smile ghosted across her lips.

Shego had never cared for flowers or plants. Truthfully, neither had Kim—though she did enjoy a bouquet every now and then in romantic contexts. That's why Shego had made a habit of giving her flowers on special occasions. But cacti... cacti had become their favorite. For a while, they had been Kim's favorite too.

It all started when, in a rare moment of tenderness, Kim compared her to a cactus. She'd said it wasn't just the green that reminded her of Shego, but the spines—visible defenses, designed to protect a fragile heart within. At first, Shego hadn't appreciated the metaphor. But over time, as Kim gently dismantled her walls, it began to resonate. Then one day, Kim gave her a small cactus (one she still kept) and, with a look full of conviction, said:

"Do you know what else you have in common with a cactus? They're strong. They survive in harsh conditions. They can go without water for weeks. And you... you're strong too. You're brave. You've survived things no one ever should. You're incredible, Shego. And that's just one of the reasons why I love you."

It was the first time Kim had told her she loved her. One of the happiest days of Shego's life. From that moment on, the cactus became a quiet but powerful symbol of Kim's love for her.

—Sweetheart, is there a flower you're interested in? —asked an elderly voice from the doorway of the shop—. You've been staring at my window for a while.

—Oh... I'm sorry, I was just... —Shego left the sentence hanging as she hurried to wipe away tears she hadn't realized she'd shed—. Actually, yes. I'd like that cactus —she said, her voice trembling slightly as she pointed to the one that had triggered the cascade of memories.

With the cactus in hand, she returned to her motorcycle. After making sure it was safely secured, she started the engine and headed once again toward the Possible household—this time with a quiet but firm resolve. She was going to try to talk to Kim.

To her surprise, it was Kim who opened the door.

They didn't speak at first. As usual, Kim's eyes scanned her with a mixture of suspicion and something that hovered dangerously close to hatred. But for the first time in a long while, that didn't matter to Shego. Her heart flipped at the sight of her, and a nervous warmth bloomed in her chest.

When Kim noticed Shego standing there silently, hands hidden behind her back, she exhaled sharply in frustration. Without a word, she began to close the door.

—Wait —Shego said at last, quickly placing her foot between the door and the frame.

—What do you want? —Kim snapped—. My parents aren't home, and the twins aren't either. You have no reason to be here.

—I came to see you.

—Well, I don't want to see you.

—I know... —Shego admitted, her voice barely above a whisper—. But I wanted to give you this.

She pulled from behind her back the small cactus in its modest pot. It was simple, vibrant—seeming to hold the weight of everything she hadn't yet said.

—A cactus?

—Yeah. I know you like them...

The words hung in the air, laced with an uncertainty Shego couldn't quite mask. Truth be told, she didn't know if Kim still liked cacti. In the version of the past Kim remembered, they hadn't meant much. Their meaning had grown later... in the space they once shared. In the time when Kim helped her understand that even something covered in thorns could carry gentleness inside.

—How do you know cacti are my favorite? —Kim asked reflexively, more out of habit than curiosity.

But that question, so casual on the surface, ignited something in Shego. A flicker of hope. Could it be that fragments of her Kimmie were still buried somewhere within her?

—If you'd like, I can tell you how I know... —Shego offered softly—. I just need you to let me in.

—No. I don't want to talk to you.

Kim tried to close the door again, but Shego didn't move.

—Alright —she said gently—. But at least take the cactus.

—I don't want your cactus.

—Okay... I'll leave it here, in case you change your mind.

She took a step back and placed the pot carefully on the doorstep. Kim didn't respond, but neither did she close the door immediately.

—Goodnight, Princess —Shego murmured, a sad smile tugging at her lips.

It was then that Kim shut the door with a definitive thud.

Shego couldn't help but smile. That stubbornness—so infuriating—was also part of what she loved most about her. Even in rejection, Kim was fiercely, unapologetically herself.

That night, Shego returned to her apartment, cloaked in silence and shadow. But something inside her had reignited—a calm, unwavering resolve to keep trying. To earn her place once more in Kim's heart.

-

Three weeks had passed since Shego had given the cactus to Kim. In the end, she had accepted it—Ann confirmed it the next day when Shego stopped by for a visit. That day, she hadn't been well received. Nor the next. Still, she kept trying to speak with Kim every day that week, to no avail.

The following week, she scaled back her visits: only three attempts. On the first, she brought another peace offering—a limited-edition Pandaroo she knew for certain Kim didn't yet have. She summoned her courage and went to her room to deliver it in person. For a fleeting second, she saw it—a flash of joy on Kim's face. But the expression vanished almost instantly, buried beneath suspicion and irritation. Kim refused to take the plush toy and slammed the attic hatch shut on Shego's nose. Later, when Shego returned, Ann confirmed that Kim had kept it. That small revelation drew a quiet smile from the former villain's lips and renewed her resolve to keep trying.

The week after that, eager as she was to keep reaching out, Shego could only manage one visit. She believed she'd uncovered an important clue in the footage from the day of the accident and was fully immersed in preparing to pursue it. Her only attempt to see Kim came that weekend, at night.

Unannounced, she headed straight for Kim's window—just as she'd done so many times in the past. Her guitar was slung across her back—the same one she'd used in the hospital to compose a song for her. Once perched in the tree outside Kim's room, she began to play, singing softly the new melody she had written, hoping the music would speak what her words no longer could.

She saw the moment Kim recognized her and stormed toward the window, visibly annoyed. She threw it open and shouted at her to leave. Then, in a flash of anger, hurled the first thing within reach—the computer mouse—and repeated, with biting finality, that she never wanted to see her again. She slammed the window so hard Shego feared the glass might shatter.

The encounter doused her spirits like a bucket of ice water. It was Thursday now, and since that night, she hadn't so much as approached the Possible residence.

—Maybe I really should just leave her alone,— she murmured, addressing the cactus she was gently watering at that moment. —I don't want to give up... but maybe the right thing is to give her space.

She was still caught in that emotional crossroads when the sound of her phone snapped her out of her thoughts. A message lit up the screen.

"Your order is ready."

"I'll be there in thirty minutes."

Perhaps that was the answer she'd been searching for. Everything was in place to follow the lead she'd uncovered—one that required her to leave Middleton for a while.
She sighed, uneasy about the idea of distancing herself from Kim right now, yet at the same time, oddly relieved. This step would bring her closer, however marginally, to discovering who was behind all of this... and to ensuring Kim's safety once and for all.
Shego tidied her apartment, double-checked her gear with meticulous care, then made her way to Wade's house.

—Sheryl, come in. Wade's expecting you in his room.
—Thanks, Mrs. Load.

This was only the second time Shego had visited Wade's home—both times out of necessity, never by choice.

—Thirty minutes exactly. Impressive,— the young genius greeted as he opened the door.
—What's so impressive about being on time?— Shego shot back dryly. —Give me my device.
—Alright, straight to business then,— Wade replied, shrugging as he turned to retrieve the gadget from his desk. —How are things with Kim?— he asked, handing it to her.
—Fine.
—Ah. That bad, huh?
—What are you talking about? She's fine.
—You know I wasn't referring to her health.
—I don't know what else you could possibly mean,— Shego replied curtly, shutting the conversation down with a finality that Wade didn't find surprising.
Shego was a completely different person with Kim and the Possibles. But with everyone else, her walls remained firmly in place.
—The Kimmunicator is set up just as you asked,— Wade said, switching to a more technical tone. —It has all the original functions, plus a few enhancements tailored for you. For example, you don't have to worry about heat—this one's plasma-resistant. It also has a self-destruct function, triggered by a glow-based signal. Communications are secure: it only connects to me, and only when you allow it. It can't be traced. Not even by me. And it's fully camouflaged to blend with your suit.
—The new one?
—Yeah.
—Let's see it.

The young man, now noticeably taller and leaner, walked over to his closet. After entering a code, a hidden compartment opened. He pulled out a completely black suit, accented only by details at the collar and cuffs in Shego's signature electric green.

—This one's also designed to work seamlessly with your plasma. It absorbs impact energy and redirects it to your movements. It has a regenerative layer, too—resistant to minor cuts and capable of self-repair. That feature's limited, though.
—Excellent. Everything sounds good. But what I care about most is Kim. With the suit and the communicator... can I pass for her? Once activated, will it confuse any signal tracking her?
—Correct. Once you activate it, the system I built—alongside the one the twins set up—will generate a decoy signal. Anyone trying to track Kim will be redirected to you.
—Perfect. That's all I need.— Shego rose, the new suit and communicator in hand.
—When are you leaving? What's your first stop?
—Classified.
—Come on, Shego. You can trust me. I could help.
—No.
—Ouch.
—That's not what I meant. The fewer people involved, the safer Kim will be. And everyone else, too.
—Shego, no one else is involved. Just you.
—Exactly.

Wade let out a resigned sigh.

—Alright. Do it your way. But please... ask for help if you need it.
—Goodbye, Wade. And thank you—for everything.

Without another word, Shego left the room, then the house. Moments later, she was on her way back to her apartment, ready for whatever would come next.

As soon as she arrived, Shego began packing the essentials into a backpack. She didn't know exactly how long she would be gone, but she estimated at least a month. Even so, she packed only what was strictly necessary for a mission; everything else she planned to buy—and discard—along the way. Finishing took less time than she'd expected. She was ready. She could leave right then, if she wanted to... but she didn't.

She knew Kim wouldn't miss her, but she would undoubtedly miss being near Kim. More than anything, leaving without making things right left a persistent knot in her chest.

She picked up her backpack, then her cactus. She walked to the door, stopped before it, and stared at it for several long minutes—as if its surface might hold all the answers to the universe. Finally, her shoulders slumped in resignation. She placed the cactus gently on the small table by the entrance, left the backpack on the floor, and made her way to the piano. Sitting down, she began to play. The melodies had no direction, no purpose beyond soothing her mind. But inevitably, her thoughts drifted—as they always did—to Kim.

She had done everything in her power to ensure Kim's safety, even in her absence. And since the moment Kim had opened her eyes, Shego had tried again and again to reach her. She knew she had given her best. And yet, she couldn't shake the anxiety that gnawed at her insides. Was she forgetting something? Could she still do more? She didn't know.

Slowly, the aimless notes began to shift. The improvisations gave way to familiar melodies—pieces she had once written for Kim. Without meaning to, she started playing each one, one after the other, letting the music flood her with memories: laughter, touches, shared silences. All of it now felt so far away.

Then suddenly, she stopped. A spark of an idea struck with such force that she jumped to her feet, knocking the piano bench over in the process. Without picking it up, she rushed into her studio, grabbed a pencil and some paper, and began to write with the kind of determination born of last hopes.

She spent the entire night and morning working nonstop. When she finally finished, a quiet calm had settled over her.

She went to the door, picked up her backpack and cactus, and this time, left without looking back. She climbed aboard her hovercraft—camouflaged on the building's rooftop—and flew toward the Possible residence.

The midday sun was high and bright, but Shego didn't mind. On the contrary, she welcomed the warmth on her pale skin—a small comfort before what would likely be another painful goodbye. Upon arriving, she parked the hovercraft in the backyard and climbed up to Kim's window. She knew no one else would be home at this hour. And she also knew that Kim rarely left her room since coming back from the hospital.

She couldn't see her—not with the sun's glare on the glass—but she was certain Kim could see her.

She knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, Kim opened the window with visible annoyance, her brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line of impatience.

—When are you going to understand that I don't want to see you?

—Maybe soon,— Shego replied, her voice low but steady, as if every word were a stone she had to push uphill.

The answer threw Kim off. She blinked, caught between fury and disbelief. —Another cactus? Seriously?

—This one isn't for you.

—So now you're just handing out cacti to anyone?— Sarcasm clung to every syllable.

—Don't get jealous, cupcake. You are the only one I ever give cacti to,— Shego said with a faint smile, trying to hide the tenderness laced beneath the nickname.

—Jealous!? What?! I'm not—ugh!— Kim clenched her fists, her face flushed with an emotion she refused to name.

—Relax, princess. I just wanted to talk.

—For the thousandth time, I don't want to talk to you.

—Please,— Shego pleaded, and her voice no longer held the confidence of a former villain, but the fragile cadence of someone on the verge of breaking. —Let me tell you my side. Let me explain why I keep showing up. Just listen. And if afterward you still want me gone—I'll go. I promise.

—Shego, I don't want to hear it. It's pointless. I won't believe anything you say. I don't want to. I don't care.

Shego lowered her gaze, swallowing the pain like crushed glass. When she looked back up, her smile was dim. —I figured you'd say that,— she murmured. Then, slowly, she slipped off her backpack and pulled out a small bundle of letters tied with a modest ribbon. —If you don't want to listen, I understand. But please, take these. Everything I need you to know is in them. Read them in your own time. I won't come looking for you again, Kim. Not for a long while. Maybe never. I'll only return if you come for me first. Please... read them. That's all I ask.

She extended the bundle toward her. Kim said nothing. She just stared at it. The air between them was still, frozen in tension.

Shego didn't push. She waited, with the taut patience of someone standing before their final judgment.

Kim's expression wavered—surprise, suspicion, and a flicker of curiosity that tried not to rise. But Shego saw it: the war behind those green eyes.

Kim slowly raised her gaze. For the first time since waking, she really looked at Shego. And something shifted. As though she were searching—desperately—for a lie that would justify holding onto her anger. But there was none. Only vulnerability. Sincerity. And a love so raw and intact, it was almost unbearable.

Without a word, Kim took the letters. Her eyes dropped briefly to Shego's lips—pale, bare of their usual black lipstick, trembling with everything she wasn't saying.

She stared longer than she intended. When that melancholy smile tilted ever so slightly into the lopsided grin she remembered, Kim's heart betrayed her with a stutter. A flush crept up her neck.

Flustered, she looked up—only to be caught in Shego's gaze again. Those green eyes burned with a tenderness that unraveled her, pulling her past the resentment.

Shego, caught in her princess's eyes, lifted a hand reverently. Her fingers brushed Kim's cheek—so lightly, it could have been a memory.

Kim flinched, taking a step back.

It wasn't rejection. Though she'd never admit it, that touch had shaken her. Shego's bare hand, ungloved, felt unfamiliar... and yet oddly known. Like a melody she'd forgotten but still knew by heart.

The moment fractured.

Shego understood. She couldn't linger. She watched the confusion in Kim's eyes fade, replaced once again by the armor of anger.

—I've taken your letters. Now, please leave.

Shego nodded. Her lips quivered, wanting to say more. —Yeah... Kim...

She wanted to say "I love you." But the words choked her. Too heavy. Too risky.

—Goodbye, Kim,— she whispered, her voice laden with everything left unsaid.

And then she dropped from the window, cradling the cactus in her arms like it was something precious she couldn't afford to break. She didn't even think about protecting herself. As always, it was easier to care for something that represented Kim... than to try to save herself from what she was feeling.

Then, entering briefly through the back door, she headed to the kitchen, grabbed a sticky note, and scribbled a message:

Please take care of it.
I don't know when I'll be back.
—S.G.

She stuck the note onto the pot and walked out toward her hovercraft—her heart once again in pieces, and her eyes brimming with tears.

Chapter Text

Kim – Point of View (First Person)

What just happened?
What is this feeling taking over me?

I know Shego is dangerous. I've always known that. But I never imagined she could be dangerous to this extent. I still can't figure out what her true agenda is. Is she acting alone? Is she working with Drakken, or with someone else entirely? It doesn't quite seem like her style, I'll admit. And yet... I refuse to believe what everyone keeps saying—that she's changed. That she's someone new. That she's... good now.

No. I know better than that. I know better than to fall for empty words.

And yet somehow, she's managed to convince everyone around me. My family. My friends. They've all taken her side. They all believe in this new version of Shego. They say she loves me. That I loved her. That we were a couple.
A couple?
That's the most absurd thing anyone could possibly say to me.

I admit I've lost my memory. There's no point in denying it anymore. But there has to be something more to all of this.

I'm sitting at my desk, staring at the pile of letters Shego left me. I can't look away. There's a strange pull—a mix of curiosity and fear. A dull throb lingers in my head. Maybe I should sleep. Maybe in the morning I'll be able to decide what to do with them.

But I can't sleep. The headache persists, though it's nothing compared to the emotional torment that's been consuming me since I left the hospital.

My parents are trying to help. Even the twins, in their own chaotic way, are doing their best to support me. But they don't understand. They can't console me.

Five whole years of my life are just... gone. Accepting that hasn't been easy. Not a single day goes by where I don't wake up feeling incomplete—as if something essential has been carved out of me. Something I can't see or touch, but whose absence weighs on every inch of my being. I live trapped in a labyrinth with no map, surrounded by faces claiming to know me, by places that insist they've seen me happy—yet all of it feels foreign.

And still, within this dense fog of confusion, there's one emotion I do recognize. One that needs no explanation.
Grief.

Grief doesn't need memory. It settles in your bones, coils in your chest, and hurts—even if you can't quite name what you've lost.

Ron.

My best friend. My partner. The one I still remember as my boyfriend.
He's gone.

Not dead. Just torn away from my life—and my story.

Every time I think of him, a visceral anguish crushes my chest until I can't breathe. I need him now more than ever. Because I know—I know that if he were here, he'd find a way to make me feel like everything's going to be okay. His very presence was a comfort. His "ronness," that unrepeatable blend of warmth, clumsiness, and unshakeable loyalty... he made everything easier, even when the world was falling apart.

Now he's gone. And his absence is a raw, open wound, bleeding with every thought.

But he's not the only one I'm grieving.

The other wound is more abstract, more insidious. The one left by amnesia. The kind that steals names, embraces, whispered words in the dark.
How do you mourn something you don't even remember losing, yet still feel the absence of—as if part of your soul had been ripped away?

With Ron, I know whom I'm grieving. I know what was taken from me.

But with the memories... I'm grieving an absence without a shape. I cry without knowing why.
I hurt at gestures I don't understand, flinch at glances that unsettle me for reasons I can't name.
I ache at the tenderness in my mother's eyes, the cautious tone in my father's voice, the intense way the twins try to look after me—as if they're protecting a version of me I no longer recognize.

And then there's her.
Shego.

Her presence irritates me. Her gaze unsettles me. She throws everything off-balance.
And yet... there's something about her that aches. As if, somewhere deep inside me, I've already lost her too.

I'm grieving Ron.
I'm grieving my memories.
I'm grieving the person I used to be.
And everything they say I once loved.

Pain is all I have left.
And I'm not ready to let go of it.

I don't want to feel anything else.
This pain is what's keeping me upright.
It's what reminds me not to let my guard down.
What tells me I can't trust anyone—maybe not even my own family.

I know they love me. I know they want to protect me. But somehow... Shego has them under her spell now. I don't know how, or when it happened. I only know that I'm counting the days until I'm discharged from therapy.
Once I'm cleared, I'll train again.
Get back in shape.
I won't stop until I uncover the truth.

I will find out what happened during those five missing years.

But... I'm afraid to ask.

I've avoided explanations. I've postponed the answers. Maybe it's time to stop running.

Maybe that's where I need to begin.

I'm sick of this helplessness.
Sick of watching the days pass while I remain stuck.

Alright, Shego. I'll give you a chance.
Let's see what you have to say.

It seems you have a lot. The stack of letters is thick, carefully numbered.
Interesting.

The first envelope is nothing special—plain white, with a simple number 1 written in the center. I open it cautiously. Inside are several pages, all handwritten.

The penmanship is cursive. Strangely delicate.
I never would've imagined that handwriting belonged to Shego.

Let's see what she has to say...

-

Kim,

Thank you for giving me a chance by reading these letters. Please, read them all. Everything I've wanted to tell you since you woke up is here. And yes, they're letters because I'm old-fashioned that way. I guess I should blame my roots... my family history. One day I'll tell you about it, but for now, these letters have another purpose: to tell you our story from my perspective.

Before anything else, I want you to know how sorry I am about what happened with Ron. As hard as it might be to believe, he was my friend too.

-

What?
This couldn't have started in a more ridiculous way. There's no way I'm going to believe Shego and Ron were friends. Ron was afraid of her. Shego always hated him... just like she's always hated me.

-

Yes, I know... it sounds unbelievable. I won't lie to you: our road to friendship was complicated, but I'll tell you more about that later. The truth is that, especially in the last year, I came to consider him a real friend. One of the few I had. Believe me, Kim, when the lair exploded, I jumped in immediately to find both of you. I found him first. I still have nightmares about that moment.

-

You have no right to say this! It was your fault. He's dead because of you.
My vision clouds as the tears return, merciless and uninvited. I can't read another word. The weight in my chest pushes me back down onto the bed, and I curl up, trying to soothe the pain clawing its way out of my soul. That kind of pain that doesn't just hurt... it empties you out.

I don't know how long I stay like that, wrapped in silence and grief. And now that the wave has passed—at least for now—I'm not even sure I want to keep reading. Because I know what comes next... won't hurt any less.

-----

Sounds downstairs tell me my parents are back. I hear movement. If it's my mom, she'll be up here soon to check on me. I must look like a mess, and I don't want to worry her. I guess I'll do what I always do: hide in the bathroom for a while.

Five minutes later, I hear my bedroom door open.

—Kim? —It's Mom. I don't answer. I don't trust my voice not to crack—. Kim, are you here?

—In the bathroom, Ma.

—Ah... everything okay? —Her voice is now right by the door, and I back away as far as I can. I don't want her to sense something's wrong.

—Yeah, Mom.

—Dinner will be ready in an hour. You're coming down, right? —I don't feel like it, but if I don't go, she'll start to suspect.

—I'll be down in an hour.

—All right, Kim. Are you sure you're okay? Don't want to come out and talk for a bit?

—No, Mom. I just got in, I want to take a bath —I lie. I hate lying, but lately it comes too easily.

—Oh... okay. I'll see you in a bit, then.

—Okay.

When I hear my bedroom door close, I let myself slide down the wall, drained. Maybe a bath isn't such a bad idea after all. I step into the shower and let the cold water fall over my head. I've always hated cold water, but ever since I came back from the hospital, it doesn't bother me so much. In fact, it feels like my body needs it. Still, every time I soak in that coldness, my mind insists: something's missing. This isn't what I'm really looking for.

And this time is no different. I'm here, shivering under the water, more lost than ever. Sometimes I feel like my body and mind are two separate things. Like my body remembers what my mind can't reach.

I step out of the shower trembling, clutching the towel tightly. I put on clean pajamas and collapse onto the bed. I don't know if the hour Mom mentioned has already passed, and I don't want to know. I know she'll come for me if I don't go down in time.

And then my mind, as always, goes to Shego.

I hate her. I hate thinking about her. But I can't help it.

I want to remember the five years I lost. I want to know who I was during that time. I want to understand what happened and why. And it seems every answer leads to her... and that makes me sick. I hate her. They say it all happened long ago, that nothing's the same now, but for me, the memory of that rainy night at Bueno Nacho is still as fresh as if it just happened.

She tried to ruin my life. She played with my heart. And I hate her.

And now, as if that weren't enough, because of her, Ron is dead.

Her. Always her.

I wish I'd never met her. After everything, I don't know how they expect me to trust her. To believe what they all say. My family adores her. She comes in, walks around this house like it's hers, like they're her family... and I can't stand it.

—Kimmie —my father's voice pulls me from my thoughts.

—Hey, Dad.

—Everything okay, sweetheart?

—Yeah, why?

—I called you a few times earlier, but you seemed deep in thought... and it didn't look like happy thoughts. Want to talk about something?

—No, Dad. It's nothing.

—You sure? Because you know that...

—I'm sure. Is dinner ready?

—Yeah, I came to let you know.

—Okay, let's go then.

When we get to the dining room, Mom is serving the plates. She smiles at me, but I don't have the strength to return it.

—Hi, Mom. Smells delicious.

—Thanks, Kim. I figured you'd be hungry.

—Just a little —I shrug.

Dinner goes by mostly in silence. My parents try to make conversation, ask about my day, tell me about theirs... but I think they quickly realize I'm not in the mood. I try to answer just enough so they won't worry too much, but I don't have the energy for more. I don't want to hurt them with my coldness, but right now, the best I can offer is to not take it out on them.

When we're done, I get up and start clearing the plates—a small gesture of goodwill. Mom gives me a grateful smile and I just nod. I walk into the kitchen and begin rinsing the leftovers before handing the dishes to her for the dishwasher.

It's a simple, mechanical routine. Until something makes me stop.

My eyes lock onto the cactus on the counter.

My stomach turns.

It's the same cactus Shego had this afternoon.

The water keeps running between my fingers, but I no longer feel it. My whole body tenses, and without meaning to, I stare at the little plant as if it might give me answers.

Mom, of course, notices.

—Oh, that cactus... Shego brought it by today. Did you see her?

Her tone is casual, but I know she's watching my reaction closely.

I swallow hard and force myself to look away.

—Yeah.

—Did you talk?

—She talked.

Mom sighs, patient.

—What did she say?

—She wanted to explain things again.

Mom crosses her arms, leaning against the counter.

—I imagine once again you didn't let her.

I press my lips together before replying with a simple:

—No.

She nods slowly, thoughtful.

—Sweetheart... I really think you should listen to her. Don't you want to know what happened during those five years? You never ask, and you never let anyone explain.

I clench my fists.

—I hate Shego, Mom. Why would I want to hear her?

I sigh, frustrated with myself.

—But you're right... I think I'm ready to know what happened.

The words taste like defeat in my mouth, but also like relief.
Mom looks at me with a mixture of surprise and tenderness.

—Shego isn't who you remember her to be —she says softly—. And she's the one who could best tell you everything that happened during that time, especially in the last three years. After you graduated and left for college, she was the one closest to you.

My throat goes dry. I refuse to accept that image, but... I need to understand.

—Mom... from your perspective, what happened after Bueno Nacho?

I know my voice trembles a little, but I no longer care.

Mom looks at me with that infinite sweetness she always has and nods, as if she knew this moment would come sooner or later. She sighs, taking a moment before speaking, as though choosing her words carefully.

—That day you came home soaked, along with Ron. Everything seemed normal... or at least that's what you tried to make it look like. You both changed quickly because you wanted to go to the dance, but I followed you. I wanted to know how you were, how it had all ended.

I listen in silence, my heart pounding. I don't know why, but there's something in her tone that makes me uneasy.

—I found you in front of the mirror —she continues—, your eyes unfocused, as if you were looking at someone else in your reflection. I had never seen you with that expression before. Yes, there was anger... but what I saw most in your eyes was sadness.

I swallow hard. Sadness. Why would I have been sad?
I remember the fight at Bueno Nacho. I remember Shego, the rage burning in my chest, the lightning streaking across the sky as she fell. There's no room for sadness in those memories.

—You didn't want to talk that night —Mom goes on—. Not for several days. And even though you started dating Ron, and he was clearly excited... you weren't. You were distracted. You barely ate. Every time you came back from a mission, you came back angry. You tried to hide it, but I noticed. It was as if you were carrying some burden you didn't know what to do with.

I frown. I don't remember any of that.

—But with time —Mom says with a gentle smile—, little by little, you started to recover. You became the same Kim as always: energetic, smiling, happy with Ron.

But then her expression shifts, becoming more thoughtful.

—The only thing that didn't change, at least for a year, was your reaction every time you had to face Drakken and Shego. After every encounter with them, your mood turned dark. You seemed more irritable, more distant. I once tried asking what was going on... and all you told me was that Shego confused you.

My chest tightens.

—What... what did I mean by that? —I ask in a low voice, almost not wanting to hear the answer.

Mom watches me tenderly, but doesn't press.

—I don't know. You didn't elaborate. And I didn't push. I didn't understand at the time... but with time, I came to know what you meant.

My hands curl into fists.

—Do you want me to tell you?

—Not now, Mom —I answer quickly, sensing that something in me isn't ready to hear that part. I take a deep breath, forcing myself to stay composed—. What else happened that year after Bueno Nacho?

Mom nods, respecting my decision.

—Well, the usual. You went back to school, and with that came the usual drama. You and Ron were a couple, and you kept going on missions like always.

—What was my relationship with Ron like? —I ask, a mix of curiosity and fear in my voice. I don't know why it's so hard to ask, as if just saying his name makes everything hurt more.
—That year in particular, or overall?

I think for a moment. I'm not sure I can handle the answer, but I also know I need it. It's a hollow ache in my chest.

—Overall.

Mom smiles, as if dusting off a warm memory that still brings her comfort. I don't know if it will do the same for me... or if it will shatter me.

—You were together the rest of high school and a little while after starting college. In the beginning, Ron was... nervous. For two full weeks, he would call you in the middle of the night just to ask if you were really still his girlfriend.

A soft laugh escapes me before I can stop it. It's fragile, barely a flicker.

—Seriously? Why would he do that?

But I already know. Because it was Ron. Because he needed reassurance, even if it was obvious. Because he always doubted he was enough, even when I never wanted anyone else. Or at least... that's what I believed back then.

Mom shrugs with a gentle smile.

—You know how Ron was.

And I do. I know it so well that the image of him saying my name, laughing nervously, clumsy and adorable, pierces straight through my chest. The laugh that escaped a second ago turns thick and heavy. Breathing hurts, as if my memories weigh too much.

—I miss him so much, Mom.

And the moment I say it, everything falls apart. I can't hold it in anymore. The knot in my throat unravels, and the pain cuts through me like a dagger that's been waiting for just the right moment to strike.

Mom comes over and hugs me without a second thought. Her body is warm and steady, and for a moment I cling to her as if that could somehow stop everything from unraveling around me. My tears fall uncontrollably. It's the first time, since everything collapsed, that I let someone see me cry for him. For Ron. For what we had. For what we never got to have.

I cry for his laugh, for his awkwardness, for his enormous heart. I cry for the last time I saw him alive, for the guilt that won't let me go, for the simple, crushing fact that I'm still here and he's not.

Mom says nothing. She gently strokes my hair, letting me sink into the silence, allowing me to be broken. She doesn't try to fix me. She just holds me.

When I finally calm down, I slowly pull away. I wipe my tears with the sleeve of my sweater, though the dampness in my eyes doesn't fully leave.

—Tell me more about him... about us, — I whisper, as if I need to hold on to him a little longer through words, as if the telling might bring something of him back to me.

Mom nods, her gaze filled with warmth, and continues.

—After those two weeks of uncertainty, Ron relaxed a bit and honestly, things between you two didn't change much. To the casual observer, if someone didn't know you were dating, you looked like the same best friends as always. You went on a few dates, and when you did, those were pretty much the only times you held hands. I never saw you kiss in public, though I know it happened a couple of times in your room.

—Mom! — I exclaim, horrified.

She laughs.

—What? You asked. And it's not like I was spying on you—I found out by accident.

I cover my face with my hands, feeling my cheeks burn.

—I don't know if I want to keep listening to this.

—Oh, yes you do, — she teases warmly. —Don't pretend you weren't curious.

I don't respond, because... well, she's right.

—One of the rare times you had a formal date, Ron took you to Le Chez.

My jaw drops.

—Seriously?! How did he even manage to get us in there?

Mom smiles with amusement.

—He asked you to order from the kids' menu.

I groan, burying my face in my hands.

—Oh no... that's so Ron.

—Yeah. You came home mortified that night.

I chuckle softly, imagining the scene.

—And then what happened?

Mom sighs.

—Not much changed in your relationship. You stayed together through the rest of high school and into college. Ron decided to study culinary arts in France, and you went to Georgetown University in Washington D.C. for International Relations.

I nod, prompting her to continue.

—You tried long-distance for three months... and then you broke up.

My brows furrow.

—How is that possible? Just the distance was enough to separate us?

Mom looks at me with patience, weighing her response.

—I think it was more than just the distance. But... are you sure you want to hear this now?

I hesitate a moment, but end up nodding.

—Yes, Mom. I need to know.

She exhales slowly before continuing.

—You told me yourself, later on, that you'd been wanting to end things with Ron before that... but you couldn't bring yourself to do it. You didn't want to hurt him, so you tried to make it work. But in the end, it was him who decided to break up.

My lips part in surprise.

—Ron... broke up with me?

Mom nods gently.

—You told me he said the distance made him realize you worked better as friends. That even though he loved you, he'd always felt a constant insecurity in the relationship. And that now, not having you by his side all the time, he finally felt... at peace with himself.

The information hits me like a weight pressing down on my chest.

—That hurt you a lot, Kim. But you also told me that, in some strange way... you felt relieved.

I frown.

—Relieved?

—You didn't explain why at the time, but... I understood it later.

Her words leave a strange echo in my mind.

—After that, you didn't talk much for about three months. But eventually, you picked your friendship back up like nothing had happened—especially this last year, after Ron finished his studies and moved back here.

I press a hand to my forehead, trying to take it all in. It's a lot.

—Thanks for telling me all this, Mom. I think that's enough for today.

Mom looks at me with understanding.

—I'll always be here when you're ready to talk, Kimmie.

—I know, Ma. Thanks.

—Get some rest, sweetheart.

—You too... Mom, do you think I could go see Ron soon?

Her expression softens.

—Of course. We can go to the cemetery this weekend.

—Thanks, Mom. Good night.

—Good night, my love.

When I reached my room, I collapsed onto the bed as if my body could no longer bear the weight of everything I'd just heard. The ceiling blurred the moment my eyes met it. I wasn't sure if my conversation with Mom had given me more answers or simply cracked me open in new places. I felt something slowly crumbling inside me, and I couldn't even name it.

What had been going through my mind that year after Bueno Nacho? According to her story, it seemed something in me had shattered without my realizing it. As if I had kept going, wearing a well-crafted mask—one that convinced everyone... except her. Was it possible I hadn't noticed either? Had I really been that disconnected from myself?

And my relationship with Ron...

There was something that didn't add up. Something that kept grating in the depths of me. The last thing I remembered clearly was that night: the rain pounding on the roof, the sound of our ragged breaths while we were tied up in Drakken's lair, the way our words stumbled over each other as we confessed what we felt. In that moment, everything seemed to make sense. As if the universe had been waiting for that precise instant to bring us together. I thought we were meant to be—that we were that kind of story, the kind that endures everything, that defies time, distance... even death.

Ron was my person.

Wasn't he?

Because if he was... why didn't we work?

Why does it feel like something was lost before it ever had the chance to fully bloom?

Why did my mother speak of relief? Of distance that brought peace?

Was it me?

Was it him?

Was it the weight of everything we never said?

I try to find myself in that past. I push myself to remember more, now that I have anchor points. Maybe, with the details my mother gave me, something will unlock within me. Maybe I'll be able to feel—if only for a second—what I felt back then.

I close my eyes. Breathe deep. I sink into the silence surrounding me, trying to open my mind, to let the images return, the sounds, the scents, the emotions... anything, really, anything at all.

But nothing comes. Only a dull, sharp pain, right in the center of my forehead. As if my own body were resisting the memory. As if, deep down, it already knew that whatever lies buried in those recollections won't bring comfort... only more loss.

And that terrifies me.

Because what if the truth is worse than I imagine?

What if, in recovering what I've forgotten, I don't find peace—but more reasons to stay broken?

I cling to the pillow tightly, as if it could protect me from the emptiness growing inside me. And then I admit it, silently, to myself:

I miss him. And I lost him. And I don't even know how.

Chapter Text

It seems I must have fallen asleep, though I can't pinpoint exactly when. When I open my eyes, the clock on my nightstand reads nine in the morning. I know I'm alone in the house, and that I should start my routine—but I can't bring myself to move. Not today.

I stay in bed for another hour, drifting through thoughts, trying to make sense of it all… trying to remember something more—anything that might offer some clarity. But it's useless. Everything remains just as blurry.

Eventually, I get up. After a trip to the bathroom, I go through the physical therapy exercises my therapist gave me. Then I grab the granola bar I’d left on the nightstand and eat it without much appetite. I sit in front of the computer and try to focus on my studies. I’ve been taking online classes for a month now, hoping to catch up and re-enroll in university this coming semester—the one that begins in late August.

It’s so frustrating. I can recall academic concepts and theories with surprising ease, but everything tied to experience—emotions, faces, memories that involve actual people—feels like it belongs to someone else. As if my mind chose to erase precisely the parts that made me human. I keep telling myself not to spiral into that thought again, but silence always brings me back to it, forcing me to confront the void again and again.

I try to focus on the assignment due today, but my mind keeps wandering. I can’t stop thinking about what Mom told me yesterday… or about Shego’s letter. It’s still there on the floor, exactly where I left it last night. I stare at it for a while, as if I could somehow decide whether I’m ready to face whatever’s left inside. Maybe if I finish reading it, I’ll find some answers.

I pick it up. It feels strangely heavy in my hands. I find the spot where I left off, take a deep breath, and keep reading.

---

I won’t dwell on this any longer. I just wanted you to know that I understand how important Ron was to you. I’m grateful you had him all those years, and I can only imagine the pain of not having him now. I see it, even when you try to hide it. And it breaks my heart to see you suffer, Kim. All I’ve ever wanted is to comfort you.

---

Comfort me? Her?
Bitterness wells up in my throat before I can stop it. Does she truly believe she can talk to me about Ron—as if she understands what I’m feeling?
He’s gone.
And no matter how many routines I build, how many lectures I listen to, how many practiced smiles I wear in public, the emptiness is always there.
There is no comfort to be had… especially not from her.

---

But I understand why you’ve kept your distance—why you haven’t let me get close again. The memory of that night at Bueno Nacho is still fresh in your mind, as vivid as if it happened only yesterday. And I understand, Kim. I truly do. I know that every emotion you now associate with me is stained by that night… by the pain, the betrayal, the confusion. Believe me, that night brought more consequences than you could ever imagine. But I swear to you, despite everything, we found a way through it.

---

Found a way through it?
Does she really believe something like that can be overcome so easily?
And yet… there’s something in her written voice. I don’t know. A strange kind of sincerity that unsettles me.

---

I know how impossible that must sound right now. For you, that night may mark the end of something you’re only just beginning to remember. But for me, it was merely a stumble—one of many—on a long, tangled path we walked together.
To help you understand—so that, maybe one day, you’ll feel something other than hate and pain when you think of me—let me go back even further.
Let me start with something you used to know about me, something that was part of the bond we shared: my story.

---

Her story? Now she wants to tell me her story?
What I need are answers.
But of course, Shego never does things the way anyone else would.
I just hope it’s worth it.
I hope that when I finally reach the last paragraph of all this, there’s something —anything—that explains how we possibly managed to get past that night.
If we ever did.

---

I was six years old when the multicolored comet tore my life apart.
I’m the third of five siblings. That day, I was watching the twins—the youngest—at the base of a tree. Hego and Mego, my older brothers, were running nearby, drawing the attention of our parents, who had just stepped out the back door to join us.
I remember nothing else. Only that I woke up in a hospital a couple of months later. Our parents were gone.
We survived… but with powers.
We were taken in by our father’s only brother and his wife. I won’t go into detail, but let’s just say they weren’t kind.
It was under their roof that Team Go was born—the ‘superhero’ group I used to belong to.
It was created for their benefit, not ours.
My brothers seemed to enjoy it, or maybe pretending to enjoy it was the only escape they had.
I couldn’t pretend. And that only got me into more trouble.
Until one day, I ran away. Left everything behind.

---

I couldn’t help frowning at that part.
Shego has brothers? With names just as strange as hers?
And they were part of a superhero team?
How had I never heard about this?
At least not until I was sixteen—two years into knowing her—and even Wade never mentioned it.
But beyond that, something in her story stirred something deep inside me.
Six years old.
Six.
How do you survive losing your parents at that age… only to wake up with powers you can’t even begin to understand?
I don’t want to imagine that chaos.
And as much as it pains me to admit it…
She doesn’t sound like someone who’s ever had it easy.
Not even close.

---

Becoming a villain was never my first choice.
All I wanted was to escape.

The first few months were brutal—no money, cold, hunger gnawing at me like a second skin. Desperate, the only thing I could think to do was steal just to stay alive. And soon, I discovered I was good at it. Exceptionally good.
I was only sixteen.

Word of my skills as a thief spread quickly through the underground, and it didn’t take long before mercenary work followed. The pay was good, and for the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere.
After years of feeling misplaced—even within my own family—that meant more than I could admit.

But ego has a way of betraying you. I got cocky, got tangled up with the wrong names, the powerful kind that don’t like being crossed.
That’s when Drakken found me.

You don’t need me to introduce him.
Everything about him annoyed me at first—but I have to admit, he saved me from a pretty grim end.
I was at my most rebellious then, all fire and fight, and still… he took me in. Offered me a place.

I never showed it—and I only recently told him—but he’s been like a father to me.
If you ever wondered why I stayed by his side so long, there’s your answer.
Even if I made his life hell—half for sport, half out of habit—it was, deep down, my twisted way of thanking him for rescuing me.

---

Well. That certainly explains a few things.
It had always struck me as strange—someone so capable, staying under the command of someone like him.
I suppose there’s more loyalty in Shego than I’d ever been willing to see.

---

One year into working with him, I met you.
I was seventeen. You were fourteen.
At that age, that difference felt like a chasm.

At first, I thought you were an insufferable brat.
But it didn’t take long for me to notice your potential.
From the very beginning, something about you pulled at me.

At first, I thought it was admiration. Maybe respect. Definitely competition.
You were the only one who ever pushed me to be better. The only one who truly challenged me.

After a few fights with you, I went back to training—something I’d given up long ago. And every time I trained, I thought of you.
At first, I told myself it was because I wanted to beat you.
But little by little, I caught myself watching you more than necessary—how you moved, how you walked, the tone of your voice, your favorite fighting stances…

I lied to myself, said I was analyzing weaknesses, preparing for advantage.
But then I began to notice the exact shade of your hair.
That faint strawberry scent that always lingered around you.
The fierce green of your eyes—my favorite color, by the way.
The tiny freckles across your nose.
The subtle shifts in your smile, depending on your mood.

And I had to admit it:
By the end of those two years, there was no doubt left.
I liked you.
In more ways than I was ready to name.

---

I felt something stir in my chest. That kind of detail… so specific, so intimate…
It unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.
The sudden warmth in my cheeks caught me off guard.
And worse—some small, traitorous part of me smiled.

But I couldn’t help wondering: what does any of this have to do with Bueno Nacho?
Where is she going with this?

---

It took everything in me to admit it.
I couldn’t even say it to myself, let alone anyone else—and especially not to you .

So in a desperate attempt to deflect, I started treating you with sarcasm.
I teased you. Provoked you. That’s where all the nicknames came from.
I’ve never known how to handle my emotions, Kim. Not my fears, not my past, not the things that scarred me.

Admitting weakness terrifies me… but now I can say it:
You’ve always been my greatest weakness.
And also—my greatest strength.

I’ll end this letter here.
In the ones that follow, I’ll tell you how everything evolved from that moment on.

But before I go, I want you to understand something important about this collection of letters:
Each one is accompanied by a song I wrote for you—each tied to the time I’m writing about.
Inside the envelope, there’s a USB drive where you’ll find them, arranged in order.

This first song…
I wrote it at the end of our second year, when I finally accepted how I felt about you—and had no idea what to do with it.

No matter what you decide after reading these letters and listening to my songs, I need you to know one thing with absolute clarity:
You are the most important person in the world to me.
You have been from the beginning.
You still are.
And I’m certain you always will be.

Until the next letter, Princess.

—Shego

---

My eyes traced the final lines without blinking, as if breaking contact would throw me off balance.
I closed the letter, but the words clung to me, echoing through my mind like something I couldn’t shut off.

This… this wasn’t what I expected.
I thought I’d find an explanation. Maybe a confession.
Something that would fit into the chaos that is Shego.
But not this .
Not something so raw.
So intimate .

I wasn’t ready for her written voice to be so unguarded—for the way she stripped herself bare just as I was still trying to keep my own armor up.
And especially not for that “princess” at the end,
slipping past my ribs like a rebel spark
and settling in my chest, stubborn and warm.

There’s still so much I don’t understand.
But one thing, at least, I can no longer deny:
Something inside me shifted.

And I have no idea how to put it back.

Chapter Text

Once again, the same pattern: a few answers... but so many more questions. I have to admit, she did a good job keeping me intrigued—almost forcing me to read the second letter. Although I would've preferred she skipped the confessions—I'm not sure I'm ready to hear songs that, apparently, carry deep feelings for me—I can't deny that part of me wants to understand this Shego who's always seemed like an enigma. Maybe the songs will help me decode her. Maybe they won't. I'll save them for later. Right now, I need answers. Hopefully, this new letter will finally talk about what happened at Bueno Nacho.

I find the letter tucked inside my desk drawer. The envelope is identical to the last, with the number two written on the front. This time, there seems to be nothing else inside apart from the letter itself.

---

Hey, Kimmie,

I already told you what happened to me from the moment I met you, but back then, all of that had been nothing more than an internal storm. It wasn't until you started dating Ron—and it looked like things were getting serious—that everything became painfully real for me. You were sixteen; I was nineteen. Still an uncomfortable age gap, a line I couldn't cross without making everything inappropriate. And yet, I felt an almost desperate need to let you know, somehow, what was happening inside me.
But the incident with the diablos and Bueno Nacho was still fresh in everyone's minds. It had left a tension between us that I found unbearable. I tried to ignore it, to behave as if nothing had changed. But after a few encounters, it was obvious you weren't interested in returning to how things used to be between us.

---

Now we're finally getting to the part that really interests me. Let's see if it matches what my mother told me.
And who would've thought... Shego, jealous of Ron?

---

For a whole year, every time we clashed, I could feel your disdain—your resentment—cutting through me. Believe me, that year was one of the hardest I've ever lived through—and that's saying a lot. I've had a difficult life. But for some reason, not seeing even a flicker of camaraderie in your eyes, not even a shadow of the respect I thought you had for me... that broke me. It shattered something in me I didn't know how to mend.
I fell into a depression.

---

The timing matches what Mom said... but is it even possible that Shego felt like that?
And yes... before the diablos incident, I did respect her. Secretly, I even admired her.

---

Now I can call it what it was, but back then, I didn't want to—couldn't—accept that you had that kind of power over me. That you meant so much to me. So I took that pain, that sadness, and I transformed them into something more familiar: anger and indifference. Emotions I, unfortunately, knew how to wield.

That year, we had some of our fiercest battles.

I was furious with you. And believe me, I wanted to hate you. I wanted it with everything in me.
But I couldn't. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't. I wanted to hurt you when we fought—truly wanted to, more than once—but I was never able to go beyond the superficial damage, the kind "allowed" in our usual game. Something inside me simply... wouldn't let me.

Until one day... something changed.

That spark returned to your eyes—the one I thought was long gone. Seeing it threw me off balance completely. I let my guard down, and without hesitation, you landed a kick to my chest that jolted me back into harsh reality. I was filled with rage. How could a simple look from you erase an entire year's worth of pain in an instant?
I came at you with everything I had, blinded by a cocktail of fury and disbelief... and you laughed. Had I heard that right? You laughed.
All that year, our fights had been cold, silent—drained of everything that had once made them ours. No banter, no teasing, none of those subtle, charged innuendos only you and I understood. But there you were, laughing like nothing had changed.
I let my guard down again, confused, and didn't see you coming. You knocked me off balance, we fell to the ground—you on top of me—with that smug little grin I hated so much... and had missed more than I'd ever admit.

—What's the matter, Shego? Already tired?— you said, looking me straight in the eyes.

I was speechless. Now you were mocking me too? I didn't know how to react. I was so full of conflicting emotions, so lost in my own chaos, that the only thing I managed to do was hurl you away from me violently. You rolled across the floor, got up with ease, and with another smirk, you said:
—Cat got your tongue?
And yes... it had.
But of course, I would never have admitted it.
So I simply readied myself to keep fighting. But just then, Drakken's lair began to collapse, and Ron came running toward you.

---

Was I the one who reached out first...?
No. That can't be.
Right now, it's unthinkable to even consider forgiving Shego. Maybe it's because I still place the full weight of Ron's death on her shoulders.
Sometimes, it feels like I'm drowning in a sea of contradictions.
It's all so confusing.
What could've driven me to act like that back then?
What kind of connection did we have that allowed me to forget my resentment—even if just for a second?

---

The days between that encounter and the next were nothing short of torture.
I was furious.
At you, of course. Because you had spent an entire year treating me with cold disdain, and suddenly, as if nothing had happened, you seemed to want to reclaim the dynamic we once had—just when I had tried to do the same and you rejected me without a second thought.

But I was also furious with myself. Because despite everything, my heart wanted to forgive you. It wanted to leap into the void at the faintest sign from you, any gesture that hinted at the connection we once shared. It clung desperately to even the shadow of what we had been.

I hated Drakken for lighting the spark that set off this entire chain of disasters, for pushing you to hate me over something that wasn't my fault. I hated life itself, which seemed to delight in pulling me back into your orbit, only to break me open from within.

And above all... I hated the way I kept being drawn to you, as if none of that mattered.
Part of me longed to forget it all and embrace that sudden shift in your attitude. I wanted to believe there was still something left between us. But the other part—the one that ultimately prevailed—wasn't ready to let go of the anger, or the resentment, or the wounded pride.

---

Shego didn't know about Drakken's plan?
No... that can't be. She's always been his right hand, his accomplice, his shadow. She's never been on the sidelines. How could she not have known?

---

The next time we saw each other, you were back to your teasing and provocations. I tried not to respond. I was so hurt, so exhausted, that those emotions completely blinded me... and I hurt you.
For the first time in all the years we'd been fighting, I didn't regulate the temperature of my plasma. I didn't hold back the heat. I didn't stop the claws on my gloves.
And I burned you.
That scar on your back is proof that I failed.

---

What scar? What is she talking about...?
I stand abruptly, pulled by some instinctive force, and walk over to the mirror. With trembling fingers, I lift my shirt.
Oh...
Those marks?  I never really knew how they got there. But now... now that I look closely, tracing them with my eyes... yes, they do resemble the shape of three claws.
Is Shego telling the truth? Could everything I've been told actually be real?
A heavy chill settles in my gut. I return to the bed, the weight of something dark and ancient dragging across my shoulders. And I keep reading.

---

Your scream tore me out of the rage I had been consumed by. The moment I heard it, remorse pierced through me like a spear. The look on your face—a haunting blend of disbelief and pain—was seared into my memory. And it's still there, vivid, every time I close my eyes.
I froze. For one eternal second, I had no idea what to do. I wanted to help you, to say something, anything, but I didn't dare. I turned and ran... went to get Drakken out of there without looking back.

It was a while before Drakken launched another attack. And in that space of time, I had far too much room to sit with my shame, my grief, my anger. I used it all as armor. I convinced myself that I didn't care if I ever saw you again, that it didn't matter if you chose to hate me for the rest of your life. I drilled into myself the idea that I needed to forget you. That you could only ever be my enemy.

When we finally crossed paths again, I was exhausted. Teetering on the edge of mental and emotional collapse. You had come to stop Drakken, like always, and I went straight for you, just wanting it over with. But to my surprise... you started joking again.
And I couldn't take it.

I didn't want to hurt you anymore, but at the same time... I wanted to end you. Your behavior disoriented me so much I thought I was losing my mind. Our fight escalated. You kept laughing, provoking, and all I could feel was my frustration boiling over. Until finally, exasperated by my silence, you shouted at me mid-attack:

—What? No jokes, no jabs, not even a sarcastic comment? Have you finally accepted how bad you are at them?

That was the last straw.
You launched into a flying kick.
I caught you by the ankle before you could reach me and hurled you away with force.
And then... I exploded.
—Shut up, Kimberly! That's enough!...

---

Kimberly?
Did Shego just call me by my full name...? She never does. Not once.
She must have been truly angry. Or... hurt?
It unsettles me. It intrigues me. I hate to admit it... but I want to know more.

---

—Shut up, Kimberly! That's enough! You have no right to come here and pretend everything is fine. You spent an entire year hating me for something that wasn't my fault, tearing apart the dynamic we once had. I tried, back then, to salvage it—to bring us back—but you were the one who turned away. So no, you don't get to show up now and act like nothing's changed... because it has. I respected you, Kim. I always did. And I thought you respected me too. We were more than hero and villain, more than nemeses. I always saw you as my equal—the only one who could truly challenge me. That dynamic we had, the teasing, the banter, the strange camaraderie... it was all built on that respect. But not anymore. Not now, Kim.

I spent a long time feeling ashamed of that outburst. Back then, I thought that showing what I truly felt was weakness. I don't see it that way anymore—and if these past few weeks haven't proven that to you, then I don't know what will.

---

—No kidding... You are like a puppy begging for scraps.

The laugh escapes me in a whisper, soft and startled—an involuntary reflex. I flinch at the sound of my own voice.
Did I just respond... out loud?

I'm alone. Alone in my room, letter in hand, and still—I feel embarrassed.
It's maddening. Infuriating. Impossible to explain.

---

... but in that moment, as I realized everything I'd said, the shame rushed in. I was angry at myself for being so exposed... and I just wanted to run. To get out of there as fast as I could.
But you stopped me.

"Shego..." you said, your voice cracking. That was enough to freeze me in place. My feet refused to move, even as I fought not to look at you. I knew that if I did, I would cave. And I had already decided I wouldn't.
You called me again, and still I didn't turn. And then you said:

—I don't hate you.

And my stupid heart wanted to forgive you right then and there.

—I don't hate you, Shego. I know this whole year made it seem like I did... and I'm sorry. The truth is, I wanted to hate you. I really tried. But I couldn't. That's what made me so angry. Hating you was easier than facing everything else. I've known for a long time that it wasn't your fault... but I didn't have the strength to let it go. And I'm sorry. It wasn't fair to you, not for a second. I've always respected you. I still do. And I wish things could go back to how they were... even if I know they probably can't. Still... I don't know why, but I always felt like what we had was something more than a hero-villain game. Forgive me, Shego. Please. I'm so sorry.

---

I said that? It sounds so foreign now.
Could it be that I'm avoiding something again—and channeling it all into this?
No... no, that can't be.

And that part—more than hero and villain? What was I even thinking? According to my mom—and according to Shego—I was already dating Ron by then. Did I really feel that way? What did I mean?

---

I remember every word you said. Burned into me like a brand.
Because they stirred something inside me that I wasn't ready to face. I didn't respond, didn't look back. I just left. I didn't even care that I was leaving Drakken behind. I took an extended break from everything, and we didn't cross paths for months.

When we finally did meet again, you were the one who looked more tense... though honestly, so was I. But in that time away, I found the space I needed to untangle my thoughts, my emotions, my intentions.
As much as it pained me to admit it—as much as it went against the persona I'd spent years perfecting—I couldn't do anything but forgive you.
My mind, my body, my instincts... they all agreed:
I wanted to forgive you.
So I did.

---

Villain persona...? Is that what she meant?
Was the Shego I knew never the real Shego? Just a role? A mask?
So many questions, and not a single clear answer.
I feel trapped in a maze with no way out.

---

I hope that by sharing all this with you, I've managed—if only a little—to lift some of the fog around your thoughts. I don't expect you to remember me... but maybe, just maybe, you'll allow yourself to get to know me. And maybe, just maybe... forgive me.

You did it once, Kim. You forgave me for something terrible.
I'm holding on to the hope that you might do it again.

---

I don't know what to think after all this. My head is starting to ache... it's like the ground beneath me isn't steady anymore.

---

To close this, I'm leaving you the song that goes with this letter. I started writing it during those days away—the ones I mentioned—when I began to understand what that year of chaos had truly meant for me. I poured into it the most honest feelings I was finally able to face.
I realized I wanted to know you. And I wanted you to know me.
I wanted to give you anything you asked for... and that's when I realized—only halfway, perhaps—that I was, hopelessly, in love with you.

Thank you for reading this, Kim.

S.I.G.

---

S.I.G.? What does that even stand for? Her full initials? A nickname?
Doesn't matter.
This is... too much. I have more questions now than I did before, and honestly—I'm afraid.

On the surface, everything I've been told seems to be true. And somewhere deep inside me, a quiet, persistent voice keeps whispering that yes... it is.
And that terrifies me.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what to think.
I could just ignore all of it—accept that this is my life now and keep going like none of this ever happened...
But would that be fair?
Would that be honest—with myself?

I don't know.

I'm going to listen to the songs. They seem important.
Maybe they'll help me piece this all together. I hope so.

It's settled: I'll listen to them, and that will be it for today.
And maybe... for a while longer after that.

First letter song: 

Break my heart 

Chapter Text

Narrator – Kim's POV

Kim lay on her back atop the bed, unmoving, her gaze fixed on some indistinct point on the ceiling. Outwardly, she appeared calm. But inside, a fierce, chaotic, deafening war was being waged. She had just finished listening to the two songs Shego had mentioned in her letters, and although she forced herself to maintain a neutral expression, her heart had not obeyed. It had trembled.

Part of her resisted admitting just how much she had liked those songs—how deeply she had been affected by the voice that seemed to draw every word from the very core of feeling. But what unsettled her the most wasn't that—it was the growing suspicion, now more solid than ever, that this wasn't some alternate reality, as she had so desperately tried to believe. Shego's words matched her mother's account, and no matter how hard she tried to deny it, deep down, she knew it was true.

Even so, she decided she needed to test that uncomfortable certainty. She would talk to Wade. Maybe even Monique. She needed an external perspective—something to help make sense of what she was feeling. But even if all of it turned out to be true... how could she picture herself as Shego's girlfriend? The very thought seemed absurd.

It was unthinkable. Shego had been a villain—aggressive, cynical, a thief. She embodied everything Kim Possible had spent her life fighting against. And yet... the Shego she had seen since waking up didn't match that image. She was calmer now, more empathetic, more layered. Had she changed? Or had Kim been wrong all along?

Confusion enveloped her like a dense fog. She sat up slowly, closed her eyes, and pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to quell the migraine now blooming behind her eyes. What if she'd been wrong this whole time? What if Shego wasn't—had never been—who she believed?

But even then, there were thoughts she couldn't allow herself to entertain. She couldn't, for instance, imagine being drawn to Shego. Of course not. It wasn't true that she found those hypnotic green eyes impossible to look away from, or that her heart skipped a beat whenever Shego's perfectly shaped lips curled into that insolent half-smile. Her skin didn't tingle when Shego's fingers brushed her cheek, and she certainly didn't feel a quiet warmth settle over her when she was pulled into those arms, into that scent of mint... and that other smell, like the air after a thunderstorm, that still haunted her...

Kim shook her head, desperate to banish the thread of thoughts unraveling in her mind, but only managed to worsen the pain. No, she told herself firmly, there's no way I could be attracted to Shego, as if saying it might somehow make it true.

She let herself fall back onto the bed and, in a nearly childish gesture, curled up beneath the sheets, as though she could hide from the world. She wished, with all her strength, to fall asleep and wake to find it had all been a bad dream.

But it wasn't.

By morning, the physical ache had subsided. Her head no longer throbbed, but the weight of confusion still lingered—latent, like a stubborn fog that refused to lift. After completing her morning routine, Kim sat at the edge of her bed, staring at her desk, still cluttered with letters and the USB containing the songs.

She was exhausted. Exhausted from thinking, from doubting, from piecing together a story she didn't remember living.

So she chose to simplify. To focus solely on what she did know for certain: Ron was dead. And she had not yet come to terms with his loss. She also knew she needed to catch up on her studies to return to university soon—and that she had to recover her physical condition completely.

Everything else could wait.

She gathered the letters Shego had left her, unplugged the USB, and carefully placed everything in the bottom drawer of her desk. She locked it, as though sealing away a part of herself she wasn't ready to face.

Then she sat in front of her computer, drew a deep breath, and began working on her academic assignments as if nothing had happened.

Even though, deep down, she knew everything had changed.

—

Narrator – Shego's POV

Shego moved through the narrow ventilation duct with feline stealth. She advanced with the ease of someone who had done this dozens of times before, but this time, her movements were edged with renewed tension. After chasing leads that had led nowhere, this one might finally bring her concrete answers.

She reached her intended destination: HenchCo's server room. After confirming the space was empty, she dropped silently to the floor, landing with the weightlessness of a shadow. Wasting no time, she pulled out a compact laptop and set to work with swift precision. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, her analytical gaze missing nothing as she began bypassing the company's cybersecurity protocols. HenchCo's defenses were good—as expected—but at least on-site, Shego was better.

Within minutes, she had breached the system's barriers. She launched her search, typing in the names of her three main suspects—Killigan, Fiske, and Dementor. She sifted through their recent order histories with clinical thoroughness. Fiske's files turned up nothing useful. Neither did Dementor's. She was just about to dismiss Killigan when something caught her eye: a single request logged on the very day of the incident. Killigan had ordered one henchman that day. The name: Arnold Cooper.

The report showed that Cooper had been dispatched to a specific address... and as Shego read it again, a chill ran down her spine. It was a location deep in the desert—right where Drakken's old lair used to be. The file also showed that Killigan had signed off on the service that same night.

Shego's blood began to boil. Frustration surged, laced with a flicker of triumph for finally uncovering something useful. She clenched her fists to resist the impulse to destroy something—anything—in the room. She completed the search with surgical efficiency, downloading every file related to her three suspects and ensuring no trace of her presence remained. Still undetected, she retraced her path and slipped back the way she had come.

—

Later, in the deceptive calm of her California hotel room—just a few miles from HenchCo's headquarters—Shego reviewed the data with meticulous care. The plan was now clear: track down Arnold Cooper, extract every bit of information he had, and then go straight for Killigan—unless Cooper revealed something that warranted a change in course. Once the strategy was set, all she could do was wait for the next day to arrive.

And with silence as her only companion, her mind—just as it always did when given too much time—drifted back to Kim. It had only been a week since she'd last seen her, when she'd handed over the letters, but the absence already felt like a year. She reached out to the nightstand and picked up a photo album that had accompanied her since arriving at the hotel—one she flipped through every night. Still, that didn't stop her from opening it again.

She turned page after page, eyes moving with a blend of tenderness and ache, until she reached a photo of Kim seen from behind, glancing over her shoulder with that mischievous smile she wore when Shego caught her mid-prank. It was from that summer in Sicily. The memory of that beach—the warm breeze, Kim's laughter—hit her like a wave. She wondered whether Kim had read the letters. Whether she thought of her. What she might be feeling now.

Those questions lingered in her mind until, at last, sleep overtook her.

—

At dawn, Shego packed her few belongings, made the final adjustments to her gear, and reviewed the details of her operation. By exactly noon, she was perched atop a building across from HenchCo, watching her target like a hawk. Arnold Cooper.

Her research had told her he usually left around this time for lunch at a Bueno Nacho a few blocks down. And, like clockwork, at 12:10 sharp, Arnold strolled out, whistling a cheerful tune, utterly unaware that his hunter had begun to move.

Shego descended from her vantage point and followed him in a rented car, keeping just enough distance to avoid drawing attention. She watched him walk into the restaurant and slipped in behind him. She stood in line just a step away as he checked his phone, completely absorbed. She even ordered a salad. Once both had their meals, she sat across from him without saying a word. Arnold looked up, ready to object—only to find a hand, glowing with green plasma, inches from his face.

—Stay silent and perfectly still, or I'll blow your brains out right here,— Shego murmured in a voice as low as it was lethal, her words laced with a terrifying calm that chilled the man's blood in his veins.

The henchman swallowed hard, raising his trembling hands in surrender. Shego pulled her hand back but didn't extinguish the glow. The heat radiating from it was intense—he could feel it, even from a safe distance.

—You’d better answer fast—and with the damn truth…— she whispered, a threat simmering in every syllable, —or I swear you’ll regret it.

—U-u-understood,— Arnold stammered, pale as a ghost, his voice cracking and breath shallow.

—Do you remember your mission from May 10th?— Shego asked bluntly, her gaze sharp as a scalpel.

—Um... not specifically...

—Do you remember being assigned to Lair 592, in the middle of the New Mexico desert? Coordinates: 35°25'08.2"N 104°00'05.9"W. You were under Dr. Drakken's command.

—Yes, I remember that assignment,— he replied immediately, nervous, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead.

—Good. Now tell me everything. From the beginning. Don't leave out a single detail.

—That day... I was home, asleep. It was around seven in the morning when my pager went off. It said there was an urgent mission and I had to report to HQ by nine for briefing. I went, and there they gave me the coordinates of the lair and a letter. I was told the client had left it for me to read before starting the job.

—What did the letter say?

—It told me I had to make a stop first, somewhere I'd receive further instructions.

—Where?

—An abandoned shack, in the middle of nowhere—about ten miles west of the lair. I don't remember the exact coordinates...

—Do you still have the letter?

—No...

Shego clenched her teeth, her jaw tight as if she were holding herself back from tearing his throat out.

—Goddammit. Can you give me anything else to help locate it?

—I'm not sure... I think there was a river nearby. That's all I remember...

—And then?

—When I arrived, one of Dementor's men was waiting there.

—Dementor? He was the one who hired you?

(Silence.)

—Answer me!— Shego roared, slamming her free hand against the table, making the silverware jump.

—I... I don’t know,— Arnold said with a flinch. —The office never gave me a name. So when I saw someone affiliated with Dementor, I just assumed he was involved. I asked what was going on, what the actual mission was. He told me it wasn't related to Dementor—just a prank they wanted to pull on Drakken. He didn't know anything else. He'd only been told to wait for me, hand me a letter and a package of explosives. He gave them to me... and vanished.

—The letter—what did it say?

—It said I was to arrive at noon and pose as Larry's replacement. Then, without being noticed, I had to plant the explosives in specific spots and swap Drakken's blue ray controller with a new one included in the package. The instructions were clear: the switch should only happen if I confirmed that Kim Possible was inside the lair. They assured me not to worry, that it was all a joke, everything was under control, and my job wasn't in danger. That calmed me down, so I followed the plan to the letter.

"I got to the lair exactly at 12:00. Some guy named Carson greeted me and immediately assumed I was the replacement. He gave me full access... and I carried out everything as instructed. Around 4:00 PM, Kim Possible arrived. The moment I saw her, I made the switch and fled the scene as soon as the explosions started.

—Where exactly were you told to place the explosives?

—One on each column in the main hall, two by the entrance, and two in each of the four hallways.

—At no point did you think that was excessive for a harmless prank?

——Well... yes,— he admitted with a nervous laugh that died instantly.— But I figured, villains being villains, maybe that's just how they joke. Plus, they'd assured me everything was under control, so I didn't overthink it.

—What happened after you escaped?

—I reported back to HQ immediately, just like I was told. They asked why I was back so soon. I told them the lair had exploded. They didn't ask anything else... and I haven't been involved with that mission since.

—Have you had any similar assignments? Has anyone contacted you about it again?

—Nothing. Not a word. Until today, no one ever brought it up again.

—Good. Here’s what’s going to happen—said Shego, leaning in just slightly, her tone dripping with venom.— You're going to go on with your pathetic little life exactly as you have been, and you will never speak of this meeting to anyone. If you do, I'll know. And once I know... start saying your goodbyes, because your days will be numbered. Understood?

—Yes, ma'am!—Arnold exclaimed in a high-pitched voice, on the verge of panic.

—Now get lost.

—But...

—But what?—snapped Shego, shooting him a death glare, the plasma roaring in her hand.

—Nothing...—he mumbled, shrinking back.

Arnold clumsily grabbed his food tray and scurried off in search of another seat, stumbling over a chair on the way.

Shego remained seated, finishing her salad with feigned indifference. Then she left the restaurant and walked back to her sedan. Once inside, she pulled out her laptop and logged the information she'd just extracted.

She was satisfied. At the very least, she now had confirmation that Killigan and Dementor were working together—which strongly suggested Fiske might be involved too.

She stowed her laptop and pulled out an old cellphone—one she'd once sworn she'd never use again. For a long moment, she simply stared at it, a knot of hesitation tightening in her chest. She didn't want to make this call. But she'd promised Ann, and herself, that she wouldn't get involved in anything illegal again. Her hovercraft, damaged after a forced landing in California, was no longer flightworthy, and she wasn't going to improvise. It was time to lean on legitimate contacts again.

With a resigned sigh, she dialed a number she hadn't called in eight years. A shiver ran down her spine as a voice answered on the other end.

—Lady Gower?

It had been years since anyone had called her that. The memories attached to that name were far from pleasant.

—Hello, Philip.

—Heavens above... It is you! I never thought we'd hear from you again, my lady.

—Yes, well. I need a favor.

—What can I do for you, miss?

—I'm in California. I need a private jet prepped at Stockton Metropolitan Airport, departing for New Mexico in under three hours. Buy one if you have to.

—Yes, my lady. Anything else?

—No.

She hung up without another word.

—

Six hours later, Shego was descending upon the small airfield at Conchas Lake, roughly fifteen miles from her true destination: the freshly demolished remains of Drakken's lair—and another ten miles beyond that, the shack.

She hadn't slept during the flight. Though she'd hired a pilot to spare herself the effort, her mind wouldn't slow down. She tried distracting herself by reviewing the backlog of Drakken's lair recordings, but found nothing useful. She also leaked a few probes into the Interrornet. Now that she had her main suspects, she uncovered a handful of suspicious posts tagging all three of them. Nothing explicit about Kim. She lacked both the resources and the energy to crack their encrypted conversations at that moment.

The rest of the flight, her thoughts were consumed by Kim.

She decided that, once her mission in New Mexico was complete, she would contact Dr. Possible.

Upon landing, a helicopter was already waiting. Without wasting a moment, she boarded and flew into the scrubby wilderness surrounding the former lair. When they reached the wreckage, she leapt out midair. Her heart pounded—not from the drop, but from the flood of memories that struck her.

This place... This was where they'd taken her Kimmie from her.

She moved cautiously through the remains of the compound. Global Justice had cleared the site, but she clung to a thread of hope that something—anything—might remain. She headed first to what used to be her room. Surprisingly intact. She stepped inside with quiet purpose and made her way to the northwest corner. Igniting her plasma glow just briefly, she triggered a hidden panel—one she'd installed when Drakken declared they'd be stationed here long-term. Inside was one of her most precious secrets: the engagement ring she had once planned to give Kim.

She hadn't kept it in her apartment—she'd been afraid Kim might discover the surprise.

Now, standing among the charred remains of a life that might have been, she held the small box in her hand with a mix of irony and heartache. She had managed to protect the diamond... but not her princess.

She opened the box. The ring remained intact. Her fingers trembled as they touched it. Her mind filled with maybes and if onlys.

If only she'd walked away from the villain life sooner... maybe after their first official date.

Maybe today they'd be married—living an ordinary, peaceful, happy life.

If only she had died that day instead of Ron. Maybe then, her Kimmie wouldn't be so broken.

Maybe Ron would've known how to comfort her better.

Maybe...

Lost in that spiral of guilt and regret, Shego didn't even notice the tears falling. They slid silently down her cheeks, landing on the ring—the symbol of all the dreams she'd failed to protect. She wept, not even fully aware of it, for several long minutes.

Then, with a resigned breath, she accepted—again, as she had so many times in recent months—that what's done is done. And what is... simply is. All she could do now was fix what was still within her power to change.

She stowed the ring and began a methodical search of the lair, inspecting every corner with surgical precision for nearly an hour.

Eventually, she realized she would find nothing else of use here.

But she also knew, with absolute certainty, that she wasn't going to let things stand as they were.

Not this time.

With nothing but a light pack slung over her shoulder—containing only the essentials—Shego set off toward the shack. Three hours later, she found it.

At first glance, it looked like nothing more than a weather-worn cabin, swallowed by time: decayed, overgrown, the kind of place untouched by human feet for decades. But her instincts told her otherwise. She activated her Kimmunicator and ran a quick scan. Just as she'd suspected, the cabin was a façade. Behind it, carved into the rocky backdrop and buried beneath the dusty ground, lay something different: a hidden bunker, expertly concealed.

Within minutes, she located what appeared to be the main entrance—an almost invisible hatch tucked near a twisted root. Judging by its design, she suspected it was a HenchCo facility, which gave her a much-needed edge. She activated a couple of custom programs on her Kimmunicator and began hacking the lock. Fortunately, her hunch was right: it was a standard HenchCo security model. Within seconds, she heard the subtle click of the mechanism disengaging.

The hatch opened with a faint hiss, releasing a burst of stale, metallic air. As her foot crossed the threshold, motion sensors activated the lights, flooding the space with a cold, clinical white. And there it was—irrefutable confirmation of her theory.

Before her, arranged with military precision, were rows of worktables and cabinets filled with high-grade weaponry: rifles, plasma launchers, tracking devices. But what chilled her wasn't the tech—it was what lay beyond it. Shelves upon shelves of ancient artifacts, dusty but carefully preserved. As she stepped closer, her suspicions solidified into certainty: every single piece was related to monkey lore.

Ceremonial masks. Manuscripts covered in sacred simian script. Stone carvings like those seen in Yamanouchi's lost temples. Even figurines radiating a familiar energy... one she'd felt before, battling Monkey Fist.

She surveyed the space, jaw clenched tight. Now she had what she needed. Three suspects, three puzzle pieces falling into place: the contract signed by Killigan, the fake henchman tied to Dementor, and now Fiske's hidden lair—a bunker full of evidence pointing to a cult obsessed with simian power.

She took a deep breath, letting the weight of it settle in her chest as a reminder of what was at stake.

It was time to stop chasing clues and start knocking on doors.

One by one.

And this time, she wasn't holding back.

Chapter Text

Two Weeks Later

Kim had been officially discharged. The doctors and her therapist agreed that her physical condition had improved enough that she no longer needed to continue with therapy or medical checkups. Without a doubt, it was the best news the heroine could've received—especially after weeks of a monotonous routine at home that had left her restless, teetering on the edge of desperation. Though her physicians advised her to take things slowly, Kim had decided she'd rested enough. It was time to return to the life she'd always known: resuming her studies, enrolling in extracurriculars, finding a job... and, of course, getting back to her missions.

With the same determination that had guided her to focus only on what she could control, she began searching for work. It was too late to re-enroll in the current university semester, and while she longed to return to her apartment near campus, her parents had managed to convince her to wait a little longer—given the circumstances. Because even if her body now responded with almost the same agility and strength as before, her mind was still wading through the haze of amnesia. Or at least, that's what everyone believed.

What Kim hadn't shared with anyone were the dreams—strange, vivid, and increasingly frequent—that colored her nights with intense emotions and fragmented images. Ever since she read those letters—and more so, since she listened to the songs that accompanied them—she hadn't been able to get the green-skinned woman out of her head. No matter how hard she tried, Shego crept into her thoughts, and from that night on, her dreams began telling her stories. At first, they felt like living illustrations of the letters' words or the lyrics of the songs. But slowly, new scenes began slipping into her subconscious—moments that existed in neither letters nor music. Fleeting fragments, yet strangely vivid.

Had she confided in someone, she might have already uncovered the truth: they weren't just dreams. They were memories. Incomplete. Disordered. But real. Or perhaps, on some level, Kim already suspected as much. And that's precisely why she didn't want to confirm it. Because she was afraid—afraid of what it would mean.

Over those two weeks of structure and focus, Kim had also managed to make peace with the grief still lingering from Ron's death. Her parents accompanied her to visit his grave, and speaking with his parents was painful, but healing. Difficult days, yes—but necessary ones. They helped close a wound. And in doing so, she came to realize that the anger she had directed toward Shego—for her friend's death—had been unfair. Especially after seeing that not even Ron's parents held her—or anyone—responsible.

That clarity came with its own weight. Because instead of bringing her peace, it made Shego increasingly impossible to ignore. And her subconscious knew it. It punished her with dreams of her.

Until one morning—after a particularly vivid one, that night with the little diablos, rain, and adrenaline—Kim awoke with a start, drenched in sweat. She could no longer keep quiet. So she called Wade, intending to clear a few things up... and, in passing, ask him to let her return to action.

The Kimmunicator blinked for a few seconds before Wade's face appeared on the screen, his warm smile sending a sharp wave of nostalgia through Kim.

—Hey, Kim! It's good to see your face on the Kimmunicator again,— Wade greeted, his voice naturally cheerful.

Kim managed a weak smile, feeling the tight knot in her chest loosen just a little.

—Hi, Wade. I missed this too.

—What can I do for you?— he asked, although his expression grew slightly more serious, as if he already sensed this wasn't just a friendly chat.

Kim took a deep breath.

—I want you to start assigning me missions again.

Wade blinked, surprised.

—Are you sure, Kim?

—Yes,— she said firmly. —The doctors said I'm fully recovered. And I can't stand this inactivity any longer.

Wade tilted his head, studying her like a concerned brother.

—Being in good shape is one thing... but being ready for the field is another.

Kim clenched her jaw.

—I know my body, Wade. I'm ready. And I need this.

Wade hesitated. His friendship weighed as much as his sense of responsibility.

—I don't know if I feel comfortable giving you missions yet...

The frustration, built up over weeks, spilled out in her next words.

—Wade, I'm sorry, but this isn't a request. It's a decision. You just... just take care of the system.

As soon as she said it, Kim bit her lip, guilt flaring in her chest. She knew she'd sounded harsher than necessary.

Wade lowered his gaze slightly but smiled indulgently.

—I get it, Kim. But I do consider myself your friend. I don't want anything bad to happen to you.

Shame made Kim blurt out her next words, her voice tinged with regret.

—I'm sorry, Wade. I shouldn't have spoken to you like that. You're so much more than just my tech support. It's just... this is getting to me. The stress, the pent-up energy... I feel trapped. Maybe you could give me easy missions for a few weeks? Nothing dangerous, I promise.

Wade let out a brief sigh.

—Okay, Kim. I can do that.

—Thank you, Wade,— she said, genuine relief softening her features.

—No problem,— he assured her, more at ease. —Anything else I can do for you?

Kim hesitated for a second, lowering her eyes before daring to continue:

—Yeah... actually. I wanted to ask you a few questions. If it's not too much trouble.

—Shoot.

Kim wetted her lips, organizing her thoughts.

—You keep records of my missions, right?

—Yep. Every single one, from the very first to the latest.

A spark of hope lit up inside her.

—Great. Could you... maybe... send me a copy of the missions from the last five years?

Wade raised an eyebrow.

—I can do that... but if you don't mind me asking... what exactly are you looking for?

Kim swallowed hard.

—I'm not exactly sure. Answers, I guess. It's five years of my life, Wade. And now everything feels so foreign. I don't know what's real and what's not. I don't know what to believe.

Wade nodded slowly, moved.

—I'm sorry you're going through this, Kim. But believe me: this is real. All of it.

Kim let out a bitter laugh, full of doubt.

—That's what scares me. And still... it's hard to accept a lot of things.

—Like what?— Wade asked quietly, almost fearing the answer.

Kim stayed silent, staring at an invisible point beyond the screen. Wade didn't press her. He already had an idea where this was headed.

—Shego,— Kim finally whispered.

—What about her?— Wade asked, his voice soft, almost understanding.

—Do you know where she is?

Wade hesitated before answering.

—No.

—Can you find her?

—No.

Kim frowned.

—Why not?

Wade exhaled slowly.

—Because she asked me not to.

Kim stared at him, stunned.

—And since when do you do what Shego asks?

A small smile formed on Wade's lips.

—Since a good while ago. I can't tell you anything about her now... but I can tell you about the Shego you knew during those missing five years.

Kim closed her eyes for a moment, battling the swirl of emotions inside her.

—I don't know if I want to hear it...

Wade watched her patiently.

—Come on, Kim. You and I both know you can't lie.

She sighed.

—Alright. What can you tell me about the Drakken incident... with Bueno Nacho?

Wade's expression briefly hardened, remembering.

—Oh. I see. I can send you the report for that mission. But let me add this: you spent months riddled with guilt over what happened that night with Shego. You never told me directly, but I have my ways. I knew from how your vitals reacted whenever I mentioned her, or whenever you got a mission related to her. From the way your eyes avoided anyone who said her name. From the way your voice faltered when you spoke about her.

>You were distracted. Restless. And I'm sure you played through a thousand scenarios in your mind, wondering how things could have gone differently. Those weren't easy months, Kim. But when you finally decided to forgive her... and forgive yourself... I noticed it. You changed. You became freer. Calmer. More yourself.

>I kept it to myself. Never told anyone. Not even you. Until, years later, everything made sense.

Kim felt her heart squeeze painfully.

—Made sense how?

—When I found out —accidentally, I think— that you and Shego were dating.

Kim opened her mouth, but no words came out.

—Oh...— she murmured, stunned.

—Yeah, Kim. 'Oh' was exactly what I said too,— Wade chuckled softly. —Although, honestly, I wasn't that surprised.

She frowned, confused.

—Why not?

Wade winked at her.

—You should figure that one out for yourself. Hearing other perspectives might help confirm that this is all real... but nothing beats feeling it from the inside. And if you'll take a little advice: talk to her. You can trust Shego.

Wade's words hung in the air like a promise.

—I'll keep that in mind. Thanks for everything, Wade.

—I'm happy to help. Anything else?

—Not for now. Thanks again. I'll wait for the missions.

—Of course, Kim. Take care.

And with that, the call ended.

Kim sat on the edge of her bed, next to her nightstand, and let out a long breath. Maybe it was finally time to bring some clarity to it all.

Just then, she received the notification with the mission reports—starting with the little diablos incident. Mostly technical data. Nothing she didn't already remember. The answers she sought weren't there.

With Wade's words still fresh in her mind, she knew what she had to do. She opened the drawer where the letters rested and pulled out the next one.

The third.

—I'll start here,— she whispered.

She opened the envelope with delicate fingers, as if afraid of breaking more than just paper. She held it for a moment, uncertain.

Hi, Kimmie,

I hope my previous letter made clear all the circumstances surrounding the incident with the little diablos, and how we managed to resolve it. But more than anything, I hope that knowing the truth might allow you, somewhere in the corners of your heart, to consider forgiving me—just one more time. I understand that what you now feel for me is real, because it reflects the last thing your memory holds of who I once was. And for that reason, I understand—I truly do—that you've come to hate me again. I'm not surprised.

All I ask for is one chance. Just one. To show you that the woman you remember is no longer the woman I am.
That's why I want to tell you our story.

—

Taking a deep breath and gathering a hint of resolve, she murmured to herself:

—Okay, Shego... everything you've said so far matches what others have told me. I'll give you your chance. I just hope you don't waste it.

And she continued to read.

—

After we finally cleared up the misunderstandings that had kept us on opposite sides for so long, we slowly rebuilt a strange but steady camaraderie. Every time we crossed paths in battle, something between us seemed to mend itself, even if neither of us would admit it. And yet, despite how things seemed to return to normal, I never summoned the courage to tell you how I truly felt.

You looked happy with Ron.
And as hard as it was to accept, I eventually convinced myself—with a mix of pain and resignation—that maybe he was better for you than I could ever be.

After all, I was a villain. A lost soul marked by a difficult past, by trauma, mistakes, scars I never quite learned to heal. I didn't believe I could ever offer you what you truly deserved. I thought it would be unfair to pull you into my world, to weigh you down with my shadows, my flaws, my demons. I came to the conclusion that I wasn't worthy of you.

So I settled. I made peace with the scraps—those fleeting moments we shared whenever you showed up to foil one of Drakken's plans.

To my own surprise—and, frankly, my shame—I started looking forward to those moments. Even when I wore my usual mask of disinterest, boredom, and sarcasm, deep down I knew I only cared about one thing: the chance to see you again. That's why, when Drakken asked me to go steal something, I agreed without hesitation. Not for the prize. Not for the cause. Just for you.

There were even times when I triggered alarms on purpose, hoping you'd be the one to respond. I just wanted to provoke you, to keep you close for a few more minutes. But eventually, I stopped. It stopped making sense. Because no matter how much I longed to see you, I knew he would always be by your side.

And Ron... he became the constant, piercing reminder of everything I would never have.
Of you.

Until one day, the unthinkable happened.

Electronique—a villain my brothers and I had put behind bars back in my Team Go days—lured us into a trap as part of her twisted revenge scheme. She wanted to turn us into agents of chaos and destroy Go City. What she didn't know was that I was no longer part of the team. I was already a villain by choice. So when her ray struck us, the effect was... unexpected.

While my brothers' moral compasses were corrupted and their darker instincts amplified, in me, the opposite happened. My urge to destroy began to fade, and in its place grew an uncontrollable compulsion to do good.

It was a mentally disorienting time. I was still myself—or so it seemed—but every thought, every impulse, passed through a forced filter of virtue. I won't go into detail about what that ray did to me. Let's just say I wouldn't wish it on anyone. I have always stood—and will always stand—against anything that tampers with a person's free will. And this... this was a direct invasion of that sacred freedom.

But back to the story—
Despite everything, that bizarre week turned out to be the best of my life. Because I got to live it at your side in a way I'd never dared imagine possible.

When you realized what had happened to me, you took pity. You brought me to your parents' house for shelter while you searched for a cure, and in the meantime, I took a job as a substitute teacher at your school.
(Yes, in case you're wondering, I do have a degree in Child Development—but that's another story.)

Day by day, we grew closer. More attuned. More... us.
We went shopping, to the movies, to art exhibits. We dined out. We stayed up talking late into the night. That week, we were inseparable. You even spent more time with me than with Ron—by choice.
You have no idea how much that meant to me.

Of everything I experienced under the effects of that ray, the memories with you are the only ones that remained vivid, untouched. Everything else faded the moment I returned to being myself. But you... you stayed.

When we confronted Electronique, I fought by your side—and Ron's—to free my brothers. We succeeded. They regained their will, Electronique went back to prison... and I remained Miss Go, as I'd called myself that week.

After the thrill of victory, I was just about to tell you how I felt.
But in that exact moment, Ron dropped the Attitudinator... and the blast hit me directly. The spell shattered.

Confusion flooded me. I felt as if that week of memories didn't belong to me anymore, like someone else had lived them in my body—except for the moments with you. Those memories burned. They remained. As did the urge to tell you what I'd almost said. But fear gripped me. I hid behind my usual façade of anger, of annoyance. I pretended. I put the old mask back on... just in time for Drakken to show up and whisk me away.

I tried to push everything out of my mind for the rest of the day... until, late that night, I found in my pocket a photo strip we'd taken in a booth during one of our outings. I stared at it—who knows for how long. Longing, with a pain I didn't know I could feel, to be with you again like I had been that week.
Wondering if maybe... you missed me too.

Then Drakken interrupted my thoughts with one of his absurd demands.
And in a desperate attempt to shut down what I was feeling, I lit a flame and burned the photos to ash.

I've regretted it ever since.
Thankfully, I managed to save a portion of the last image—the one I gave you as part of your gift for our six-month anniversary.

I'm sharing this story because for me, it marked a before and after. It was the beginning of a string of foolish—and deeply wrong—choices I made over the following years.

Because from that moment on, it became nearly impossible to keep pretending I didn't love you.
Seeing you and not being able to say anything.
Seeing you with Ron and wishing—desperately—that you were mine.
And in classic Shego fashion... I chose the most self-destructive path.

I tried to forget you. In the worst way possible.

I started frequenting bars, parties, flirting with anyone who crossed my path. Men, women—it didn't matter. I was searching for something I knew I wouldn't find. I clung to alcohol and the hollow attention of people who didn't matter to me... and to whom I meant nothing more than a body, some cash, and an eccentric thrill.
I lived that way for a while.
Lost.
Drowning in a cycle of emptiness and misery I didn't know how to escape.

And yet, out of masochism or love—or both—I still waited for Drakken to hatch another plan, just for the chance to see you again. Even if it shattered me a little more each time.

That's how I lived for almost two years.
Until one day, in the most unexpected way...
You came to rescue me.

But that's a story for my next letter.

For now, I leave you with this song I wrote about that time in my life.
A time when I felt lost, irreparably broken, beyond redemption.

But, as always, you proved to me that even the impossible can happen.

Until next time, cupcake.

Sheryl Isabella Gower

—

Kim was speechless. Silence thickened around her, as though the world had joined her in holding its breath. Her thoughts were a storm, her chest a mass of tangled emotion.

With trembling hands, she plugged in the USB and played the third song.

The upbeat rhythm immediately clashed with the tight knot forming in her throat. The music caught her attention, yes—but it was the lyrics—so heavy with longing and emptiness—that tore through her.

She felt something in her chest tighten, as if her heart ached for someone she wasn't sure she should still hate... or begin to forgive.

Was this compassion? Pity, maybe?
No... it was more complex. More intimate.

A part of her resisted believing everything written was true, while another—deeper, more exhausted from the fight—longed to cling to every word.

She began trying to imagine what Shego had described in the letter:
Shego with her brothers.
Shego teaching at her school.
Walking together at the mall.
Laughing in a photo booth.
Looking at her in secret with the same intensity Kim now couldn't bring herself to direct at the letter still in her hand.

What if it was true?
What if, at some point, in some way... there had been something real between them?

She couldn't deny it anymore.
She wanted to know more.
She needed to.

Without thinking, she reached for the next letter.

Third letter song: 

Lover to lover

I've been losin' sleep
I've been keepin' myself awake
I've been wandering the streets
For days and days and days
Going from road to road
Bed to bed
Lover to lover
And black to red
But I believe
I believe
There's no salvation for me now
No space among the clouds
And I feel I'm heading down
But that's alright
That's alright

And I've been taking chances
I've been setting myself up for the fall
And I've been keeping secrets
From my heart and from my soul
Going from road to road
Bed to bed
Lover to lover
And black to red
But I believe
I believe
There's no salvation for me now
No space among the clouds
And I feel I'm heading down
But that's alright
That's alright

Road to road
Bed to bed
And lover to lover
And black to red
And road to road
Bed to bed
And lover to lover
No space among the clouds
And I feel I'm heading down
But that's alright
That's alright

Road to road
Bed to bed
And lover to lover
And black to red
And road to road
Bed to bed
Lover to lover
To lover, to lover

No salvation for me now

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u-eTmoyP_5A

Chapter Text

Ready for today's story, Kimmie?

Tonight, I want to tell you about the moment when everything between us began to shift—subtly, but irreversibly. It was the point where our dynamic started to change, the seed of what we would eventually become.

It was one of those nights when sleep simply refuses to come, not long after one of our encounters. It always happened like that: for nearly a week after seeing you, rest would elude me. I'd toss and turn, replaying impossible scenarios, imagining what might be if things were different. Eventually, I gave up on sleep altogether and decided to go for a walk.

It was summer in Italy. I was on a week-long vacation in Sicily—a place I had somehow never visited, despite all my travels around the world. I wandered aimlessly through the quiet streets, trying to calm the storm in my head, absorbing the atmosphere without direction or purpose.

Eventually, I reached the beach. Even though it was well past midnight, a few people still lingered along the shore. I paid them no mind. My feet led me further and further away from the soft human murmur, driven by a restlessness I couldn't name. After a while, I found myself on a small cliff overlooking the sea. Sitting at the edge, alone, was a familiar redheaded silhouette.

For a moment, I considered turning around. Looking for another place where I could be alone. But my feet, stubborn as ever, refused to obey. As I drew closer, your form became clearer—it was you.

I froze, watching in silence. You didn't seem to notice me, and I almost turned back. I told myself it was the right thing to do. But then, I heard it—a quiet, broken sob.

I froze again. I wasn't sure I'd heard it right... until the wet, uneven rhythm of your breathing confirmed it. And without thinking—without a plan—I stepped closer and whispered your name softly, hoping not to startle you.

But you did startle, turning to face me with wide, tear-reddened eyes. Your cheeks were stained with tears. And in that instant, I felt a wave of fury rise in my chest—directed at whatever, or whoever, had made you cry like that.

This is one of my most cherished memories, so I'll try to recount it exactly as it happened.

A little over Three Years Ago – My Perspective

—Shego?— Your trembling voice cut through me like a cracked whisper as you wiped your tears with the sleeve of your shirt. Seeing you like that... I wasn't ready for it.

—Are you okay, Princess?— I asked without thinking. The words escaped on instinct. (Damn it.)

—What do you want, Shego?!— you snapped immediately, getting to your feet, defensive—like you expected me to finish whatever fight you thought had begun.

(Not this time. Not tonight.)

—Easy, Princess. I'm not here to fight you.— I raised my hands slightly, trying to sound calm. But you didn't lower your guard. Of course not. (Damn it, I need to stop sounding like I care so much...)

—Why do you even care?!— you hurled at me like a poisoned dart.
And I felt it. I didn't show it—of course not—but it stung.
Because you were right. I wasn't supposed to care.

But I did. I always have.
Even if I could never say it.

—Okay... goodnight, Kimmie...— I murmured, turning away. Better to leave. Better to end it there before I ruined anything further.

I hadn't taken more than two steps when your voice reached me again:

—Wait... Shego...

I stopped. My heart jolted—pathetically.

—Make up your mind, Princess. Do you want me to stay or go?— I turned slowly, trying to keep my cool.

—How did you know I was here?— you asked, your voice laced with a vulnerability I wasn't used to hearing from you—let alone seeing.

—I didn't,— I answered, honestly.

—Then...

—Look, Cupcake,— I cut in gently before you could press further, —I was just walking. I saw you. I came closer. I'm not even sure why...And just when I was about to leave, I heard you cry. That's all. But you've made it clear you don't need help, so... goodnight.

I turned again, this time with more certainty. But once more, your voice held me there.

—Shego...

I froze.
I didn't turn around.
I couldn't.

—Stay,— you whispered.

That plea broke me more than I was willing to admit. Seeing you like that—so... shattered—wasn't fair. Not to you. Not to anyone. And even though I wanted to know what the hell had done this to you, I couldn't let myself be pulled in so easily.

—No, Princess. You missed your chance,— I replied coldly, starting to walk away again.

—Then go!— you shouted, furious.

And that, oddly enough, made me smile. There she was. The Kim I knew. The one who fought with fire in her eyes.

—Then I'm staying,— I announced shamelessly, spinning on my heel.

—What are you doing now? I told you to leave,— you snapped, somewhere between frustrated and confused.

—Exactly why I'm staying, Kimmie,— I said, in my most condescending tone—just for the pleasure of getting under your skin. —I'm not your puppet. You don't get to pull my strings. And no matter how hard you try, I'm not going to let you.

But then I looked at you...
When my eyes met yours...
Everything changed.

They were red again, swollen, wet. Fresh tears threatened to fall. You looked away. Turned your back to me. Sat back down at the edge of the cliff.

And I just stood there. Motionless.
Not knowing what to do.

I've never been good at this sort of thing.  The only thing that came to mind was to sit down beside you.  No words.

We stayed like that.
Staring at the moon. The sea.
The distant city lights reflected on the water.
And I at you.

I don't know how much time passed. It could've been a minute. It could've been an hour.
Until I heard you—barely a whisper, broken and quiet, almost lost in the sound of the waves:

—Ron and I broke up today.

(Oh, wow...) I wasn't expecting that.
What was I supposed to say?
Was I supposed to say anything?
Do something?

—Oh,— was all I managed to get out, and I felt a grimace twist my face. Pathetic. But what could I do when my heart was at war with itself?
One part of me wanted to celebrate—that it was finally over between you two.
Another part, quieter but just as strong, felt guilty for feeling happy. Because I knew how much Ron had meant to you.

—I mean... wow...— I murmured.
(Seriously, Shego? Wow?)

I was about to grimace again when I heard you laugh.
Soft. Unexpected.
I turned to look at you, a little disoriented.

—You don't have to say anything, Shego. I know you don't care,— you said. —I just wanted to tell you... because you tried to help me before, and I didn't treat you right. I'm sorry.

—Yeah, whatever,— I answered with feigned indifference. —I'm sorry about you and Ron... I guess.

—Thanks?— you said, uncertain.

—Kim, I suck at sentimental crap. So don't expect me to comfort you or anything. The best I can offer is a good fight to help you get your mind off things. What do you say?

You thought about it for a few seconds before nodding.
And so began our little "therapy session."

At first, you were distracted—it showed. But little by little, you got into it. Fully.
And as always, I enjoyed every second. There's something deeply addictive about fighting you: the challenge, the rhythm, the precision of every move.

We kept going for over an hour. You clearly needed to let it all out. And me... well, I'm always happy to take your fire.

When we finally stopped, exhausted, we ended up sprawled in the damp grass, breathless, arguing about who'd won that round. In the end, we called it a draw. The silence that followed was filled with something different. Our breathing mingled with the sound of the sea, and while you gazed at the stars above... I couldn't stop looking at you.

I rarely get the chance to look at you this closely without being on high alert.
So I let myself have that moment.
To memorize you.

—She's beautiful, isn't she?— you said.

I knew you were talking about the moon, the one you were staring at so intently.
But I didn't care about the moon. I could see it a thousand times again...
But you, like this...
I didn't know if I'd ever get to see you that way again.

—She is,— I whispered.
And then I thought: When the hell did you get so sappy, Shego?
And I made that same disapproving face at myself again.

—Thank you, Shego.

—For what, Princess?

—For being here. I really needed this.

—Don't mention it... Seriously, not a word of this to anyone,— I warned.

—Don't worry,— you said, chuckling softly. Then, turning to face me: —Now that I know you're not here on some nefarious scheme... can you tell me why you are here?

—Kimmie... you do realize Drakken is just a job, right? I have a life outside of that. For example, right now, I'm on vacation.

—Honestly, I never thought of it that way... but if working with Drakken is just a job, then why that job? I always figured you could've been a better villain on your own. Not that I'm trying to give you ideas, of course. Or even... I don't know, have you ever considered doing something else?

—Okay, Kimmie, I think it's time I head out,— I said, standing up. I didn't want to go there. Not with you.

—Oh... okay,— you replied, getting to your feet as well. And I was grateful you let it go without pressing further.

—See you around, princess,— I said, turning to leave. I only caught a barely audible "yeah" behind me.

But just as I reached the base of the cliff, I heard your footsteps rushing to catch up.
—Shego!— you called, but I didn't stop. —Shego, wait!

—What do you want, princess?— I asked, still walking across the sand.

—Maybe... we should do this more often,— you said. And that, that made me stop in my tracks.

—What are you talking about?

—I mean...— your cheeks flushed, and I forced myself to stay focused, —It was fun, fighting you without all the chaos of Drakken's plans.

—Uh-huh,— I replied with practiced indifference, though inside, every part of me was trembling. —Kimmie, what happened today was just a fluke...

—Or not,— you muttered, barely above a whisper. But I heard it.

I pretended not to.
—What do you expect? That we'll meet up to spar and talk about our lives like we're best friends?— Sarcasm was my shield, as always. —You're a hero. I'm a villain. I don't think being friends is a good idea.

*

That was the last thing I said. Without waiting for your response, I walked back to my hotel. This time, you didn't follow me.
I said those things not just to convince you—but mostly to convince myself. Because at the time, I was still so afraid of being vulnerable. Terrified of what you made me feel. And you, suggesting we casually see each other again... it scared me more than I could admit. I was afraid to hope, to even imagine you might feel the same, only to realize it was all just a fantasy.
That armor I wore so stubbornly? I built it because I knew how fragile my heart really was.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep that night. Nor the next. I spent days tossing in bed. I extended my vacation. And since Drakken took his sweet time coming up with another plan, nearly a month passed before I saw you again.

But when I did, everything seemed "normal" between us... until, out of nowhere, you asked if I'd be sticking around after you foiled Drakken's scheme. I tried to brush off the question, but you pressed. You even gave me an address and said you'd wait there at midnight so we could spar—peacefully.
I went. Right on time. But I didn't dare approach. I stayed hidden in the shadows, just watching you. I couldn't believe you actually showed. That you meant it. That you wanted to see me. And yet, there you were.

When we crossed paths again thanks to another one of Drakken's ridiculous plots, you handed me another address and time—never once mentioning the night I left you waiting. I didn't respond then either... but I went.
I stayed in the shadows again, watching you for a few quiet minutes, before slipping away without a word.

The third time you invited me, I finally showed up. Neither of us brought up the past. We simply fought until we were both spent, collapsed on the ground beneath the stars.
Well... you looked at the sky.
I looked at you.
At the time, I thought you had no idea. But later, you told me that even back on the cliff in Italy, you knew perfectly well I couldn't take my eyes off you.

For the next two months, whenever we crossed paths because of Drakken, we agreed on a time and place to meet afterward. We'd fight, and then lie beneath the stars in silence, sharing the same breath. That secret rhythm became our own little world.
Everything changed the month Drakken went silent. When we saw each other again, you told me how much those nightly sessions would've helped. And then you did something unthinkable: you demanded a way to stay in touch. Even when there was no scheme to force us together.
Yes, princess. Demanded.

I tried to play it cool, like always... but I gave you my personal number.
That night, we met again. We fought in silence, as usual, but when the match ended and we lay on the grass, staring up, you broke the silence.
You told me how your friendship with Ron had changed. How confused and hurt you felt.
I said nothing. I just listened. I stayed. I didn't interrupt or judge... I was simply there. Fully yours, for that moment.

After that night, each of our meetings came with something new. A conversation after the fight. At first, it was just you talking, while I listened, grateful simply to be near you. I kept trying to maintain some emotional distance... but then you began asking me questions. And though my replies were cold at first, curt or evasive on purpose, you kept asking—with that quiet, disarming patience of yours.

Eventually, I accepted that your interest in me was real. And I began to respond. What started as monologues turned into real conversations. Sometimes light, sometimes trivial... often, deeply intimate.

I found myself revealing more to you than I ever had to anyone. Little by little, without your even noticing—and without resistance from me—you dismantled the walls I'd built around myself. You showed me a kind of trust and safety I'd never known. And somewhere along the way, I stopped trying to protect my heart... and started preparing to give it to you.

Eight months after that night on the Sicilian beach, after countless moonlit meetings, I decided to take a chance.
From the moment you arrived at our usual spot to the moment we collapsed onto the grass, my heart pounded with a nervousness I'd never felt before.

Beneath the stars, with the full moon as our witness, I watched you for several minutes, summoning the courage I needed.
As always, when the moon shone in full, your eyes lit up with that hypnotic wonder, and you said it was beautiful.
But I didn't care about the moon.
I'd memorized your face by then—every line, every spark—and this time, my answer was different. Almost a whisper:
—Yeah... you are.

You turned to me.
Your eyes met mine.
And then my gaze dropped, briefly, to your lips.
I leaned in, instinctively, unconsciously.
And you didn't move.

When I looked into your eyes again, I knew you were daring me.
So I did it. I closed the space between us and kissed you.

It was brief. Chaste. But in that moment, I knew there would never be any lips for me but yours.
I felt it ripple through me—every sense heightened to something unbearable.
You were all I could see, feel, breathe, hear.

When we pulled away and our eyes met again, a small, amused smile began to form on your lips... and most importantly, I didn't see even a flicker of rejection.
That alone meant everything to me.

I moved in again, this time intent on giving you a deeper kiss—one that could say everything my heart had failed to put into words.
But you stopped me gently, placing your hand over my mouth.

You surprised me.
And then you said something that changed everything between us... forever.

But that's a story for the next letter.

For now, enjoy the song I wrote to remember how it all began.
It's triple special: it tells our story, you agreed to sing it with me... and we recorded it the day we celebrated our first month together.

Until soon, Kim.

With all my heart,

Sheryl I. Gower

Fourth letter song:

She was walking alone on the street
Thinking: "God, how complicated this love thing is"
She asked herself what the detail would have been
That surely Cupid misunderstood

She tossed and turned, as she did every night, in bed
Suddenly a romantic song sounded on the radio
Perhaps it was Michael Bolton who put his finger on the sore spot
And since she lacked sleep, she went to look for it
The two were walking in the same direction
And I am not talking about the wandering direction of their steps
She looked at her, she answered with a sigh
And the universe conspired to embrace them
Two strangers dancing under the moon
They become lovers to the beat
Of that strange melody
That some call destiny
And others prefer to call it a chance

And she asked in her ear, "My love, where were you
For as long as I sought you so much?"
She replied, "I'm sorry, I was busy
Although, to be honest, now I don't understand why"
The night became day, but the moon did not go away
She stayed to watch them leaning on the shoulder of the sun
Light them bright, shine all day 
And when the night comes, I'll seal their passion

Two strangers dancing under the moon
They become lovers to the beat
Of that strange melody
That some call destiny
And others prefer to call it a chance
And they dance
They don't care about anything that happens around them
And they dance
And the people who look at them are believing in love
Two strangers dancing under the moon
They become lovers to the beat
Of this strange melody
That some call destiny
And others prefer to call it a chance

https://youtu.be/D9W4DLjmoOM

Chapter Text

Kim paced restlessly across her bedroom, hands gesturing, lips murmuring words too low to catch. Anyone observing her would have recognized the signs of agitation, but few could have guessed the true source of her turmoil. She had just finished reading Shego's fourth letter—and listening to the song that came with it. While the letter alone had left her deeply shaken, her mind ablaze with questions, nothing could have prepared her for what came next: hearing her own voice in the song.

Just as Shego had warned, the melody featured both of their voices. If Kim had still been trying to resist the mounting evidence surrounding her, this felt like the most irrefutable piece yet. And as if that weren't enough, mere seconds after the song ended, there was a knock at the door. To her astonishment, it was a delivery man, presenting her with an extravagant bouquet—so large, it was impossible to ignore. Nestled at the center was a small card that read: "Happy third anniversary, my love —Sheryl."

And so there she was, wearing down the carpet with every anxious step, trying to process everything that had just happened. She could no longer deny the truth. Everyone had been right: she and Shego had, in fact, been a couple. But what did that mean now? Were they still one? Apparently so—something that certainly explained Shego's persistence from the very beginning. But did Kim want to continue that relationship? Was she expected to embrace that identity simply because it had once been hers?

She forced herself to recall every interaction she'd had with Shego since waking up in the hospital. It was unmistakable now—Shego still cared for her, deeply. But what about Kim? What did she feel, truly? Was it fair to step into a relationship she didn't remember? Was she supposed to follow the shadow of what once was, even if it no longer felt like hers?

A sudden knock on the door jolted her out of her spiral of thoughts. She froze, silent, hoping whoever it was would eventually give up. But a moment later, the same three knocks came again—this time accompanied by a familiar voice.

—Kim, can I come in?— It was Monique—her closest friend after Ron.

—Umm...— On any other day, Kim would have opened the door without hesitation. But now, she wasn't sure. She knew Monique would see right through her distress. Worse, she'd press for answers—and probably say things Kim wasn't ready to hear.

—Girl, you better not be thinking of leaving me out here,— Monique added, her tone firm.

—Come in, Monique,— Kim finally relented, trying to mask the unease in her voice.

—I thought so,— Monique replied, a sly smile tugging at her lips as she stepped inside. —It's been a while since I last saw you, girl. You're not avoiding me, are you?

—No, Monique. Why would you think that?

—I don't know... you tell me,— she said with a shrug, her gaze falling on the extravagant bouquet displayed on the desk. —Whoa. Now that's a bouquet. What's the occasion?

—Shego sent it,— Kim answered simply, her eyes drawn back to the flowers, her mind drifting once more.

—Right... today's August tenth,— Monique said quietly, the realization settling over her. She gave Kim a thoughtful look, then shifted the subject. —So, talk to me. How've you been, girl?

She flopped onto the bed and patted the spot beside her. The familiar gesture pulled Kim slightly out of her fog, and she joined her.

—I'm fine. There's not much to tell.

—Not surprising. Your parents say you barely leave this room. That's not the Kim I know.

—You and me both, Monique... you and me both.

—Seriously, Kim. I'm worried. I know things have been rough since the accident. I don't know how you're coping. But you do know you can talk to me, right?

—I know, but I don't want to burden you with all my drama. It's not like I can do much about it anyway. And you're away, busy with college... you've got more important things on your plate.

—Those are excuses and you know it. I always have time for my best friend.

—I know...

—So tell me, girl. I'm here—in person—just before I head back to California. Talk to me.

—You already know, Monique. Physically, I've recovered. But the amnesia? Still here. And it's probably not going away anytime soon. I'm desperate to get my life back, but Wade won't clear me for missions, and my parents don't want me going out alone. I'm doing some courses to catch up at college—those memories are coming back a little—but I can't enroll until next semester. So yeah, I'm stuck in here, going out of my mind... and that's basically it.

—Uh-huh... all that matters, but we both know that's not everything.

Kim looked away, her shoulders slumping in response.

—How are you handling things with Ron, girl? God knows it's been hard on me... I can't imagine what it's been like for you.

Kim didn't answer. She kept her gaze low, but Monique saw the way her eyes began to glisten.

—Sorry to bring this up like this, Kim. But I know you haven't really talked to anyone about it. Just once—when you asked to be taken to the cemetery. Bottling all this up isn't healthy.

—What do you want me to say, Monique?— she asked quietly, struggling to keep her voice from cracking.

—Everything, Kim. Let it out. Tell me how you're really feeling.

Kim lifted her gaze, and tears spilled from her eyes—silent and sincere. Monique's heart broke at the sight of her expression.

—I don't feel anything, Monique... and at the same time, I feel everything,— she choked out between sobs. Several long seconds passed before she could continue. —I feel hollow inside. You know Ron was... he was part of my life since preschool. I honestly believed we were soulmates. He understood me. People always said I was the strong one, but Ron... Ron was my strength.

Her breath caught. She wiped her tears, but they kept coming.

—And now not having him here—saying something ridiculous to lighten the mood, or just being here—makes me feel so alone. So unprotected. So vulnerable. And I hate it, Monique. I hate it!

This time, she collapsed into her friend's arms. Monique caught her without hesitation, holding her tightly, crying with her.

—Why did he have to leave me, Monique? Why him and not me?

—I don't know, Kim... I don't know,— Monique whispered, gently rubbing her back. She waited in silence as Kim tried to compose herself. After several minutes, Kim wiped her nose on the back of her hand and tried to steady her breathing.

—And I feel anger too... rage, bitterness at whoever took him away. At first, I blamed Shego and Drakken. It was the easiest thing to do. But everyone keeps telling me it wasn't their fault, that Shego even tried to help us. And that makes me even angrier... or it used to. Because now I'm starting to believe them. And I don't know what to think anymore. I don't know who to blame. I just feel powerless. I couldn't protect him... not back then, and not now.

She broke down again. Monique remained beside her, saying nothing, simply crying too.

Eventually, Kim's voice returned, quiet and hoarse.

—That's how I feel, Monique. That's how I'm dealing with all of this.

Her friend hugged her tighter, as if she could hold her whole world together with one gesture.

—And that's okay, Kim. It's completely valid to feel all of that. But you need to find a way to release it. Keeping it locked inside isn't going to help.

—And how am I supposed to do that, Monique?

—I don't have a perfect answer. But knowing you... I think you need something physical. I know you've been recovering and couldn't do much for a while, but now that you've been cleared, maybe getting back into training—not to escape it, but to release it—might help. I'd suggest doing that before you go back into the field. For your own sake, Kim. You don't want to explode out there... especially not against someone who doesn't deserve it.

—You're right, Monique. A sparring session actually sounds like a good idea right now. I think it'd help me let go of some of this, but I don't have anyone to train with. And just the gym or a punching bag won't be enough...

—Okay... which brings us to the other major topic: Shego.

Kim immediately stiffened and pulled away, clearly putting distance between them.

—What about her?

—She's always been your sparring partner. I remember—even from the first time you fought her—you said she was the only one who really challenged you. Why not ask her to train with you?

—Are you crazy, Monique? Why would I do that?

—Well, you know... plasma girl and you have a history. In fact, you're in a relationship.

—Were,— Kim corrected quickly, her hands flying to her mouth, eyes wide, realizing too late she'd said it out loud. The look in Monique's eyes confirmed there was no taking it back.

—Oh... please clarify that,— she said, grinning wickedly. —Are you saying you accept that you and Shego have something?

Kim folded her arms across her chest with a defiant "huff", avoiding her gaze. Monique just laughed and added:

—Oh, Kim... you've never been able to lie worth a damn. And you don't have to say anything—your face says it all. So come on, no stalling. What do you think about Shego now? Last time we talked, you said you didn't believe everyone, that you two had been girlfriends. But now, you just said you don't blame her for what happened to Ron... and I can feel there's more.

Kim remained silent, but her eyes betrayed her. They flicked—just for a second—toward the letter resting on her nightstand. Monique noticed immediately.

—Hmm... okay, okay. Since you're not talking, can I assume the answers lie in this piece of paper?— she said, lunging toward the letter.

Kim's face flashed with panic. She dove to stop her, but she was a beat too slow—Monique had already started reading aloud.

—'Ready for the next story, Kimmie?'

—Give that back!

—Ooooh, Kimmie! What did your lovestruck girlfriend do this time?

—Shego is not my girlfriend.

—Uh-huh,— Monique replied, holding the letter just out of reach.

—'Now I'm going to tell you about the day our dynamic began to change into what it eventually became, after everything I've already told you in the previous letters...' Letters? Oh, Kim! I need the details.

—There are no details! Give it!— she finally snatched it back.

—Okay, seriously, K, this is all sounding very suspicious now. I'm your best friend—you know you can tell me everything. I promise, no interruptions, no judgment. I'll only give you advice if you ask for it.

—Thanks, Mo... but there's really nothing to say.

—Why do I always have to drag everything out of you with a spoon?— Monique groaned, clearly exasperated. —Let me see if I've got the facts straight... When you woke up from the coma, you didn't remember being in a relationship with Shego because your memory reset to five years ago.

—Correct.

—Then your family tried to explain that things had changed, and that green girl was, in fact, your girlfriend.

—Uh-huh.

—You didn't believe them and you've been denying it this whole time... Meanwhile, Shego's tried to talk to you, explain things, but you've shut her down every time.

—Mhm.

—But apparently that's changed. And from what I can tell, it's a recent development. Is this where the letters come in?

Kim sighed. At last, she gave in to her friend's persistence.

—Okay, you win. Yes, the letters are part of it. A few weeks ago, Shego showed up with... I guess you could call it an ultimatum. She told me to read the letters she'd written—letters explaining everything—and that if, after that, I still wanted nothing to do with her, she'd accept it. That maybe that would be the last time I'd ever see her. She gave me the letters and disappeared... not before leaving her cactus with my mom for safekeeping.

—Wait... she left her cactus? The cactus you gave her?

—Yeah... why? Hold on. I gave it to her?

—Oh, wow. That cactus is like a pet to her. She adores it. It's been that way ever since you gave it to her.

—Oh... I had no idea.

—Clearly. But tell me—where did she go? It must be serious if she left the cactus behind.

—I don't know, Monique. Why would I have any idea what Shego does or doesn't do?

Because you're her girlfriend, Monique thought, but knowing what her friend was going through, she held back and simply said:

—Forget it. Go on.

—Well, she left me the letters. I read the first one the day she left, the second the day after... and then I just couldn't go on. I put them aside for weeks, until a few days ago, after talking with Wade. I decided to give them another shot. I had just finished the fourth letter when you showed up.

—What are they about?

—Her side of the story. In the first one, she apologized for what happened to Ron... claimed he was her friend. Can you believe that?— Kim gave a quiet laugh, but it faded when she saw Monique's serious expression.

—Oh, I can absolutely believe it. Those two were... something. It took time, but they ended up becoming genuine friends. They bonded over food, fighting—both were obsessed with Steel Toe—and above all, they shared a love for you... even if from very different angles.

>Shego even helped Ron plan dates with some girls he really liked. If you ever asked her why, she said it was purely logical and practical: one, Ron was hopeless at dating, which made him miserable. Two, miserable Ron meant miserable Kim. And that, by extension, meant miserable Shego. Just a matter of self-preservation. Nothing more. Though I always said it was because deep down, she was a hopeless romantic. She'd just scowl at me whenever I said that.

When Monique finished, she noticed Kim watching her silently, an expression on her face that was hard to read.

—Um... Kim? You okay? Sorry, I got a little carried away...

—It's fine, Monique. Thanks for telling me. It's nice to learn about a version of Ron I don't remember. Although... when it comes to Shego, that's the thing. I don't know what to think. What you said matches exactly what she wrote in her first letter. It's just more proof that she's telling the truth. That everyone is. But I don't know what to do with that. And then there are the songs... what they make me feel... and the dreams... I don't know, Monique. I really don't.

—Wait—wait, slow down. So, you're basically admitting Shego is your girlfriend. That's the logical conclusion if we're all telling the truth.

—Umm... no. I'm acknowledging that, apparently, everything everyone says about us having been in a relationship is true. And that the Shego I remember isn't the same as the one now.

—That's exactly what I said.

—No. You said I accept that Shego is my girlfriend, and I don't think that's accurate.

—What do you mean? It's not like you two broke up. The fact that you lost your memory doesn't mean the relationship didn't exist—which you already admitted—and it definitely doesn't mean you ended things. So, technically, you're still together.

—I don't think so, Monique. That might be how it feels to Shego. Maybe that's why she's been so insistent... and acting weird. But I don't remember anything. And I certainly don't feel... whatever it was that once made me her girlfriend. It's not there anymore.

—Okay. I get it. It's complicated. I guess that's what you meant earlier, right? That whole dilemma: we were—or are—together, but I don't feel it, so maybe we're not anymore?

—Exactly.

—Okay, so then, what did you mean about the songs? What do they make you feel? Feel what, exactly? And—wait—what songs?

—Oh...— Kim lowered her gaze, a little shy. —Each letter came with a song. Shego says she composed them herself. According to her, they help give context to what she's trying to express in the letters.

—Wait—what?! Are you serious?— Monique actually jumped a little in place, stunned. —That is so romantic! Your songs, Kim... she's basically re-dedicating your own songs to you, because, obviously, you forgot them.

—My songs?— Kim asked, confused.

—Yes! Didn't she explain? Shego is brilliant when it comes to music. And you... you were her muse. She wrote several songs specifically for you, and she always found a way to dedicate them—especially on meaningful occasions. Can I hear them? Don't worry, I've heard them before. I just want to see if they're the same... or if she's written new ones.

—Mm... I guess. But only the ones I've already listened to. I haven't gone through them all yet.

—Perfect, girl. But we're definitely circling back to this conversation. Now... you were saying the songs make you feel things. What kind of things?

—I'm not really sure how to explain it, Monique. It's like... a sense of familiarity. They make me feel good, but in this strange way, as if something deep inside me recognizes them—even if my mind doesn't understand why. I'm almost certain they're what's triggering the dreams.

—What kind of dreams?

—It's like... like I'm watching what's in the letters and the songs, but as if it were a movie. And there are other scenes, too—moments that aren't in the letters or songs, but still show up. What's frustrating is that in the dream, everything makes sense, everything is crystal clear. But once I wake up, some parts get blurry. I remember fragments better than others.

—Kim, that sounds like memory. Do you think you might be remembering things? Have you told your mom? Or your doctors?

—No...

—Kim?! That's huge. Why haven't you said anything?

—I didn't think it was relevant?... I don't know, Monique. I just... I'm not entirely comfortable with all this yet.

—Okay, okay... maybe I get that. But seriously, Kim, I think you should talk to your mom. She might know more about what's happening. Still... it really does sound to me like you're starting to remember. And I'm not surprised it's because of Shego.

—What do you mean?

—I mean... that woman is crazy about you. And you were crazy about her. You two always had this strange but perfect way of complementing each other, like only you knew how to bring out sides of the other no one else could. I can't quite explain it, Kim, but as your friend... Shego was good for you. And you were good for her. Plus, you were a beautiful couple. I really think you should give her a chance. Give yourself the chance to get to know her again. And if it doesn't work out, that's okay. I know she'd understand. But Kim... she's my friend now too. And she deserves at least that much.

—I don't know, Monique...

—Just think about it.

—Okay... I will.

—Great. Now show me those songs.

Kim played the four songs she'd already listened to. They kept talking, sharing laughs, theories, and reconstructed memories. By the time Monique finally left, the night was well underway. She left Kim deep in thoughtful silence.

That night, for the first time in a long while, Kim slept more peacefully.
Maybe... she had needed to talk to someone about everything after all.
And who better than her best friend?

Chapter Text

While Kim read the letters, struggling to come to terms with what she now recognized as her new reality, Shego continued her silent crusade to hunt down those responsible for harming her princess. After a brief stop in New Mexico, she boarded her new private jet bound for the United Kingdom. Her destination: Shaftesbury, in the south of England. Two days later, she would fly to Northern Ireland.

By decrypting conversations among her three prime suspects through the Interronet, she had discovered that, after a ridiculously heated argument, they had agreed to meet in Ireland. Apparently, they wanted to avoid convening in any of the places most closely associated with each of them—England for Monkey Fist, Scotland for Duff Killigan, and Germany for Dementor. Their logic was as absurd as it was predictable.

Halfway through the flight, Shego felt her stomach twist as though tearing itself apart, her palms damp with sweat. For a moment, she wanted nothing more than to turn around and go home. Only one thought anchored her: Kim. All of this was for her—for her protection, for her name. It didn't matter if she had to return to a place steeped in shadows. It didn't matter if she had to contact people from a life she had long believed buried. For Kim, she would do anything.

Upon arriving at the airport, a private hangar awaited her. In front of it, a black Rolls-Royce Phantom idled with the engine running. A thin, gray-haired man stepped out of the car with slow deliberation. The weight of the years hung heavily on his shoulders, visible in the curve of his back and the hollows beneath his eyes.

Shego paused for several seconds at the top of the jet's stairs, studying the man she had once known well. She swallowed hard, clenched her jaw, and descended, a backpack slung over one shoulder, walking with that same poised elegance that had always defined her.

—Welcome, Lady Gower,— the man said with a slight bow.

—Hello, Philip. Don't call me that. I'm not her anymore.

—I'm sorry, miss, but one doesn't stop being what one is.

—I see you haven't changed your ways.

—An old dog like me doesn't learn new tricks, madam.

—It's good to see you again,— Shego added with a crooked smile, one tinged with nostalgia.

—The feeling is mutual,— he replied, opening the back door of the car for her. Shego hesitated for a moment before accepting.

The first minutes of the drive passed in a heavy silence. Shego stared out the window, caught in a current of memories that, at first, were warm. That same warmth softened her gaze—then turned it wistful.

—How's Mary, Philip? Will I see her when we get home?

The silence that followed her question sent a chill down her spine. Goosebumps rose along her arms.

—Philip?

—I'm sorry, miss... Mary passed away three years ago. I tried to reach you, but the only way I had to do so no longer worked. I'm truly sorry.

Shego didn't respond. Not with words. But Philip, glancing in the rearview mirror, saw her clearly. A single tear slipped down her left cheek as her eyes stared into nothing. Her jaw was tight. Philip looked away respectfully, turning his focus back to the road. His young lady—the woman who was no longer a child—suddenly didn't seem so far removed from the little orphan girl he had once tended to with such care. Not now. Not with that familiar way of swallowing grief, of holding back tears. He wanted to say so many things, but he kept his words for later. Silence settled between them once more, like an old acquaintance returning home.

When the car stopped in front of the mansion, Shego didn't move. From her seat, she observed the imposing façade, still unmoving. Philip stepped out first and opened the door for her with practiced grace. She took a deep breath, every fiber of her body tense, then stepped out of the vehicle.

Philip watched her closely and was the first to notice the shift in her expression. Her eyes darkened—hard, cold. The uncertainty that had plagued her during the journey evaporated, replaced by a quiet fury. A flash of images crossed her mind: childhood, early adolescence, years shaped by fear, solitude and abuse. Each memory was a reopened wound. Each image, another shadow upon her spirit.

—Lady Gower, if I may—

—Don't call me that,— she interrupted, voice low, but laced with restrained menace.

—Very well, Miss Sheryl. Allow me to introduce the staff.

Only then did Shego notice the three uniformed individuals standing at attention by the entrance—or rather, she acknowledged them for the first time, having deliberately ignored their presence until now. At the mention of their names, she cast them a glance so cutting it made them shift uneasily under their pristine uniforms.

—No,— she murmured—just loud enough for Philip to hear.

—Very well, it can wait, miss. Allow me to escort you to your room myself.

Shego said nothing. Not even a nod. She remained perfectly still as Philip motioned the staff to retreat. Then, with quiet dignity, he began to walk toward the door.

Every part of her wanted to flee. Instinct screamed at her to run, to avoid once more exposing herself to the vulnerability that threatened to settle deep within her chest. The mansion—majestic and cold—struck her as a cruel metaphor: an elegant mockery of the fragility that had defined her for so many years.
But not this time.
She clenched her jaw, stubborn and unyielding. This Shego was no longer the frightened girl of the past. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and met the mansion's imposing façade with deliberate resolve. The fury that had once accompanied her here gave way to determination.

—Philip,— she called, stopping him just as he reached the main entrance.
He turned to face her without a word.

—I'm going for a walk. Don't wait up. I assume it's the same room as always?

—Yes... the same, Miss.

Shego gave a small nod, pivoted on her heels, and walked away. She didn't choose a direction—her steps wandered of their own accord. The scenery barely registered; her mind was adrift in the echoes of a past life, in the faces now gone, in the mistakes that still weighed heavily.

She didn't stop until she reached the edge of a small lake. The sky's reflection on the water jolted her back to the present. Across the lake, partly obscured by underbrush, she could make out the silhouette of a building—the house. Nature had begun to reclaim it, but she would have recognized it even if only a single wall had remained. If she skirted the lake to the left, a path of stones would lead her straight there. She also knew what she would find: debris choked with vines, a roof caved in, and behind the structure, a scorched patch of earth... where her treehouse once stood.
And then, the knot in her throat tightened.

Motionless before the lake, Shego felt her past unravel before her eyes, stitched together from laughter and sunlit afternoons, from the warmth of arms that once held her close. She saw three children racing down the dock, ready to leap into the water, chased by their parents carrying two little ones in their arms. She could almost smell the grilled meat her father used to cook in the backyard, and saw a young girl—herself—dreaming of motherhood while tending to her baby brothers at the base of the tree.
She heard her older siblings calling her to the treehouse... and then came the fire. The searing heat, flames licking at her skin, the screams—hers, theirs—merging with the splintering of a world collapsing.

She fell to her knees. Her hands trembled at her sides, her throat constricted by invisible grief. Overwhelmed by the hold this place still had on her, she inhaled deeply, struggling to steady her breath. The need to hear Kim's voice surged through her like an instinctive plea. Kim always grounded her. But unable to reach her, she turned to the next best voice: Dr. Ann Possible.

—"Dr. Ann Possible, who's speaking?" —Ann answered, her voice a blend of professionalism and warmth she could never quite hide.

—"Hi, Mom," —Shego whispered, her voice trembling slightly.

—"Sheryl?" —Ann replied, surprised, her tone instantly softening.

—"Yeah... Sorry for the sudden call... is this a bad time?" —Shego asked, struggling to keep her composure.

—"No, not at all. What a relief to hear from you," —Ann said, letting out a shaky little laugh—. "How can you just disappear like that, young lady? We've been so worried."

—"I'm sorry, Mom... It was necessary," —Shego murmured, closing her eyes for a moment to steady herself—. "I really shouldn't have called, but I needed to hear your voice..."

—"Are you okay? What's happening? Where are you?" —Ann asked, her voice laced with concern.

—"I'm fine... but I can't tell you where I am," —Shego replied, lowering her voice even more—. "Just... somewhere full of painful memories."

—"Oh, honey..." —Ann sighed, her heart aching at the anguish she sensed in her daughter—. "I'm sorry, Sheryl. Tell me, what do you need?"

—"I don't know..." —Shego confessed, her throat tightening—. "Honestly, I wanted to talk to Kim, but since that's not possible... I thought of calling you."

—"Ah, I see. I'm your second choice," —Ann joked gently, trying to lighten the tension.

—"No, Mom, I'm sorry," —Shego rushed to say, guilt knotting in her stomach—. "It's just that..." —she sighed deeply—. "I miss her."

—"I know, sweetheart..." —Ann whispered, her voice heavy with love.

—"How is she?" —Shego asked, almost afraid of the answer.

—"She's been medically cleared," —Ann said gently—. "Physically, she's fine. She's eager to get back to missions."

—"No," —Shego interrupted immediately, her voice sharper than she intended—. "No, Mom, don't let her go out yet. Not even on a small or low-risk mission. Please... it's still not safe."

—"What aren't you telling me, Shego?" —Ann asked, her tone turning serious, her maternal instincts on high alert.

—"I can't talk about it now," —Shego said, desperation leaking through every word—. "Just... trust me, please."

—"I do trust you, of course," —Ann said firmly, though her heart pounded with anxiety—. "But you know how Kim is; it's not easy for her to sit still."

—"I know," —Shego whispered, pressing a fist against her chest—. "Just a little longer. I hope to finish this in the next few days. But please... wait for me to call."

—"We'll do our best," —Ann promised, swallowing hard—. "And please, Sheryl... take care of yourself too."

—"I will..." —Shego murmured, feeling the weight of her adoptive mother's love and worry—. "How are Dad and the twins?"

—"Everyone's fine, sweetheart," —Ann said, her voice trembling slightly—. "Please come back soon."

—"I'll try," —Shego whispered, her throat tightening with emotion—. "I have to go... It was good to hear your voice. If anything happens, if you need anything, Wade knows how to reach me."

—"Thank you, Sheryl," —Ann said, as if those simple words could somehow protect her.

—"I love you, Mom. Talk to you soon."

And without another word, Shego hung up.

She stared at the phone screen for a few seconds longer, as if expecting her mother to call her back, to offer some certainty she couldn't find on her own. But the screen remained still and silent, reflecting only her own exhausted face.

A deep sigh slipped from her lips as her fingers tightened around the device, feeling the weight of all she'd been holding in. The conversation had left a bittersweet ache in her chest. Knowing Kim was safe brought some relief, but being unable to be there with her—not yet—hurt more than she cared to admit.

At last, she slipped the phone into her pocket and closed her eyes. She needed to gather herself. Now wasn't the time to fall apart.

—

Shego remained by the lagoon, watching the moonlight ripple across the surface of the water. The night breeze stirred her hair, gentle but powerless against the storm inside her. Maybe coming back here had been a mistake. Maybe confronting the past was an unnecessary kind of punishment.

Time passed in the blink of an eye, the sun giving way to the moon—a witness to so many nights of her life. When it reached its zenith, Shego looked up, letting its light wrap around her. And then, as if the moon itself had unlocked a door in her mind, the memories returned. This time, memories of Kim.

She remembered the nights they trained together beneath that same sky. The fights that began in fire and ended in furtive smiles. And later, when the blows softened into touches, when their rivalry bloomed into something else—when they simply lay in the grass, speaking of everything and nothing, with only the moon to hear them.

Kim had changed her. In ways Shego hadn't even noticed—until she was gone. Kim had taught her how to face her demons instead of running from them. She had returned to her the joy of life, the meaning of peace, the strength found in vulnerability. But now, after months without her, Shego was forced to admit something terrifying: she was unraveling. She had built so much of herself around Kim—for Kim, because of Kim—that without her, it felt as though there was nothing left. And that wasn't fair. Not to Kim. Not to herself.

Shego closed her eyes and exhaled.

No.

That wasn't the path forward. Kim had taught her how to grow, how to change, how to heal. But if her growth depended entirely on Kim's presence, then it wasn't real. What she had learned beside her needed to belong to her now—independent of whether or not Kim ever returned.

If Kim came back, Shego wanted to meet her as a whole woman—not someone who needed her to feel complete. Until now, Kim had been the fifty that filled her other half. But Shego wanted to be a hundred—for Kim's hundred.

And with that fire kindling inside her, she rose to her feet.

For the first time in years, she looked out across her family's vast estate—not with resentment, not with nostalgia, but with a renewed sense of purpose.

When she reached the mansion, the kitchen light glowed warmly in the back, a beacon in the darkness. She knew Philip would be there, just as he had always been when she was a child.

She paused for a moment, breathing in deeply, letting the night air graze her skin. She closed her eyes and let the sounds wash over her: the rustling leaves, the hum of distant insects, the scent of damp earth. For so long, this place had symbolized everything she had lost—everything that had been taken from her.

But no more.

It was time to reclaim it.

She was Lady Sheryl Isabella Gower.

This was her home. Her heritage. Her legacy.

She opened her eyes, squared her shoulders, and lifted her chin with the innate authority that had always been hers. And with steady steps, she walked toward the mansion.

Just as she had imagined, Philip was in the kitchen, something simmering gently on the stove. When he saw her enter, he said nothing. There was no need.

Shego stood before him with the conviction of someone who had finally found her path.

Philip rose to his feet, his gaze full of quiet respect and a kind of solemn complicity. He inclined his head slightly, offering her a subtle bow.

—Welcome home, Lady Gower.

Shego gave him a sidelong smile, a flicker in her eyes that she hadn't felt in a long time.

—Thank you, Philip. It's good to be back.

—

That night, Shego slept better than she had in months. No nightmares came. No ghosts of the past haunted the corners of her mind. Just deep, uninterrupted rest—as though her soul had finally exhaled.

When she woke, she did so with an unusual clarity, with a sense of purpose that had long been absent. She no longer felt like a stranger in her own skin. She had returned with hesitation, afraid of the memories that clung to every corner of the estate, but now—she was ready to face them.

She asked Philip to give her a tour of the mansion. She wanted to see the state of the property, understand what had changed—and more than anything, reconnect with the place she once called home.

It wasn't an easy decision. She knew every room, every hallway, bore witness to her past. She had avoided this place for years because of that very truth—because returning meant confronting the ghosts she thought she'd left behind. But she walked those halls anyway. And though the darker memories lingered in the shadows, they weren't the only ones.

In the music room, her gaze fell immediately on her father's old piano. Dust-covered, long untouched, its neglect was evident. Shego approached, brushing her fingers over the keys and pressing a few. The out-of-tune notes filled the air, but her heart stirred. She remembered the afternoons he'd spent teaching her, laughing every time she hit the wrong note. Music had always been her refuge, and for a moment, it was as if he were still there beside her.

Then she entered her mother's library. The scent of old paper and polished wood wrapped around her like a memory. She was transported to evenings spent curled in her mother's lap, listening to her read in that warm, patient voice. History, philosophy, psychology, romantic novels—her mother spoke of everything with a passion that had once mesmerized Shego.

Every room held its weight. Some hurt. Others comforted. But rather than letting the pain consume her, she clung to the warmth.

Still, she quickly noticed something else: while the mansion was clean, it bore the quiet pall of neglect. As if it was only being maintained enough to keep it from crumbling.

Speaking with Philip, the reason became clear. Her eldest brother, Hedley, barely visited the estate. When he did, it was only briefly and with little care. He invested just enough to keep it standing, and the small staff did what they could with meager resources.

The revelation angered her more than she expected.

At fourteen, her uncles had cast her and her brothers out of this house, forcing them to move permanently to the United States. In the fury of adolescence, Shego had sworn she'd never come back—that this place meant nothing to her. And for years, she kept that vow. She convinced herself she didn't care what happened to the mansion, the land, or their legacy.

But now, at twenty-four and a different woman, her perspective had shifted. After the introspection of the night before and the morning's walk through the house, something had awakened in her. She felt a renewed sense of responsibility—not only as the daughter of its former owners, but as the heir to something greater than herself.

For the first time, she began to imagine what she might do with it.

If she could win Kim back, if things unfolded the way she hoped, she would want to build a future here. To make this place a home again, to strip away the shadows and restore its meaning. And if things with Kim didn't work out... perhaps losing herself in the care of this estate could become her sanctuary—the quiet life she secretly yearned for.

But for any of that to happen, one thing had to be addressed first.

As the firstborn, Hedley held the legal claim to their father's title, and thus, to the estate and its lands. Shego knew she couldn't simply take control. There were rules. Protocols. British aristocracy didn't operate on sentiment.

With that in mind, she headed to the library and spent the rest of the afternoon buried in books and her laptop—researching, refreshing her knowledge of the legal framework that governed inheritance and titles. If she was going to do this, she would do it right.

But it wasn't just bureaucracy that gave her pause.

Reaching out to her siblings now—after more than six years of silence—meant facing questions she wasn't ready to answer. And if she was going to reenter their lives, she needed to do so with honesty. But for now, honesty meant revealing things that could put Kim in danger.

So, for the moment, she placed her family on hold.

She focused on what needed to be done in the short term: tomorrow's mission.

There were enemies to track. Scores to settle. And Kim... Kim to protect.

One thing at a time.

Chapter Text

At noon the following day, Shego was ready to depart for Ireland. She said goodbye to Philip with a promise—that she would return—and a plea—that he breathe not a single word to her brothers, neither about her visit nor their communication. With everything in order, she boarded her private jet and set off. Ninety minutes later, she landed at Birr Airfield in Crinkill, County Offaly—a private landing strip where a dark green Bentley Continental GT Speed awaited her, just as she'd asked Philip to arrange.

Without exchanging a single word with the man who handed her the keys, Shego got into the car, tossed her backpack onto the passenger seat, and sped off toward Leap Castle, the site of that night's meeting. She arrived in just under fifteen minutes. Parking discreetly at a nearby fencing supply shop adjacent to the castle grounds, she feigned interest in the products on the shelves before slipping away undetected into the shadows of the estate.

Like a phantom cloaked in dusk, she began to scout the perimeter, noting every entrance—and more importantly, every potential escape route. If things went sideways, as they often did, she needed to vanish as quickly as she'd arrived. That, after all, was part of what had made her the most formidable thief of her generation: Shego never walked into a situation without exhaustive preparation—without a precise point of entry, and an even better way out.

Once satisfied with her recon, she returned to her vehicle and drove at full speed to Millpark House, a quaint and welcoming bed and breakfast just outside Roscrea, a picturesque town a mere twelve minutes from the castle. With six hours to spare before the rendezvous, she had a late lunch, strolled through the gardens, and let the sun warm her skin while her thoughts lingered on the whirlwind of the past few days. As the sky began to blush with twilight, she retired to her room and rested for the remaining hours.

At precisely nine o'clock, Shego hid her car among the hedgerows of a nearby field and set off on foot toward the castle, dressed entirely in black. Her fitted suit revealed only her piercing emerald eyes, which shimmered with an almost spectral light in the gloom. A faint glow pulsed in what she identified as the Bloody Chapel, the grand hall situated on the upper level of the castle. She quickened her pace toward one of the access tunnels she had marked earlier as safe. Outside, the moon played hide-and-seek behind fleeting clouds. Inside, the faint green luminescence from her glow was all she needed to navigate like a ghost through the ancient stone corridors.

Just meters from her target, voices began to filter through the cold walls—voices she recognized immediately: Killigan and Dementor.

The darkness of Leap Castle hung heavy over the main hall, a relic of centuries past. Damp stone walls, barely illuminated by ancient candelabras, seemed to drink in the shadows cast by their flickering light. The air reeked of moisture and memory—of conspiracies long buried and blood long spilled. From the rafters above, concealed among the old wooden beams, Shego watched the gathering unfold with the practiced silence of a veteran operative. Fiske had not yet arrived.

Killigan and Dementor sat at a massive carved oak table, trading glances steeped in distrust. In front of them, tankards of frothy beer exuded a stale, bitter scent.

—I'm telling you, Demenz,— Killigan growled, slamming his thick fist against the table, —Fiske used us. You really think now that he's rid of the clown and got the power he was after, he'll still include us in his grand design?

Dementor took a slow sip from his mug, then clicked his tongue thoughtfully.

—You make a fair point, Killigan,— he replied in his nasal, calculating tone. —But Monty still wants to eliminate Fräulein Possible—which, I must admit, suits our interests well. I suggest we play along tonight, but it would be prudent for you and me to have... a contingency plan. Just in case.

—Better yet,— Killigan smirked, eyes gleaming, —what if our plan gets rid of the brat and frames Fiske in the process? We wipe him off the board for good. Then, with this alliance, we rule the world.

—Together... we rule the world.— Dementor raised his mug, lips curling into a wolfish grin.

They toasted, but from her perch above, Shego caught the unmistakable gesture: both men crossing their fingers behind their backs. She rolled her eyes. Typical. Nothing about this surprised her. Treachery among villains was as natural as breathing. Still, she mentally cataloged every detail. If there was something to exploit, she would find it.

The sound of footsteps echoed against the ancient stone of the adjacent corridor. Fiske's presence was felt before he even crossed the threshold. His silhouette emerged, framed by the flickering torchlight, flanked by two of his simian bodyguards, who stood like silent sentinels. His aristocratic bearing—accentuated by an impeccable linen suit and an air of condescending composure—made him seem more like a diplomat arriving for a state negotiation than a villain preparing for conspiracy.

—Apologies for the delay, gentlemen,— he said, his upper-class British accent as crisp as ever. —I encountered a minor issue with my transport.

The other two exchanged a knowing glance. Dementor was the first to speak, his smile brittle.

—No trouble at all, Fiske. We've been enjoying an excellent German brew while we waited. Care for a pint?

—No, thank you. I prefer my tea.

—We don't have tea,— Killigan replied, visibly perplexed.

—I brought my own. No need to fret.

With a snap of his fingers, one of his monkeys presented a delicate porcelain cup while the other poured steaming liquid from a silver vessel. Killigan and Dementor exchanged another look—this one laced with suspicion. Killigan frowned. Dementor's mouth twisted in distaste.

Regaining his composure, Dementor cleared his throat. —Well then, since we're all quite... comfortable, shall we begin?

—What do you have to report, Demenz?— Killigan interjected, as Fiske sipped his tea with composed elegance.

—Bad news—or good, depending on one's perspective. Fräulein Possible has resurfaced. After the sabotage at Drakken's base, she vanished entirely. Then, just a week ago, she emerged from nowhere.

Shego tensed. The news didn't surprise her, but knowing they had eyes on Kim—that they were tracking her—put every sense on high alert. She held her breath as the villains processed the information.

Fiske, unmoved, continued sipping his tea without lifting his gaze.
—Then the game resumes,— he murmured, a faint smile touching his lips.

—Hold on—explain this to me,— Killigan growled, his impatience mounting. —It's been a couple of months since she disappeared beneath Drakken's rubble. Fiske said his monkeys found no trace of her or that damn sidekick. Now, after all this time, her signal returns like nothing happened? How the bloody hell is that possible? Where did she reappear?

—California. Near a HenchCo facility. Shortly after that, the signal was detected in London three days ago... and then it vanished again.

Shego's body went taut. Every word confirmed her suspicion: they were determined to eliminate her princess. But as she listened to Dementor's account, a realization struck her. She recognized every move—because they were hers. Not Kim's. The traces they were chasing... belonged to her.

A dark smile crept beneath her mask.
Perfect.
She had exactly what she needed to manipulate them from the shadows.

—You think she's tracking us?— Killigan asked, his irritation curdling into paranoia.

—It wouldn't be surprising,— Dementor replied with a theatrical shrug of feigned indifference. —By now, we should have learned never to underestimate that creature.

Then he turned his gaze to Fiske, who remained silent, fingers interlaced on the table, expression unreadable.

—And what say you, Monty?— he asked, suspicion lacing his tone. —You've been awfully quiet.

Fiske, his simian features cast in flickering shadows, took his time. He sipped once more—his third cup since the meeting began—before answering in a voice as soft as it was deliberate.

—Kimberly Ann Possible is, without question, an adversary unworthy of dismissal. But rather than waste time dissecting the hows and whys of her movements, we should focus on what matters: she's reappeared on the map. And that can only mean one thing... it is time to eliminate her once and for all.

—And what do you propose?— Killigan leaned forward, barely masking his eagerness.

Fiske's eyes locked on Dementor's.

—Dementor, are you absolutely certain the signal you intercepted belongs to Miss Possible?

The German scientist bristled instantly.

—How dare you question Professor Dementor's technology?! Of course it's her!— he huffed, puffing out his chest.

—Calm yourself, comrade,— Fiske replied with glacial composure. —It never hurts to be certain. Killigan's hypothesis isn't without merit. It's entirely plausible Kimberly is hunting us... seeking vengeance for what happened to her partner. That sort of desire could cloud her judgment. And if she's acting on emotion... she'll be more vulnerable.

—Well played, Fiske,— Killigan interjected with a crooked grin. —This might just be our bait. According to our sources, Possible hasn't interfered with any operations since the incident. Global Justice has taken the lead. But if the threat becomes personal... if it's something she can't resist...

—She'll walk straight into our trap,— Dementor laughed, a dark glint in his eyes. —And then, finally, it will be the end of Fräulein Possible.

Killigan slammed his hand against the table with glee.

—We need to make it special. This will be her final dance. It must be... unforgettable,— he murmured, his tone dripping with twisted delight.

—Count on it, my friend.— Dementor's voice dropped, heavy with spite. —After everything she's put us through, I won't squander this chance. She must be destroyed. Slowly... methodically. We'll make her beg for mercy... and then deny her. Just as she's denied us every ounce of glory.

The candle flames flickered, casting long shadows along the stone walls as Dementor fantasized about the heroine's demise. Killigan cackled beside him, nearly euphoric. But Shego, hidden in the darkness, began to tremble—not from fear, but from a rising, boiling fury.

She could feel the thrum of her heartbeat pounding in her temples, plasma heat pulsing through her veins with searing intensity, her vision tinting crimson. Every word from their mouths landed like a blow to her restraint. Her instincts screamed for blood, for vengeance. She could leap from her hiding place and rip their tongues out for daring to speak of Kim with such vile cruelty.

To hell with strategy. To hell with her own safety. To hell with the damn code.
No one—absolutely no one—spoke of her Kim like that and lived to tell the tale.

Her body was taut, muscles coiled, ready to pounce like a predator set on the kill. She longed to feel their flesh surrender beneath the burn of her plasma.

But then, Fiske's voice cut through the room like a blade of ice.

—Gentlemen... I believe we are not alone.

Shego froze.

—What are you talking about, Monty?— Killigan growled, whipping his head around, his expression shifting from mockery to alarm. —There's been no breach.

Fiske calmly set his teacup down, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness.

—Since fully embracing my powers, I've grown... more attuned to my surroundings,— he said with unnerving composure, eyes still locked on the shadows. —And just now, I sensed a presence. Powerful. Unfamiliar.

A heavy silence fell over the room. The villains tensed in unison. Fiske's simian guards—along with others that had crept in during the meeting—began to shriek and stir, agitated like wild beasts catching a predator's scent.

Shego didn't wait to hear more.

With the fluid precision of years of practice, she slipped between the beams and vanished in a seamless motion, her inhuman speed ensuring she left no trace. Not a single sound. She moved like a phantom, one with the darkness itself.

She exited through a different tunnel than the one she'd entered, one that led to a more secluded part of the castle grounds. There, the trees grew dense, their shadows swallowing the moonlight whole, offering her perfect cover.

With every sense on edge, she advanced cautiously, ensuring she wasn't being followed. She couldn't afford even one mistake. Cloaked in shadow, she listened to the wind rustling through branches, to the occasional crunch of grass beneath her boots. Only once she was certain no guard—not even one of Fiske's damned monkeys—was tailing her, did she allow herself to quicken her pace.

Once beyond the estate's perimeter, she broke into a full sprint toward her hidden car. She slid inside without pause, started the engine, and slammed her foot on the gas. She didn't look back.

The mission hadn't gone as planned—not exactly.
But it hadn't been a failure. Far from it.

She'd gained vital intelligence. And she had no intention of wasting a single moment before putting it to use against those three imbeciles.

Before they could lay a hand on Kim...
Shego would make them burn.

Chapter Text

The first thing Shego did once her flight reached cruising altitude was activate her cloaking signal—the one that made her resemble Kim. That was phase one of her plan. She set her course for Scotland; afterward, she'd continue on to Germany and perhaps return to London, all to strengthen the already-swirling rumor among the villains that Kim was on their trail. One day in each city, then back to her.

Now that she knew the villains would soon make their move, Shego didn't want to stray too far. Especially not if Kim caught wind of anything—because knowing her, her Kim, she'd want to join the pursuit of those who had hurt her so deeply, who had taken Ron from her. And Shego couldn't even bear the thought of anything happening to her again.

The flight to Scotland was relatively short, which gave her time to fine-tune the details of her plan. Once she landed, she'd call Wade, explain everything, and coordinate next steps.

—

Meanwhile, the day after her conversation with Monique, Kim decided to finish reading the two letters she had left. Now, with a more open mindset toward her situation—and especially toward the reality of her bond with Shego—she wanted to read the rest of their story through the eyes of the one who had lived it beside her.

For a moment, she set aside the emotional and moral tangle of her current feelings—or rather, the lack of them—and picked up the fifth letter. She took a deep breath and began to read:

Hi Kim,

I don't have much time left to keep writing these letters. I have to leave for an important mission soon, so I'll continue right where I left off.

That first kiss I gave you—despite how simple it was—felt magical to me. Even though the magic didn't last long, and you made sure of that. My Kimmie, always keeping me grounded.

When you stopped me from kissing you again, you said: "Shego, I have to be honest with you. I like you—I've liked you for a while now—but I can't say yet that it's more than attraction, or at least, I don't want it to be until I'm sure. I don't really know you, and on top of everything, you're a villain—my enemy. Even though I sense there's more to you than just that, and I want to get to know you better... the truth is, there's also this guy in one of my university courses. He's handsome, considerate, intelligent... and things with him would be a lot simpler."

I remember feeling as though you were tearing my heart straight out of my chest. And honestly, I might have preferred that over hearing you say those things. I masked my pain with anger, sat up sharply, and snapped something like: "Then go run off with that guy you like so much! You think I care?" I was ready to storm out, but you grabbed my wrist and gave me a small, knowing smile that only infuriated me more. I tried to pull away, but you wouldn't let me go, and instead said, "Could you finish listening before you start overreacting?"

I didn't reply—perhaps I realized you were right—but I still tried to look disinterested. I'm not sure I pulled it off. But you continued:
"I'm telling you this because I want to give you a chance. But it won't be easy. I'm not looking for something casual—it's just not my style. I don't want to start something that won't last, no matter how serious it seems at first. I'm not easy, Shego. I'm strong, but I still need someone who can hold me, someone who can make a life with me and still keep every day an adventure. Someone I can be vulnerable with without feeling weak. Someone I can talk to about everything—someone who understands me. Can you be that person, Shego?"

My heart was pounding in my throat. This was the chance I'd been dreaming of for so long. And even though I was terrified, I managed to reply with composure, telling you that of course I was up for it. You just laughed, stood up, and walked back to your car. I sat there, stunned, watching you walk away. Just before disappearing, you turned and said over your shoulder:
"Training season is over."
You winked and swayed your hips as you left. You left me speechless, with a dry throat and a challenge I couldn't resist.

From that moment on, my mission to win your heart began. I tried everything, Kimmie—from the most spontaneous and sweet gestures to the most extravagant, meticulously planned surprises. I remember waiting for you after class or work with flowers, chocolates, or your favorite takeout—depending on the mood I guessed you were in. Or the times I'd throw pebbles at your window to serenade you. That worked better when you were in your apartment. When you stayed at your parents' house, and I tried to perch in a tree and sing to you, you panicked and practically threw me out, saying your friends and family didn't like me and that it was too risky. Honestly, I didn't care what anyone else thought—I only cared about what you thought. But seeing how uncomfortable you were, I stopped following you home and stuck to texting and calling instead. We had such long conversations... I loved talking with you. I could listen to you talk about your passions for hours.

I took you out, too. We had more outings beyond our monthly sparring dates. I started inviting you out at least once a week—sometimes for a picnic in a park I had just discovered, other times for dinner at all kinds of places—from street food stands to high-end restaurants. And not just in the U.S.—you even agreed to travel with me a few times. I took you to an amusement park, and once, I brought you on a yacht cruise through Santorini. That one's especially close to my heart—because after weeks of wooing you, I finally got to kiss you again. Properly this time. Longer, deeper. I still remember the feel of your lips on mine, your hands on my neck, the warmth of your back under my fingers, the sound of your breath, the taste of your tongue—burned into my memory so vividly I can feel it now as I write this.

I wish I had time to recount every date, every little detail, every poem, every letter, every song I wrote for you... every gift, whether simple or extravagant, and the reasons I gave them to you. But time is short, and these letters aren't enough. If you want to hear all the stories, just call me. Message me. Give me any sign, and I'll find a way to come back to you in a heartbeat. Because you have no idea how much I miss you, princess. There's not a minute that goes by without thinking of you. Not a single night I don't dream of you.

Anyway, I spent months trying to win you over, hoping you'd choose me. Trying to become everything you wanted—and more. Offering you my whole soul. But you kept turning me down. You went on several dates with Christopher—that was the guy's name—and I was so jealous, Kim. So unbelievably jealous. I couldn't always hide it, and it caused tension between us—especially that time I faked stealing the Mona Lisa just so Wade would call you and send you after me instead of letting you go out with him. You were furious when you found out it was all staged. But I think the thousand apologies I gave you, and the next date where I took you on an adventure to find a lost city beneath a Central American lake—which you loved, by the way—kind of made up for it. Heh.

In the end, all I wanted was to see that smile of yours—that smile with your right dimple and the blush on your cheeks—every time I gave you something or did something that made you happy. That smile kept me going. The light in your olive eyes was my strength not to give up. But you made it so hard, cupcake. There were times I thought you were just toying with me. Times I truly believed you'd choose him instead. I always tried to act confident around you—maybe even arrogant. You know, my usual self. I wanted to seem cool and in control.

But one day, a day I hadn't planned to see you, you found me by pure chance. I hadn't wanted to see you because it was the anniversary of my parents' death—the same day my brothers and I got our powers. That day has never been easy. It always brings back everything that went wrong. When you found me, I tried to make up some excuse to walk away, but you saw right through me. You didn't let me leave. Your compassion and your concern broke down my walls. And I collapsed—right there in front of you. I became a mess of sobs and tears. It was the first time I let myself be so vulnerable in front of anyone. You didn't say a word. You just pulled me into your arms. I tensed at first, tried to pull away, but you held me—with such gentleness—that I couldn't resist. I gave in to your warmth. I cried, and cried, and you just held me. You stroked my hair until I calmed down.

Then you asked what was wrong—with genuine concern—and I couldn't help but tell you everything. I tried not to meet your eyes. I didn't want to see pity. But you lifted my chin and looked straight into my soul... and all I saw was understanding, admiration... and something else I wasn't ready to face yet.

Days later, the next time we saw each other, you casually mentioned that you'd stopped seeing Christopher. Then you brushed past it like it meant nothing. I didn't say anything then... but I started planning to shoot my shot and ask you to be my girlfriend. And to my surprise—you said yes.

But that's a story for the next, and maybe final, letter.

Today, along with this letter, I'm sending you one of the songs I wrote for you during those early days of chasing you.

I miss you, Kim.

Until next time,

Sheryl

P.S. Everything I ever gave you is either at your apartment or mine. A lot of it's in your journals, which are also split between the two. If you've ever wondered what that extra key on your keychain is for—it's to my place. Your mom knows where it is. You're free to go there, explore. I'm not there now, and I won't be for a while. As for your apartment near campus, I don't know if anyone's told you—but don't worry. I've made sure everything is still in order.

---

Kim's heart clenched with a dull ache, and a creeping sense of guilt began to spread through her chest like ink bleeding into water. Now, with the veil of denial, anger, and confusion finally lifted—emotions that had clouded her days since the accident—she could see a version of Shego she had never imagined. A fragile, transparent Shego, unguarded and wholly devoted.

The weight of her own behavior—harsh, impatient, even cruel—during the time when Shego had only tried to help her, settled onto her shoulders like a sack of wet cement.

She brushed away a few tears that slipped out unbidden. Just the faintest external trace of the storm churning inside her. With trembling hands and a stuttered breath, she picked up the final letter. A plain white envelope, unadorned, with a simple "6" written across the front. She held it a few seconds longer than necessary, as if her fingers could somehow absorb a fragment of its contents before she was ready to face them. And then, her thoughts began to wander.

What would've happened if she'd let Shego speak when she asked? If she'd given her the space to explain, to tell their story in more detail, with more calm? For a fleeting moment, she imagined herself asking all those questions that had haunted her. And she didn't need proof or logic to know Shego would have answered every single one—patiently, openly, without holding anything back. It was a strange, aching certainty that rose uninvited from her chest, carrying a bittersweet tenderness.

But lingering on "what ifs" wouldn't change a thing. What was done, was done. And no matter how desperately she wished for something to hold on to, the reality was brutal in its simplicity: she didn't love Shego.

Not because that love had faded over time. Not because routine had worn their bond thin. No. She simply didn't feel it—because she didn't remember. And that was the cruelest part: reading these letters, soaked in a love so fierce, so steadfast, and feeling nothing but an uncomfortable emptiness. An echo with no clear origin.

She didn't know what was worse—having failed Shego all this time, treating her coldly without understanding why she clung so tightly... or knowing that, when the moment came—and she knew it would—she would have to look her in the eye and say she felt nothing. None of what Shego still carried like a treasure buried beneath the ruins.

That thought tore her apart more than anything else. There were no words for that kind of guilt. It was a strange kind of grief, like mourning a love everyone swore had once been hers, but which she couldn't hold in her hands. And yet, what shattered her most was the image of Shego's face upon hearing the truth. That fresh wound—so undeserved, so inevitable.

She took a deep breath, the envelope in her hands suddenly heavy as stone. She didn't want to keep breaking what little still remained between them. But she didn't want to keep running either.
It was time to read the final letter.

Chapter Text

Kim, Kimmie, Cupcake, my Princess,

This is the last letter I have time to write you. I hope these words have served their purpose—allowing you to know me a little better, and to remember the story we once shared.

The day I asked you to be my girlfriend was August 10th, nearly three years ago. You were nineteen. I was twenty-two. Under the moonlight, on that cliff in Italy, I took your left hand in mine as the Perseid meteors fell from the sky. Our feet dangled over the edge, and our eyes followed the gentle waves that seemed to welcome the stars. We remained silent, simply enjoying each other's presence.

My heart raced with a blend of euphoria and nerves, anticipating your reply. I laced our fingers together and kissed the back of your hand with care. You looked at me, surprised, those wide, expectant eyes disarming me—as they always have. I tried to smile, but I'm sure it came out more like a grimace. You raised an eyebrow but said nothing, and so I turned toward you, holding your gaze for a few seconds. Using the excuse of tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear, I touched your cheek and couldn't help but whisper how beautiful you looked in that moment. You blushed. And then, I let my heart speak.

"Kimberly Ann, you are the most extraordinary person I've ever known. I've been in love with you for so long, and I don't want to waste another minute without being fully yours... and you, mine. Tell me, Princess—will you be my girlfriend?"

The next thing I knew, you were kissing me—slowly, fervently. My mind short-circuited, unable to process anything beyond the warmth of your lips and the way your fingers clung to my neck. Between kisses, I managed to catch the words that sealed my fate with you:
"Yes. I will."

From that moment on, my life was perfect. Looking back now, I realize that even in our arguments, I couldn't have been happier—because they were with you.
I remember how I wanted to shout to the world—from the rooftops, from every street corner—that you were mine. But you insisted that our relationship remain between us. I understood your reasons. If the truth came out, I had everything to gain, and you—everything to lose. I respected that. Though I won't lie—at times, it hurt.

Still, we kept our love secret for months... a full year, to be exact. Don't get me wrong—I was deeply happy during that time. We had dates full of adventure, others that were quiet and romantic, some simple and others absurdly extravagant. There were days when we learned to yield, to meet halfway. And with each passing day, I fell harder for you.

You kept saving the world. I kept sowing chaos at Drakken's side.
I remember the day you asked me to leave that life behind—to walk away from Drakken. I told you I couldn't. That I'd consider it only once my contract expired. You didn't understand, but you didn't push me either.

Now, I regret not listening to you then.  If I had, if I'd had the courage to choose you above everything else, we wouldn't be where we are now.

But now you know the truth: Drakken was like family. I owed him more than I could explain—because when I needed someone most, he was the one who reached out.
On the day of the accident, my contract ended. I spoke with Drakken. Everything has been settled. And I promise you—I've left that life behind for good.
I'm only sorry it took me so long.

Anyway, there's one last memory I want to share with you—one that means everything to me.
It was summer. You were visiting your parents, and, like so many times before, I followed you there. We saw each other during the day, and at night, I'd sneak into your room to sleep curled up next to you—something I came to know as one of life's greatest pleasures.

When August 10th came around—our first anniversary—I wanted to take you back to that beach in Sicily that had meant so much to us. I wanted us to celebrate a year together beneath a sky ablaze with falling stars.

So that night, I slipped into your room earlier than usual, and without wasting a moment, we took off in the supersonic hovercraft I'd "borrowed" from Drakken and headed to Italy.
We arrived just in time.

The kisses we shared beneath the meteor shower were magic—as if plucked straight from a dream. It would have been perfect... if your phone hadn't kept ringing.

We tried to ignore it, but after several missed calls, you finally gave in and answered. It was your mother—worried. She'd gone to check your room and, finding it empty, knew something was off. Since Ron was visiting and you weren't on a mission, her concern only grew.
For a moment, you looked like a deer caught in headlights.  I thought  you'd come up with some excuse—some harmless lie to get you out of trouble.

But then... our eyes met.
And in that instant, I watched your fear turn into resolve.
With a clarity that melted my heart, you said:
"I'm celebrating my first anniversary with the love of my life."

Your mother bombarded you with questions, but you simply replied that you'd explain everything soon. Then you hung up.

That night, we didn't go back to Middleton. Instead, we booked a suite at the first luxury hotel I could find, and spent the rest of the week wandering through Sicily.

For my birthday that year, you surprised me with a song. One you had written and recorded with Britina's and MC Honey's help. You said you'd written it, inspired by everything we lived that summer.

That's the song I've attached to this letter.
The song that closes this attempt to tell you our story.

I don't know if any of this will help you remember, but truthfully, that was never the point. I never wanted to pressure you. All I want is the chance to be by your side again—to show you that the love I feel for you is pure and true.

But, as I said at the beginning—if you decide you no longer want anything to do with me, I'll understand. And with all the pain in my heart, I'll give you the space you need.
The only thing you cannot ask of me is to stop loving you—because that is the one thing I will never be able to do.

I've loved you from the moment we met. I've loved you in battle, through insults and blows. I've loved you in peace, through laughter and kisses.  I love you still—despite everything—with an intensity and devotion that even I struggle to understand.  And I know—with the same certainty I know I'm breathing—that I will love you always, no matter what you choose.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

And I'll always be here for you, in whatever way you allow. But if this is the end... if this is the last time my words reach you, I want you to remember this:

I am immune to fire. But you, Kim Possible—you were the only flame capable of utterly consuming me.

Forever yours,

Sheryl

---

Tiny drops fell onto the trembling sheet of paper between Kim's hands. A sob tore from her chest with such raw, unexpected force that it startled her. She had no words for what she was feeling—no logic could define it. Her rational mind couldn't understand how it was possible to grieve so deeply for a story that felt so distant, for a version of herself she barely recognized, for a Shego she was sure she no longer loved. And yet, her body betrayed her. Some instinct buried deep in her bones seemed to howl in anguish, as though life itself were being ripped away.

Frustrated and confused by her inability to reconcile thought and feeling—reason and emotion—she let the last couple of songs play. And as the music poured through her, her heart twisted and turned in familiar agony. That much she had come to expect. Every melody had undone her in some way. But this time, something else emerged.

A memory.

She knew instantly what it was, even if she couldn't explain how or why it came. First, it was the names—my angel and my star—endearments she hadn't known she knew. And then, like lightning slicing through shadow, an image exploded behind her eyes, vivid and blinding.

She and Shego, side by side in a convertible.

Shego's face was bathed in the glow of a burning sunset, hands steady on the wheel, every line of her body outlined by the fading gold. And Kim—Kim was watching her. Smiling. Feeling something inside her chest that was warm, whole, and unspeakably gentle.

And once again, Kim cried. But this time... this time she understood why.

She cried because she remembered.
Because she knew, without a doubt, what had brought it all back.

It had begun that week in the hospital—when Spanish began to make sense, when the first letter had cracked something open, and the dreams that followed refused to let her go. She had known it was because of Shego. More specifically, because of her music. But unlike the dreams, always blurry and unsure in the light of day, this memory had come clear and certain, wrapped in a quiet conviction that both comforted and shook her.

Her first impulse was to call Shego—beg her to tell more, to sing more, to just be more.

She ran to her desk, seized her phone—and froze.

How could she possibly reach out now, after all this time? After the silence, the coldness, the distance she had carved with surgical precision? How could she dare ask for more when she still couldn't promise anything in return?

With a heavy sigh, she set the phone down again. Slowly, she stood, pacing the room like a restless ghost, thoughts tripping over feelings she didn't know how to name.

Could she just pick things up where they left off? Pretend nothing had happened?

No. That was impossible.

Especially now that she knew—truly knew—the depth and purity of Shego's love for her. She couldn't be with her while still unsure of her own heart. That would be a cruelty Shego didn't deserve.

And yet... the thought of walking away was unbearable. After everything, how could she allow that pain to go unanswered? She owed her more than silence. More than hesitation.

She needed to find a way to make this right.

But how?

—

Kim spent the rest of that day locked in a ceaseless internal debate—a silent war between what she felt and what she couldn't yet name. By morning, still clouded by doubts and lacking any clarity, she decided she needed a distraction. Nothing grounded her like a mission.

She grabbed her Kimmunicator, hoping that action would help her reclaim some sense of self, and dialed Wade. The young genius answered almost immediately, his usual enthusiasm intact—though a faint hesitation slipped through his voice.

—Hey, Kim! It's really good to hear from you. How's everything going?

—Wade... you never assigned me the mission I asked for.

—Oh... right. I... well, the thing is...— he faltered—and for the first time in a long while, Kim sensed something was off.

—Wade?

—It's just... Shego asked me not to,— he finally admitted, exhaling as though releasing a burden he'd been pretending not to carry.

—What? Why? That's none of her business,— Kim replied, her voice tightening with a mix of disbelief and irritation.

—Well... it's just that...— he sounded visibly uncomfortable. —It's still too soon. You haven't fully recovered from the accident yet...

—Bullshit,— she snapped, her brow furrowing, sharp and unfiltered.

—Kim, I'm not making this up,— Wade said, his tone softening. —It's true. It's still not safe.

—Not safe? Wade, I've been doing this almost my entire life. If anyone knows what I can handle, it's you.

—I know, I know... but this is different. You're not— he stopped, swallowing hard. —I just want you to be okay, Kim. I'm not against you. I swear.

—Let me guess,— she said bitterly. —Shego said it wasn't safe. Did she at least tell you why?

—Not in detail... she just asked me to hold off. With that look she gives—the one that makes you think she might rip you in half if you say no—but... there was something else. Like she was genuinely... scared.

Kim's frown deepened, caught off guard by the nuance in Wade's voice. He wasn't one to hesitate, and hearing him speak of Shego with that mix of respect and unease was disconcerting.

—Wade... this isn't like you. Not having answers,— she said, her tone now tinged with disappointment.

He gave a nervous laugh, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly frustrated with himself.

—I know. Believe me, it bothers me just as much as it does you...

Just then, the Kimmunicator began emitting a strange interference. Both fell silent—though for very different reasons.

In Wade's lab, everything began to fail at once. His monitors filled with static, the control panel lights blinked erratically, and one by one, his systems began shutting down. He frantically tried to re-establish the connection with Kim, but it was useless. His heart pounded in his chest as he typed in override codes, adjusted wires, and searched desperately for the cause of the sabotage. A shadow of dread crept over him: what if Kim... and Shego... were in danger?

Meanwhile, Kim's device was glitching too—though not before it displayed a fragment of a video that froze her blood.

Onscreen, Drakken appeared in conversation with Shego. They spoke of eliminating Kim and Ron once and for all, and then heading to their base in the Amazon to finalize a plan that—according to them—would at last bring the world to its knees.

Kim froze. The emotional blow left her breathless. Her body reacted with a storm of anxiety, rage, and confusion. Just when her perception of Shego had begun to shift, when something within her had started to soften—this. This shook her fragile resolve to the core.

Once again, her instinct and her logic were at war.

Something primal inside her refused to believe it. Her gut urged her to trust Shego—that this woman, despite her past, had changed. But her mind screamed that she had always known. That Shego was dangerous, unstable, a shadow cloaked in the illusion of redemption.

Torn in two, she made a decision.

She had to investigate.

If the video was real, she'd find Drakken and Shego in the Amazon, executing some nefarious plan. If it wasn't... well, she'd face that truth when it came. But she wouldn't sit idle.

She tried contacting Wade again, but the Kimmunicator remained unresponsive. Frustrated, she dashed to her nightstand, opened the bottom drawer, and pulled out an old Kimmunicator—the first one she'd used on missions as a teenager. She kept it more out of habit than nostalgia, though in the last week —when loneliness and confusion were almost another enemy—she had passed the time playing a game that only worked on that model.

She knew Wade had stopped monitoring that device ages ago, which made it a private channel, long forgotten by everyone... except her.

Heart racing, she powered it on. The device sprang to life immediately. The interface was primitive and the features limited, yes—but it would suffice. She needed nothing more.

She tried to reach Wade one last time—still nothing. She couldn't afford to wait. She accessed the villain locator database and scanned the entries until she found Drakken's name. One of his Amazon hideouts was flagged as "recently activated."

A wave of bitter anger surged through her like restrained fire. She had wanted to believe. For once, she had let herself believe that things with Shego could be different. That redemption was possible. But every sign pointed the other way. And the worst part? She hated herself a little for having doubted it in the first place.

Her jaw tightened with resolve.

She moved to her closet, entered a code on the side panel, and a hidden compartment slid open to reveal her mission suit. But it wasn't the one she expected. This one was entirely black, with blood-red trim on the collar and cuffs that glowed faintly under her bedroom's soft light.

She blinked in surprise. She didn't remember requesting that design. But there was no time to question it.

She changed swiftly, military precision in every movement. She checked her gear, tried Wade once more—still nothing—and left the room unnoticed.

Destination: the Amazon.

And in her chest, a question burned like a brand.

Whom should she believe?

Her mind... or her heart?

—

At the same time Kim and Wade were receiving the strange transmission, Shego's Kimmunicator emitted a signal of its own—though the content was entirely different. Not a video. Not a warning.

A photograph.

Simple. Devastating.

Ron's gravestone, desecrated with obscenities and a mocking inscription that claimed Fiske's supposed victory over his fallen enemy.

Shego's blood ignited in an instant. A flash of fury tore through her so violently that plasma burst from her hands with a force she could barely contain. The searing green light flooded the room just before she hurled the Kimmunicator against the wall of the apartment she'd rented in Frankfurt. She was there for one night only, exploiting a calculated advantage—letting the villains believe that Kim was hunting them. After all, Dementor's primary base was in that city, and any trace of her presence was enough to stir the group's paranoia. It was misdirection. Bait.

As Wade had promised, the device was virtually indestructible. Not a scratch on it. The wall, however, wasn't so lucky—a massive hole now split it open, scattering brick and plaster across the floor. But Shego didn't care. Not about the damage. Not about the rage burning inside her. Only about the unbearable weight of a threat made real.

She tried contacting Wade twice, but the Kimmunicator remained silent, as if someone had ripped his voice from the air. A sense of danger—of something dark and close—settled in her gut, growing sharper, heavier with each second.

Without a second thought, she grabbed her phone and called Philip.

—Yes, Lady Gower?— he answered at once.

—Philip, I need the jet ready in ten minutes. I'm heading to the airport now. If it can't be done in time, get another—by any means necessary. I have to be in Middleton immediately. And deal with the apartment. The damage is substantial. If the landlord complains... buy the place. I don't have time for negotiations.

—At once, my lady.

By the time she hung up, her bag was already packed. Just the essentials, prepared with military precision. She left the apartment without a backward glance, the keys to her sports car clinking softly in her clenched fist. Her stride was steady, her face set, her eyes hard.

A silent promise burned in her chest.

If anyone dared lay a hand on her Kimmie again... this time, they would pay.

No excuses.

No redemption.

Fifth letter song:

Fall in Love with Me 

To make
My dream come true,
Where do I begin?
How will I see it through?
You, so far away...
And all I know for sure
Is I don't know who I am
Or where I'm going anymore.

Since the day I saw your face,
I lost my sense of self.
You're the only one I see, no one else.
And it hurts me to believe
That you'll never belong to me.

Fall in love with me...
Can't you see?
The day you fall for me,
That will set me free.
I'll be happy then,
And with all my love, I will shelter you.
It will be my pride
To live just for you —
Oh, may God allow
That you fall in love with me somehow.

That day, I'll finally see the light,
And break away from this endless night,
From this loneliness,
This silent chain —
When you love me back, and ease my pain.

Since the day I saw your face,
I lost my sense of self.
You're the only one I see, no one else.
And it hurts me to believe
That you'll never belong to me.

Fall in love with me...
Can't you see?
The day you fall for me,
That will set me free.
I'll be happy then,
And with all my love, I will shelter you.
It will be my pride
To live just for you —
Oh, may God allow
That you fall in love with me somehow.

Love of my life, please fall for me,
Fall for me, darling, endlessly...
Fall in love
Fall in love with me.

https://youtu.be/6m17Kq-op1Y

Sixth letter song:

golden hour

It was just two lovers
Sittin' in the car, listenin' to Blonde
Fallin' for each other
Pink and orange skies, feelin' super childish
No Donald Glover, missed call from my mother
Like, "Where you at tonight?" Got no alibi
I was all alone with the love of my life
She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night
I don't need no light to see you
Shine
It's your golden hour (oh)
You slow down time
In your golden hour (oh)
We were just two lovers
Feet up on the dash, drivin' nowhere fast
Burnin' through the summer
Radio on blast, make the moment last
She got solar power, minutes feel like hours
She knew she was the baddest, can you even imagine
Fallin' like I did for the love of my life?
She's got glow on her face, a glorious look in her eyes
My angel of light
I was all alone with the love of my life
She's got glitter for skin, my radiant beam in the night
I don't need no light to see you
Shine
It's your golden hour (oh)
You slow down time
In your golden hour (oh)

https://youtu.be/PEM0Vs8jf1w

Chapter Text

That same day, just hours before chaos would descend upon Kim, Shego, and Wade, the three villains had gathered. Killigan and Dementor shared a makeshift hideout in Middleton, while Fiske—true to his secretive nature—joined them remotely from an undisclosed location.

—It's ready. And it's flawless. With this, there's no way we can fail,— Dementor declared, his voice rich with triumph as he completed the final lines of code on his computer.

—We'll see about that. Let's test it immediately,— Killigan muttered, arms crossed, barely masking his impatience.

—Yes, but before that... let's go over the plan once more,— Fiske interjected, his tone calm and measured.

—Monty, that's not necessary. We've gone over it a hundred times. It's foolproof. Let's not waste more time,— Killigan grumbled, clearly exasperated.

—It never hurts to be sure. A single crack can destroy everything,— Fiske replied, his composure almost unsettling.

—I agree with the monkey,— said Dementor, surprising Killigan. —Let's review it one last time, then we deploy.

—OK, OK... Fine,— the Scotsman relented, though his tone made his reluctance obvious.

Fiske took the floor then, his voice deliberate, each word weighed with intent:

—First, we'll activate the program that disables the network of the young genius who assists Miss Possible. The boy will be cut off—isolated. Confusion will be our ally. Then we send the transmission to both devices we've detected. It will be a lure. A message disturbing enough that the girl won't be able to resist leaving her hideout. The transmission won't last more than twenty seconds—just long enough to ignite her rage. After that, we regroup at the predetermined location... and bring this story to an end.

—Perfect. No holes in the plan,— Killigan insisted, a glint of bloodlust in his eyes. —So what are we waiting for?

—On the count of three,— said Dementor, flashing a conspiratorial grin at his companion.

—One,— Fiske said, disturbingly serene.

—Two,— Killigan echoed, eyes gleaming.

—Three!— Dementor shouted, slamming the key that unleashed the transmissions with theatrical flair.

Because yes—there were two transmissions sent that night.

The night after their meeting in Ireland, while Dementor worked on the agreed-upon programming, he detected a second signal—one from a Kimmunicator in Middleton. At the same time, the original signal—the one they'd been tracking—was moving from Scotland toward the mainland.

Perplexed at first and convinced it was a technical error, Dementor ran diagnostics over and over. But no—there was no mistake. Two signals were live. Two Miss Possibles?

The discovery forced him to contact his partners immediately. What followed was a heated debate over which signal was genuine. Fiske, cold and calculating, placed his bet on the second. Killigan and Dementor, stubborn and trusting their instincts, stood by the first.

Unable to agree and unwilling to compromise, they altered the plan to pursue both leads in parallel. And true to their code—the not-so-secret code of the opportunistic villain—they also began to devise ways to betray each other the moment opportunity struck.

In the end, the two transmissions sent that night no longer matched the original plan. Each had secretly modified the program, embedding their own version of the message to suit their personal goals, not the team's.

Once the signals were deployed and the communication blackout initiated, each villain set off to his respective destination: Killigan and Dementor toward the Middleton cemetery, and Fiske—somewhere deep in the shadows of Arizona—headed for the Amazon jungle with a most essential cargo... unconscious, and considerably heavy.

—

Meanwhile, Kim had managed to contact an old ally using the directory in her old Kimmunicator. He could take her deep into the Amazon jungle. A journey that, between flights, layovers, and land transport, would take roughly twenty-four hours.

There wasn't much she could do in the meantime. She tried to reach Wade several more times, clinging to the hope that some miracle would restore the connection. But there was no answer.

Anxiety bloomed in her chest like a poisonous vine, spreading its tendrils. Alongside it came confusion... and disappointment.

Were Drakken and Shego really behind all this?

Part of her thought it possible. But another part—the deeper, aching part—held tight to the hope that Shego wasn't involved. That she hadn't lied.

With those thoughts beating heavily inside her, Kim leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and tried to gather the courage she would need to face whatever awaited her at the end of the journey.

—

Shego's legs wouldn't stop moving—a restless sway betraying the storm inside her. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if being in love—completely, irreversibly in love with a single person—was truly worth it. Because the pain that came with it was brutal, suffocating. Like a wound that never healed.

But the thought barely had time to take shape before it was swept away by a fierce certainty: she wouldn't trade it for anything. Not the pain, nor the anguish, nor the yawning emptiness in her chest could outweigh the gift that had been knowing Kim. Loving her. Having been loved by her.

That truth—painful and radiant—was what held her up now, as she stared down the long eleven-hour flight separating her from her destination. Because it didn't matter what waited for her on the other side of the world: Shego was going. And she would give everything to protect Kim. Even her own life.

—

When Shego finally touched down at the airport, it was fifteen minutes to nine. But neither the hour nor the lightning tearing through the sky—flashing behind dense, unmoving clouds—was enough to slow her. A storm was coming, yes, but it wasn't the weather that unsettled her.

She didn't wait for the plane to come to a full stop. The moment the hatch opened, she sprang from her seat and strode down with impatient steps, her heart pounding against her ribs like it was trying to escape its cage. A car was waiting for her on the private runway. She jumped into the driver's seat as if the oxygen she needed was inside that vehicle—like she could only breathe again if she saw her. Alive.

Her hands were trembling. Not from fear, but from rage. From love. From the sickening uncertainty of whether she was already too late.

The engine roared to life with the fury of someone carrying far too much emotion for far too long. The city blurred behind the glass—light and shadow merging into a single streak—as her entire focus narrowed to one place: Middleton's cemetery. Fear, that familiar old ghost she rarely allowed to show, was riding in the passenger seat beside her, silent but undeniably present.

By the time she arrived, the thunder had grown violent, as if the storm itself was heralding something inevitable. Tall oaks cast unsettling shadows under the dim lights lining the path between the graves. But Shego paid them no mind. Her body moved with urgency, but her mind was already there—at Ron's grave.

She ran. But when she reached it, no one was there.

She knelt by the headstone. It was spotless. Immaculate. No sign of the vandalism from the photo she had received. A cold weight dropped into her stomach like a stone: a trap.

Then, to her right, the brittle snap of a branch jolted her into motion. She sprang to her feet instantly, muscles coiled, teeth clenched. Two figures were emerging slowly from the shadows of a nearby tree.

—Shego?— Killigan asked, visibly puzzled.

—Fräulein Shego... what a surprise,— said Dementor, a strained smile tugging at his mouth as he stepped forward cautiously. —To what do we owe the pleasure of seeing you here, of all places?

—I just came to confirm if the buffoon was truly dead,— Shego replied, her voice sharp as a blade. Her face was unreadable, but inside her, everything burned.

—Hmmmm,— murmured Dementor, taking a few more steps. —Curious, isn't it? That happened several months ago... in one of your own hideouts. Don't you find that curious, Killigan?

—Very curious, Demenz. In fact, since the explosion, no one's heard a peep from you, Shego,— Killigan added, narrowing his eyes. —Drakken mentioned you were off on some mysterious personal mission. What are you hiding?

—What I do or don't do is none of your concern, gentlemen,— she snapped. —And if you'll excuse me, I have no further business here.

—Nein, nein, Fräulein Shego... I believe your business here is only just beginning,— Dementor interrupted, his smile now tinged with malice. He lifted a small device, its blinking light pulsing insistently. —It strikes me as very interesting that this little artifact—which clearly belongs to Miss Possible—is now in your possession.

—Again... not your business,— Shego said coolly.

Then, without hesitation, she hurled a sphere of plasma straight into Killigan’s face, sending him flying backward like a sack of meat. The Scotsman barely had time to grunt before collapsing, unconscious. As Shego turned to repeat the attack on Dementor, he shouted a command and slammed a button on his belt.

Within seconds, a dozen automated weapons powered on with menacing hums. But Shego didn’t falter. On the contrary. She launched forward like lightning, closing the gap between them and driving a punch into Dementor’s face that shattered his nose and fractured his cheekbone. His scream was swallowed by the crack of breaking bone.

From the shadows, Dementor’s henchmen surged like a tide, heavily armed. Shego had no choice but to face them head-on. Surrounded, outnumbered, she stood on adrenaline alone. She couldn’t let them escape. Not now.

Not before she knew what else they knew.

—

The first strike came from her flank, but she dodged it with an almost impossible twist, as if time itself had slowed. Her counterattack was ruthless: a burst of plasma to the chest, followed by an upward kick that snapped the next man’s jaw with a crack like lightning splitting the sky. One grabbed her from behind—she seized him by the shoulders and slammed him into a tombstone, splitting it in two. The air reeked of ozone, wet earth, sweat, and fury.

Plasma hissed in her hands. Her movements were pure instinct—pure wrath. She unleashed a wave that incinerated five enemies at once. The scent of charred flesh and ozone filled the air. Another came at her with an electrified baton; she grabbed him by the neck and slammed him into the ground with a sickening crunch. He didn’t get up.

Guns meant nothing. She was the weapon.

A shot grazed her side. She screamed—not from pain, but from rage. Hot blood slid down her hip, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Kim was at stake. And if she had to turn this graveyard into a killing field to get her back, so be it.

Dementor activated a drone that hovered overhead, firing bursts of energy. Shego darted between gravestones, using an unconscious body as cover, and with a well-aimed blast, detonated the drone midair.

She leapt atop a mausoleum, launching a surge that tore through the center of the enemy horde. Bodies flew like rag dolls. The sky roared in unison. She screamed with it.

—Come on, you bastards! I’ll bury you right here!

The entire cemetery shook with each impact. She was wounded, her breathing ragged, but she didn’t fall. Not while even one of them stood.

Killigan reemerged, staggering, and lobbed a golf bomb. Shego deflected it with a kick—it exploded midair, maiming his own men. She charged him, closing the distance with impossible speed, planted a fist in his chest, and sent him flying into a tree. This time, he didn’t get up.

Dementor tried to flee. Shego leapt, snapped his arm with a single twist, and threw him back-first into a tombstone that cracked under his weight.

—Scheisse! —he gasped, trying to crawl away.

The last henchmen hesitated. Shego showed no mercy—targeted plasma shots to torsos, faces, legs. It wasn’t a fight anymore. It was a massacre.

One by one, she tore through the survivors. Their weapons were advanced, but they weren’t good enough. Not for her. In under five minutes, silence fell. Under the rain and the flickering glow of lanterns, the field lay strewn with writhing bodies, unconscious groans, and blood mixing with mud. Shego stood trembling slightly, soaked, panting—but still on her feet.

And in the distance, a single moan broke the hush: Dementor, still bleeding from his nose, clutching his ruined arm.

He whimpered as Shego grabbed him by the collar and hauled him up, his body dangling like a sodden rag. The rain was coming down hard now, soaking her to the bone—but she didn’t care. She was drenched in mud, in blood… and in a fury that needed no more fuel.

—Where’s Fiske? —she growled, eyes gleaming in the gloom.

—I don’t know! —Dementor gasped, laughing nervously, spitting blood.

She didn’t answer. Her fingers tightened on his coat and slammed him against the nearest headstone. The impact rang hollow. He screamed, more from fear than pain.

—You know what I heard, doctor? —Shego whispered, leaning in until her breath touched his face.

Dementor blinked, confused. The fear now pulsed in his throat.

—I heard what you wanted to do to Kim. I heard you say you’d make her beg for mercy. That you’d deny her even that. —Her voice cracked for a moment—not from grief, but from restraint. —Do you remember?

His mouth opened. No sound came out.

—I heard everything.

Dementor swallowed, struggling for air. She let him drop into the mud. He coughed—blood, earth, shame.

—Please... it was just an idea... a slip...

—A fantasy, —Shego cut him off—. A very specific one. And now you’ll beg. You’ll learn what that feels like.

She stomped on the wrist he was using to crawl. A crunch echoed. He screamed.

—Where’s Fiske?

—I—I’m not certain...

She crushed the other wrist. Another sickening crunch. Another scream.

—Mercy! Please! —he sobbed, his face a twisted mask of terror.

—Where is Fiske?

—I—I tagged him before he disappeared... he’s somewhere in the Amazon...

Shego fired a plasma burst inches from his side—enough to burn, not to kill. The stench of scorched flesh rose like macabre incense.

—Mercy!

She stared at him in silence. Her breath was labored, water dripping from her jaw.

—Would you have given Kim mercy?

Dementor sobbed something unintelligible.

—I’m not like you, —Shego said at last, her voice level, quiet—. I’m not a killer. Not in cold blood.

She crouched beside him, her face inches from his.

—But I’m not stupid, either. If you ever go near her again... if you so much as say her name... you’ll wish I’d killed you tonight.

She tore his weapons belt off and flung it into the dark. He whimpered something that sounded like “thank you,” but it carried no hope. Only the fragile relief of still breathing.

Then Shego stood. She looked around—the storm was trying to wash the battlefield clean, but it couldn’t.

She pulled out her communicator and dialed a secure channel. When she spoke, her voice had changed entirely—flat, emotionless.

—Middleton Cemetery. Coordinates attached. Two high-profile criminals and their men.  They’ve been neutralized. —She ended the call without waiting for a response.

She took one last look at the bodies—Killigan unconscious, Dementor broken, the rest disabled. In the distance, the city lights flickered. The roar of a Global Justice aircraft hummed overhead.

Shego vanished into the shadows before they arrived. Thunder rolled again in the distance.

—

While all of this unfolded in Middleton, Kim was just three hours away from landing in Manaus, Brazil. From there, she would begin her journey deep into the Amazon rainforest, determined to find answers once and for all—either to uncover Drakken and Shego's hiding place, confront them, and finally remove them from her life... or to confirm that Shego had been telling the truth all along. And if that were the case, she would have to face something far more complicated: the weight of what that truth truly meant, after dealing with whoever was truly behind the current chaos.

She forced those thoughts aside.

For the fifth time during the flight, she checked her suit, her gear, and stretched her muscles with careful precision. Although she'd been officially cleared to return after the accident, she had yet to resume full training. Her body wasn't operating at one hundred percent—and that reality unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

The idea of having to face this mission alone, physically weakened, without Ron, without clarity—it gnawed at her. But she tried to silence the unease, relying not only on the experience etched into her memory, but also on that uncanny bodily instinct she had been noticing more and more: her muscles remembered things her mind did not. And she hoped, desperately, that would be enough.

When she finally landed, she offered the pilot an earnest thank you before immediately attempting to contact Wade again. This time the call connected, but the video was distorted and the audio barely comprehensible. She tried twice more. Same result.

Frustrated but resolute, she moved on.

Using a secure list of contacts tied to Drakken's last known hideout, she managed to locate a local guide willing to take her halfway into the jungle. That was all she needed.

With a heart steeled by uncertainty, Kim set off into the green abyss.

—

The jungle greeted her with overwhelming density. The heat was suffocating—thick and oppressive—clinging to her skin like something alive, like the humidity itself had intent. Every step felt heavier than the last, as the constant drone of insects and the distant crackle of branches created a soundscape that offered no reprieve. Her guide, a man of few words but sharply alert eyes, moved forward with steady confidence, parting vines and sidestepping treacherous roots with practiced ease.

Kim did her best to match his pace. This wasn't her first time navigating hostile terrain, but the lack of recent training weighed on her. Still, she said nothing. She observed, committed details to memory, analyzed the terrain and every shift in movement—as if her life depended on it. Because, more likely than not, it did.

After nearly two hours of tense advance, the guide halted. He pointed east with a firm gesture.

—This is as far as I go. Beyond this point, it's a minefield,— he warned, and it was clear he wasn't just referring to physical traps.

Kim nodded, not trying to persuade him. She handed over the agreed-upon payment, and without another word, the man vanished into the trees.

Now alone, she adjusted her gloves and moved forward cautiously. The foliage grew denser, more hostile. Then, without warning, the terrain shifted. Amid the roots and undergrowth, artificial elements emerged—rusted metal, half-buried cables, camouflaged plating. She was close.

A dry, almost imperceptible click was her only warning before a projectile launched from the underbrush. She dropped and rolled instinctively—but not fast enough. A shard of metal grazed her side, slicing a burning line across her skin. She stifled a cry. Detection was not an option. Gritting her teeth, she pressed on.

The traps came in waves: darts from hidden walls, nets concealed in brush, pressure plates buried beneath rotting leaves. At first, each evasion cost her—a new cut, a poorly absorbed blow. But soon, her body began to respond on its own, remembering what her mind had yet to catch up with. It read patterns, anticipated movements, dodged with the precision honed from years of combat, even if she no longer possessed her former strength.

At last, she stood before the half-hidden entrance to Drakken's old lair—panting, slick with sweat and dirt, her arms scratched and her right leg aching with a sharp, persistent throb. And yet, her eyes burned with purpose.

She placed a small precision explosive against the hatch, stepped back, and breached the entrance. The tunnel descended steeply into darkness. Her flashlight pierced the shadows in sharp beams as she advanced. The silence was unnatural. No alarms. No voices. No machinery humming in the depths. Only a hollow echo that magnified the tension in her chest.

She reached the control center and froze.

There, seated before the massive screen that had once loomed over so many of their past confrontations, was someone. His back to her. 

—Drakken,— she murmured, distrust heavy in her voice.

No answer.

Kim moved closer, each step a hard echo on the metallic floor. Everything was too still. Too perfect. Something was wrong.

And then she saw it.

Drakken was there—yes. But not as she had imagined. His hands were bound behind the chair. A gag cut off any sound. His face was mottled with bruises; one eye swollen nearly shut. His breathing came shallow and ragged, each gasp visibly painful.

—What...?— Kim whispered, ice flooding her veins.

She approached swiftly now, no longer bothering with subtlety, and removed the gag in a single motion. Drakken let out a muffled groan, and a flicker of despair flashed in his eyes the moment he recognized her.

—Who did this to you?— Kim asked, voice tight with disbelief, her heart already fearing the answer.

And in the silence that followed—a silence louder than any scream—she understood.

The worst had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Drakken tried to speak, but only managed a coarse groan, as if every word he meant to utter dissolved in his wounded throat. His body trembled uncontrollably, and his split lips could barely form more than the ghost of a silent plea. Kim knelt beside him, working to loosen his bindings while keeping her eyes on the perimeter. Something was off. Too much silence. Too much stillness.

And then—she felt it.

A faint crack of branches... then another. And another. The echo of steps that didn't belong to any human. Shapes moving just beyond the edge of her sight.

—No,— Kim whispered, rising swiftly to her feet.

From the ceiling, from the corridors, from the crumbling walls of the abandoned lair, agile, simian figures began to emerge—eyes glowing with an unnatural, reddish light. Fiske's monkeys. Mutated, armed, and organized like a nightmare swarm.

One lunged toward her, and she felled it with a spinning kick. Another came at her from behind, but she vaulted over the central console, dodging it by a breath. Despite the sharp ache in her side and the exhaustion gnawing at her limbs, Kim fought with fierce precision, placing herself between Drakken and the oncoming horde, shielding him.

They outnumbered her. But not her will.

—Kim Possible.

The voice sliced through the air like a sharpened blade, echoing from above the rusted metal catwalk suspended over the lair's central chamber.

Fiske.

He descended with the poised grace of a predator, every step measured, each movement performed with theatrical exactness. He wore dark fabric tailored to perfection—simple, elegant, designed to command respect... or fear. He walked among his creatures—red-eyed mutant monkeys with bared teeth—as if they were mere extensions of his will.

Kim had no time for words. A simian attacker lunged from her right, and she dropped it with a crackling electrical charge. It writhed, shrieking, before collapsing.

—What are you doing here?— she growled, never ceasing her movements, never letting Fiske out of her sight for more than a second.

Fiske tilted his head with a mock-curious look, his lips curling into the faintest smirk.

—Mmm... curious. It seems you truly don't know.

Kim frowned, barely dodging a charge, her boots slipping on the damp floor. The monkeys were fast, and while her body moved on instinct, it wasn't at full strength.

—What don't I know?— she snapped, breathless and furious.

Fiske smiled like a child about to unwrap a long-awaited gift.

—Well, I see no reason to keep it hidden now,— he said almost indulgently. —As you may have guessed, Miss Possible, you've just walked into a trap. What you may not know... is that it's the second time you've fallen for one crafted by yours truly.

He offered a grand, mocking bow—and the gesture struck Kim like a slap of humiliation. She stumbled. One of the monkeys took the opening and struck her in the back with an improvised club, knocking the wind from her lungs and forcing her to her knees.

—What the hell are you talking about, Monty?— she spat, rising again. —You haven't even shown your face in ages.

—Kimberly, Kimberly, Kimberly...— Fiske sang, clasping his hands behind his back and shaking his head as if scolding a stubborn child. —Do you really believe this was Drakken's idea? That that sniveling coward had the intellect or the nerve to execute such a plan? One that destroyed your dear little boyfriend... and was meant to destroy you as well?

Something inside Kim cracked. Her heart faltered.

—What...?

—Oh, please.— Fiske raised an eyebrow, dismissive. —Even Shego, with all her powers, with all her proclamations that you're hers, with all her promises to end you... never managed it. No. It was me—Lord Montgomery Fiske—the only one with the vision, the strategy, and the will to break you.

The echo of his name hung in the lair like a death sentence.

—Though... I'll admit, Killigan and Dementor played their part in the first plan. Mere pawns. They followed my blueprint without even grasping its scope.

And then he laughed. A manic, ego-drenched laugh that reverberated off the concrete and metal walls, shaking the air like a coming storm. In that instant, he lost sight of Kim.

She didn't lose sight of him.

The world slowed.

Fiske's words had pierced her like blades. All this time... Shego and the others had told the truth. Guilt struck her like a frigid wave—but beneath that tide... burned a holy rage.

The tremor in her limbs wasn't weakness. It was transformation.

With a contained roar, she cleared the last of the monkeys in a flurry of motion. Her body, though sore, remembered. Remembered how to fight. How to survive. How to destroy.

She vaulted over a table, rolled across the floor, used her momentum to take down two attackers with a single spinning kick.

And then—without thinking, without letting guilt take hold—she charged Fiske.

Her fist was raised. Her eyes burned.

There were countless questions. Too many wounds still open. But in that moment, only one thing remained: justice.

She tackled him with the weight of everything she had lost. The impact reverberated across the metal floor with a muffled crack. For a breathless second, the man staggered... but did not fall.

Kim knew it instantly. The body beneath her wasn’t just strong. It was dense, unyielding. Like a mountain that refused to break.

She leapt back, landing in a ready stance, panting, sweat sliding down her back like liquid fire. The command center’s flickering lights cast red flashes across her skin, across the rubble, across Drakken’s motionless body, bleeding just a few feet away.

Fiske rose with maddening calm, brushing dust from his coat with an almost insulting gentleness. Then, he smiled.

—Ah, Kimberly. Always so bold. So... predictable.

He struck her before she even saw the blow coming. A single punch. Precise. Inhuman.

She was hurled several meters and slammed into a pillar. The pain was instant, and her scream was drowned in blood. She hit the ground, gasping.

—Surprised?— Fiske asked, approaching with his hands clasped behind his back, like a man on a Sunday stroll. Framed by the command center’s screen behind him, his silhouette resembled that of a dark god. His eyes—more simian than human—gleamed with a feral light.

Kim spat blood. She rose, staggering. Her breathing was a hammer in her chest.

—I don't care what you did to yourself. I don't care how much power you stole. You're not walking out of here.

Fiske tilted his head, that twisted smile sharpening like a dagger's edge.

—Stole? Oh no, Kimberly. This wasn't stolen... it was earned. In blood. In sacrifice. In vision.

He stepped closer, hands still clasped behind him, his steps landing with the finality of a verdict.

—Did you never wonder why Ron fell and you didn't? Why that accident was so precise, so fatal... so convenient?

Kim glared at him, injured but alert.

Fiske extended his arms, magnanimous, like a sovereign presenting himself before his kingdom.

—Thanks to his death—by unleashing chaos, by shattering the balance—I inherited what he protected. The mystical power of the monkey was his, yes... but once he was eliminated, I absorbed everything. Everything.

His laughter came low, venomous.

—And now... every cell in my body carries the echo of that sacrifice. Can you feel it, Kim? That trembling in the air? That's not adrenaline. That's the ancestral fury of the simian awakened... and it is mine.

Kim clenched her fists. Her rage boiled beneath her skin like molten stone.

—You used Ron... as a bridge.

Fiske nodded, utterly unrepentant.
—More than a bridge. A key. To a lock I opened with his life.

Then he struck—so fast Kim barely had time to register the horror of his words.

It wasn't a fight. It was a violent dance, where one dancer was a storm and the other, a candle flickering in the gale.

Kim ducked, struck, twisted—but every move was deflected with insulting ease. Her technique remained flawless, but her body no longer obeyed. Pain flared in her ribs. Fatigue dragged at her limbs. Rage clouded her judgment. Everything was against her.

Fiske mocked her even as he parried.

—This is almost... disappointing.

A sweeping kick sent her sprawling. She rolled to avoid the finishing blow, but Fiske was already on her. He seized her by the throat and lifted her as though she weighed nothing.

—And to think,— he sneered, looking her over with contempt, —this was the greatest obstacle in our path. What a sad joke.

He hurled her against a console that exploded in sparks behind her. The pain was sharp and white-hot. Kim crawled forward on shaking limbs before he stomped on her back, pinning her with humiliating ease.

—Don't worry,— he whispered, crouching beside her ear, his voice soft as a cursed promise.—I'm not going to kill you... not yet.

Her breath came in ragged gasps against the cold metal floor.

—You see... I'm expecting a guest.

He tightened his grip. Kim could barely breathe.

—I know she'll come. Not for you, of course. Not even for me. She'll come for that pathetic excuse for a genius you have bleeding out over there.— He nodded toward Drakken. —And when she does... I want you here. I want her to witness what she never had the strength to do: your destruction.

He released her throat suddenly. Kim collapsed onto her side, coughing violently, fighting for air.

—I'll keep you alive a few more hours. Let's call it... courtesy.

Fiske walked away unhurriedly, as if the idea of retaliation didn't even occur to him. He barked orders to his monkeys to bind Kim and carry her after him.

She tried to move. Her limbs trembled, her muscles useless. Not completely defeated—not yet. But broken, for now.

As his footsteps faded into the winding corridors of the lair and the monkeys approached to carry out their master's orders, Kim closed her eyes in a fury of shame. Not just for her defeat. Not just for Ron.

But because, deep down... she was praying Shego would come.

—

Shego landed at the Manaus airport at 3:00 p.m. If her calculations were right, Kim had arrived in the early hours of the morning—giving the redhead at least an eleven-hour head start. In that span, anything could have happened. But Shego held one advantage: she knew Kim's destination. A journey that would've taken Kim four hours, Shego could cover in less than forty-five minutes.

She wasted no time, chartering the first available private aircraft. She handed the pilot the coordinates with an urgency that bordered on savagery. They were flying straight to Drakken's old hideout—a place Shego knew as intimately as her own shadow.

When they arrived, there was no hesitation. She moved with surgical precision, disabling the security traps with practiced ease. She still remembered where the hidden switch was—too many years spent in this place during her early days with the scientist to ever forget.

When the trap mechanism disengaged with a soft click, she stepped inside.

The silence hit her first—thick, unnatural, like the building itself was holding its breath.

She advanced through the corridors, every sense sharpened to a razor's edge. Nothing moved. Nothing made a sound. Until a strangled groan sliced through the quiet like a blade. She ran toward it without thinking.

Drakken.

He was bound, battered, face marred with dried blood and weakness. But alive. Barely clinging to life, as if he'd known—had waited—for her.

—Drew!— Her voice cracked, shattering the armor she had fought so hard to keep in place.

He raised his head with effort, smiling faintly—a wounded grimace still tinged with affection.

—Shego... I knew you'd come.

She dropped to her knees and, with a tightly focused plasma beam, cut through the restraints. He collapsed against her, trembling, barely able to hold himself up.

—What happened?— she asked, scanning his wounds. Her hands moved quickly, but the fear in her chest made every gesture tremble.

—Fiske...— Drakken rasped, the name dragging out like a curse. —He took Kim. Said he's waiting... at the temple.

—What temple?— Her voice turned to ice—deadly, resolute.

He nodded faintly toward the northern jungle, where the trees swallowed the ruins of forgotten civilizations.

—The old site... the one we avoided. Never knew what it was. Fiske says it's alien... a temple. It's close. Maybe two kilometers. He... he's counting on you to come.

Then a sharp buzz cut through the moment. Her Kimmunicator vibrated—Wade.

—Wade! Finally! Where the hell have you been?

Her voice cracked like a whip—rage and relief in equal measure. His reply came laced with guilt and frustration.

—Shego, it was bad. They attacked all my systems—every comm line. Whoever did it knew exactly how to shut me down. I've spent hours trying to re-establish contact. I only just broke through. What's happening?

—Killigan, Dementor, and Fiske. It was them all along, Wade. I'm in the Amazon. Fiske has Kim. And I'm going after her.

A charged silence preceded his next words.

—Is Kim okay? Are you? How can I help?

—Drakken's here too. He's in bad shape. I need emergency medics at my location. Now. He won't make it otherwise. And have them on standby... I don't know what condition Kim's in, or what I'm walking into. But just in case... keep them ready.

—Sending them now. Be careful, Shego.

She ended the call without another word, turned to Drakken, and eased him against a safer part of the wall, trying not to worsen his pain.

—Hang in there,— she murmured, her voice raw with emotion.

He nodded faintly, breathing shallowly. Nothing more needed to be said.

Then, without looking back, Shego ran. As though her life depended on it. As though the only thing left in the world was Kim.

And in a way, it was.

—

The temple rose from the jungle like a nightmare carved in stone. Massive columns, cracked and worn, covered in unearthly inscriptions, stood like the fossilized bones of a forgotten god. The entire structure pulsed with an ancient, dormant energy. It felt alive. As if it breathed. As if it waited.

Shego stepped through the threshold without pause. She didn't need light. Her fury was enough to light the way.

Then she saw her.

Kim.

Lying in a corner of the vast central chamber, wrists bound by dark metal restraints she didn't recognize, a cruel gag across her mouth. She was conscious, barely. Breathing shallowly. Her tangled, damp hair clung to her face. Her body was marked—fresh wounds, signs of resistance, every inch of her screaming of struggle.

The chamber was solemn, vast—a silent void anchored by a central altar inscribed with symbols that glowed faintly, as though responding to some invisible presence. Something slept there. Something waiting to be awakened.

But Fiske was nowhere in sight.

Shego ran to Kim—every step a thunderclap in her chest. Her breath came in low, shaking gasps.

—I'm here, Kimmie,— she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of relief and guilt. She brushed back the damp strands clinging to Kim's face with a fierce tenderness. —I didn't make it in time... I'm so sorry.

Her fingers trembled as she tore off the gag and carefully broke the restraints. Her eyes scanned Kim's body in desperation—every bruise, every cut, searching for the unforgivable.

Kim stirred, her body trembling with effort. Slowly, painfully, she opened her eyes. It took her a moment to focus... and then she saw Shego.

And she smiled.

A soft, fragile smile—like the whisper of a flame refusing to go out.

With slow, aching movements, Kim lifted her hands and cupped Shego's face. Shego froze, overwhelmed by the flood rising in her chest. It wasn't adrenaline now. It was love. It was hope.

It was her.

Kim brushed her thumb along Shego's cheek, catching a single tear that slipped free. A tear heavy with fear, relief... and a joy so sharp it ached.

—It's okay...— Kim murmured, her voice raw and broken as her own tears welled up. —You're here now... my angel.

And for a moment, the world held still.

Because despite everything broken, everything unknown, everything dark... they had each other.

Chapter Text

The way Shego's eyes widened was almost cartoonish: her pupils dilated with disbelief, a faint blush rose to her cheeks, and her lips parted as though she had just witnessed a divine revelation. For a moment, she could swear she'd heard an ethereal chorus of celestial hosts singing a symphony to accompany her ascent to another plane—one where unicorns roamed free and a pot of gold awaited at the end of every rainbow. A world suspended in clouds soft as cotton candy, scented with the sweetest roses, untouched by pain, tears, or anything remotely human... where only laughter, peace, and endless caresses existed.

Shego was entranced. Her eyes were still fixed on Kim, but they weren't really seeing her. Her mind drifted somewhere between disbelief and fragile hope. Despite the exhaustion weighing down her limbs, Kim let out a soft, almost childlike giggle at the dazed expression on Shego's face. Her hands still cradled Shego's cheeks, as if afraid she might vanish.

—Shego...— she said her name gently, trying to draw her back to reality.

It wasn't enough. She had to repeat it at least three more times before the dark-haired woman blinked, as if returning from a deep dream, her feet touching earth once more.

—Kim...— Shego whispered, voice shaky. There was so much she wanted to say—so many words bottled up for so long—but they all caught in her throat. All she could manage was a stammer: —Did you... remember?

Kim held her gaze with tenderness, a contrite expression softening her features. Her lips curved into a small, nostalgic smile.

—Not everything,— she admitted quietly. —Just that that's what I used to call you. Shego... we have so much to talk about.

—I know, princess,— Shego murmured—and that word, that intimate nickname that had been her anchor through the storm, slipped from her lips like a reverent prayer. —We'll get out of here. And then we'll talk. About everything. No more holding back.

Kim gave a faint nod—barely perceptible, but enough. Shego leaned toward her with an uncharacteristic gentleness, as though afraid to break something sacred, and opened her arms to take her in.

—May I?— she asked, pausing just before touching her.

—Yes,— Kim whispered.

And just like that, the world narrowed down until there was nothing left but the two of them. Kim let herself be folded into Shego's warmth, into her familiar scent, into the sanctuary of her strong arms. For a fleeting moment, everything felt safe.

Shego was just about to rise with Kim in her arms, ready to carry her out, when a voice tore through the air like thunder, freezing her in place.

Reality—and with it, Fiske—crashed down with brutal force.

The air in the temple vibrated with almost palpable tension. The cyclopean stone columns, carved with symbols far beyond human comprehension, stood around the main chamber like ancient sentinels. At the center, the alien altar—dark and inert—seemed to pulse faintly with hidden energy. Shego held Kim close, guarding her like the last spark of life in a doomed world. And behind her, Fiske emerged from the shadows like a serpent poised to strike.

—Aww, I was enjoying the show,— he mocked with his usual sardonic flair.

Shego stood, slow and deliberate, Kim still pressed against her chest.

—Monty,— she spat, her voice laced with venom.

Fiske stepped closer to the altar. His eyes gleamed with an almost unnatural light, his body tense with the mystic energy coiled inside him—Monkey Power. He carried no weapons. He didn't need any. His presence alone radiated overwhelming force.

—I always thought it funny,— he continued, —how much you talked about ending Kim—but never did. I suppose that worked out for me. I waited for you, Shego. I wanted you to see it. How I succeed where you never could—destroying her. But now, I think I'll do one better. I'll destroy you both. And first... I'll make you watch her fade, powerless to stop it.

Before she could react, he lunged with inhuman speed. Shego twisted away, Kim still in her arms, narrowly avoiding the first blow. She rolled across the floor and with effort, set Kim down behind a column, hidden by thick roots and fallen stone.

—Stay here. Don't move,— she whispered, pressing her forehead to Kim's.

Then she turned to face Fiske again. He was already waiting, shoulders rotating with the calm of a master who knows his student is about to fall.

—You know you can't win, don't you?— he said.

—Then come prove it,— Shego replied, fists igniting with green plasma.

The clash was brutal. Fiske, fast as a phantom, dodged every strike with fluid grace, retaliating with fists charged with mystic energy. The temple became a war zone—each impact shaking the ancient stones. Shego landed some plasma strikes, but he absorbed or deflected them, each time with growing precision.

A spinning kick sent her flying into a column. She staggered to her feet, blood trailing from her brow.

—That's it?— Fiske snarled, lunging again.

They fought for minutes in a rhythm beyond human limits—one even Kim, from her corner, could barely follow. Blow after blow, Shego held on—until one well-placed strike threw her hard against the altar.

Then, from the upper reaches of the temple, dozens of dark, agile figures began to descend: a horde of mystic monkeys—Fiske's followers. With shrieking fury, they swarmed toward both Shego and Kim.

Still weak, Kim was forced to fight. Punching and kicking with everything she had left, she managed to take a few down, but there were too many. One slashed her arm. Another tried to bite her neck. She screamed—and that scream ignited something in Shego.

—KIM!— she roared, and the plasma in her hands turned white-hot, incandescent—like a star on the verge of collapse.

With feral rage, she spun and struck—not at Fiske, but the column behind him. The blow shattered the stone instantly, and the whole section collapsed, burying the villain under tons of rubble.

Shego didn't waste a second. She sprinted back to Kim, cutting down monkeys as she went, and swept her back into her arms. She carried her to another safer corner, placing her down with urgent care.

—I've got you, princess. Hang on,— she murmured.

She turned—and found herself surrounded. The monkeys snarled, climbing the walls, ready to pounce. She closed her eyes, channeling every last drop of energy. Plasma surged through her chest, her hands, her spine—and then she unleashed it.

A green-and-white explosion rippled through the chamber with surgical precision. The monkeys stood no chance. Most were vaporized instantly; the rest fled screaming, aflame, their shadows seared into the walls.

When the dust settled, Shego knelt, gasping for breath. Silence reigned.

Until a stone shifted.

Fiske rose from the rubble, his clothes torn, his body cut and bruised—but his eyes... his eyes burned with hatred.

He charged again, and the second round began. This time, it was raw, primal. No technique. No elegance. Just rage, desperation, survival. He managed to pin her, lifted her, and threw her against a wall, dazing her.

Then he turned to Kim. Bloodied, barely moving, she tried to crawl away but couldn't. Fiske, brandishing a ceremonial dagger, slashed her arm and collected the blood in a crystal vial.

He turned to Shego. She crawled toward him—but too late. He slashed her shoulder. Her thick, green-tinted blood dripped into the same vial.

The altar reacted. A deep hum shook the floor. Carvings lit up. From its center, a metallic column rose—an alien key perched at its peak.

Fiske stared at the object, baffled.

—This is it?! A key?!— he shouted.

His disappointment was his mistake. Shego, summoning her final reserves, lunged again. She struck, clawed, fired bursts of plasma. The final fight was vicious—pure chaos. They hit the ground again and again.

But Fiske, still stronger, broke free. He seized the key and, with an impossible leap, vanished through a hidden passage behind the altar.

Shego collapsed to her knees, bloodied, gasping. She looked toward the altar. The key was gone.

But Kim... Kim was still breathing.

With titanic effort, Shego crawled back to her. Kim tried to speak—only managing her name.

Shego gathered her into her arms again, pressing her forehead to Kim's.

—I won't let anything happen to you ever again.

At that moment, they became aware of the storm raging outside, while the temple whispered its secrets from the depths of forgotten centuries. Shego held Kim close—defeated, yet alive, still fighting—for a few more minutes in silence. Because even though the enemy had taken the key... she still had what truly mattered. Kim.

Once she had caught her breath, Shego pulled out the Kimmunicator and alerted Wade to their location, stressing the urgent need for medical attention. Help arrived quickly, but with every passing minute, the adrenaline began to fade, making room for the weight of pain. Both women felt it: the wounds left by their confrontation with Fiske demanded notice, no matter how still the moment seemed. And yet, the only thing that truly mattered was this: being wrapped in each other's arms.

For Shego, holding Kim was the fulfillment of a yearning that had been growing since the day she saw her open her eyes in that hospital bed. She needed her near. She needed to know she was alive. That she was still hers. For Kim, whose mind still drifted through fog and confusion, there remained one undeniable truth—her body recognized something essential: the warmth Shego gave her was the only certainty she could hold on to without question.

—

Once back in Middleton, they were immediately transported to the hospital. Wade had contacted Global Justice, which responded swiftly with a medical team and transport for the three wounded. Now, Doctor Director waited patiently for the right moment to question Kim and Shego—as she'd promised Wade, in exchange for answers about why it had been so urgent not only to rescue Drakken and Shego, but also to prevent their arrest.

Of the three, Drakken was in the worst condition. Fiske had tortured him for days trying to extract information about Shego—unsuccessfully. The scientist had endured starvation, severe dehydration, and numerous injuries. Kim, meanwhile, still hadn't regained her full strength after the accident that stole her memory. Her body bore the toll of her battle with Fiske: inflammation, deep but non-lethal lacerations, a dislocated shoulder, and intense muscular fatigue. But it was Shego who bore the worst of the wounds: a bullet lodged in her side, a shattered ankle, multiple fractured ribs, a ceremonial blade buried in her shoulder, and a brutal concussion after being hurled with supernatural force against one of the alien temple’s pillars.. If not for her accelerated healing factor, a regular human in her place would likely not have survived.

For several days, the two women remained hospitalized. It was Kim who requested that they be placed in the same room, hoping to use the time to talk—to finally address everything that had been left unresolved between them.But the first few days passed in dense, almost impenetrable silence. They exchanged strange glances now and then, more laden with uncertainty than words. Most of the time they slept, surrendering to the body's demand for healing.
Shego stayed quiet out of respect, honoring her promise not to pressure Kim until she was ready. And Kim... Kim didn't speak because she didn't know how to begin.

It wasn't until one of their last days in the hospital, after a routine visit from her parents, that Kim finally found the courage to break the silence. Her mother, in particular, had sensed the tension between the two and, with her usual quiet wisdom, had gently urged Kim to talk to Shego.

Kim took a deep breath, gathering her strength, and finally murmured her name.

—Shego... or Sheryl. I'm not sure which you prefer,— she said, faltering slightly as a blush rose to her cheeks.

Shego started at the sound but quickly composed herself with a gentle, easy laugh.
—Whichever you like, Kim.

—Oh... Well. Since we're not doing much and we still have some time, maybe we could talk... about everything that's happened.

Kim, who had been looking at her from across the room, dropped her gaze to her folded hands. Shego watched her with barely restrained tenderness, her eyes full of hope.

—Of course, Kim. What would you like to talk about?— she asked, her voice patient, warm, and respectful.

Kim didn't answer right away. She was trying to line up her thoughts, but every sentence that formed in her mind felt lacking. She inhaled deeply and exhaled with a frustrated sigh.

—Honestly... I don't know how to start,— she admitted, fidgeting with her fingers, eyes still lowered.

—Take your time. It's okay,— Shego said, her voice so loving that Kim finally met her gaze. Her eyes were clouded with remorse.

—Maybe I should start there,— she said, and after another breath, added with as much sincerity as she could summon, —I'm sorry, Shego. I really am sorry for how I treated you. You've been patient and kind, and I... didn't deserve that.

—Thank you, Kim. I can't even imagine how hard all of this has been for you. And if my persistence ever made things worse, I'm truly sorry for that.

—No, you didn't do anything wrong. On the contrary... I think your persistence was exactly what I needed. I just didn't realize it. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before. Maybe... maybe all of this could have been avoided.

—It's okay, Kim, really. I don't hold anything against you,— Shego replied with a lopsided smile. —But enough with the apologies. What's done is done. And now... now we're okay. Right?

—I think so. But we still need to talk.

—I'm here.

—The letters... I read them all. And I listened to all the songs.

Kim stopped there, unsure of how to continue. After a pause, Shego gently encouraged her.

—Thank you for doing that. Do you have any questions? Or anything you want to say about them?

—Plenty. But I don't even know where to begin...

—...In the temple, you called me 'my angel.'— Kim blushed immediately. Shego's heart skipped a beat. —That nickname's not in the letters. Did you remember it? Or did someone tell you?

—I remembered it when I read the last letter. Especially while listening to that song... And not just that. I think every song brought back memories. Blurry ones, yes. But the nicknames were the clearest part. Everything else feels like... hazy dreams.

—If you want, you can tell me about them. I might be able to help you figure out if they're real memories.

—Thanks. I'd like that. Just... not right now. I've written them down in a journal. I can show you once we're out of here.

—Of course. Just say the word, and I'll help you with that... or with anything else you need,—Shego said quickly, then blushed as she realized how eager she sounded.

—Thanks,— Kim replied, smiling softly.

Shego shifted under the covers, cleared her throat, and changed the subject.

—I'm glad the letters and music were useful. That was my hope, though I have to admit I was surprised you actually read them. I hoped you would, sure, but I also tried to make peace with the idea that you might never do it. Especially after... how you'd acted toward me. What made you read them?

—At first, I didn't want to. But honestly? That visit when you gave them to me... it threw me. I got curious. But I could only make it through the first two paragraphs. When you mentioned Ron... I couldn't process it. It hurt to see how close you spoke of him. That you said his death had affected you...

—I'm sorry, Kim,— Shego interrupted, her voice breaking. —I'm so sorry about Ron. I haven't stopped feeling guilty.

—It wasn't your fault, Shego. I know that now.

—Yes, it was. If I had listened when you asked me to leave Drakken... maybe none of this would've happened. Or at least we would've faced it together. Everything that happened was because of me. Ron's death. Your memory loss. All of it. And I'm sorry, Kim. I'm so deeply sorry. I know there's nothing in the world I can do to make up for it. I can't bring back Ron. I can't give you your memories back. But please... is there anything, anything at all, I can do to start making things right?

The pain in her voice was tangible. Tears gathered in her eyes but didn't yet fall, clinging to her lashes. Her body had turned toward Kim, her hands trembling as they clutched the blanket in desperation. Kim didn't interrupt. She simply looked at her, her heart tightening in her chest.

Seeing her like that—so broken, so vulnerable, so sincere—only confirmed what she'd already begun to suspect: This Shego was not the one she thought she knew.
And at that moment, the only thing Kim wanted was to comfort her—because the weight of guilt pressed on both their shoulders, and the thought of continuing to hurt the woman before her felt unbearable.

Chapter Text

Kim slowly pushed herself up from the cot, crossing the short distance to Shego with measured, deliberate steps. Shego remained motionless, almost petrified, trying to decipher the redhead's intentions. But not even in her wildest dreams could she have imagined what happened next: without warning, Kim wrapped her in a gentle embrace, holding her with a tenderness that starkly contrasted the storm of emotions raging within them both.

Shego did not return the embrace immediately. Uncertainty paralyzed her, leaving her torn between the instinct to pull away and the desperate desire to respond. Then, without letting go, Kim whispered in her ear:

—It wasn't your fault, Sheryl. Really, I don't blame you for any of it. But just in case you need to hear it... I forgive you. You don't have to carry that anymore.

Only then, at those words, did Shego allow herself to wrap her arms around Kim. She ignored the sharp pain in her ribs, the uncomfortable tug of stitches at her side. None of it mattered. She held on as if the world might collapse should they part, and at last, she let a few tears slip free. A burden she had carried for weeks lifted from her shoulders.

When they finally separated, their eyes met for no more than two heartbeats before the atmosphere shifted, turning awkward. Kim averted her gaze to the floor, trying to hide the flush creeping up her cheeks, while Shego shifted on the cot, turning her body toward the door and clearing her throat in a futile attempt to regain her composure.

—Thank you, Kim... I needed to hear that,— Shego said.

—You're welcome,— Kim replied softly, still not looking up, before lying back down on her cot.

A heavy silence settled over the room. For several minutes, they remained lost in their own thoughts, each trapped within the labyrinth of her emotions.

A serene kind of euphoria coursed through Shego's veins. For a fleeting moment, she thought she could hear again the echo of the celestial choir, lifting her to a higher plane of existence. She could still feel Kim's arms around her, the scent of her hair lingering on her skin, the faint shiver that had raced down her spine when Kim's lips brushed her ear. Her heart was pounding so hard she feared Kim might hear it from across the room. She tried to steady herself. She couldn't afford to reveal more than she already had. Not yet. Everything was still too fragile, too uncertain. And yet, despite her efforts to temper her hope, the warmth in her cheeks and the butterflies in her stomach screamed that there was still a chance. That Kim might still love her. That maybe—just maybe—things could be as they once were.

On the adjacent cot, Kim wrestled with her own thoughts. But her emotions were denser, more tangled. Uncertainty weighed heavy in her chest, and though her mind remained determined, she couldn't help but absorb some of the guilt. Shivers ran down her body—aftershocks of the emotional earthquake that had been that embrace. Holding Shego had felt too natural, as if her body remembered something her mind could not yet grasp. That familiarity unsettled her. She needed to talk to Shego. She needed to make things clear, to avoid planting hopes she might never be able to fulfill. She didn't want to hurt her more than she already had... or more than she might yet.

She searched for the right words for long minutes. Finding none, she finally decided to just plunge forward.

—So then...— Shego began at the same time Kim said:

—Shego...

They both fell silent, exchanging a shy smile.

—Go ahead,— Kim encouraged.

—No, please. I've talked enough for a while. I want to hear you.

—Oh... okay,— Kim said, hesitating. She fell quiet again for a few seconds, then took a deep breath.

—I don't know how to say this, so I'm just going to be blunt.

She paused again, feeling her breath grow shallow, empty.

—From what I read in your letters... from the way you've acted since I woke up... I get the impression that you think... that you and I... are still together.

Shego didn't answer immediately. She hadn't expected Kim to broach the topic so soon. But she knew there was no better time than now. Anxious to know where this conversation would lead them, she answered, though cautiously.

—Yes. I still consider us a couple.

—Oh...

—Before you say anything else,— Shego hurried to add, —please let me make something clear. I know everything has changed for you since the accident. I understand you're confused, that none of this is easy for you. I don't want to pressure you. I just... I would like the chance to stay by your side. I can be patient. I can help you.

Kim didn't reply right away. She turned her gaze away, hesitating. Why did it have to be so hard? She searched deep within herself for a certainty she couldn't find. Finally, her face tense with anguish, she lifted her eyes and met Shego's gaze.

That look was enough. Shego felt her heart begin to break even before the words came.

—Sheryl... I don't know if you'll believe me, but this is incredibly difficult for me. Reading your letters, allowing you into my life from this new perspective, showed me —with startling clarity— the depth of your love for me. It caught me off guard. At first, it seemed strange... even impossible. But the more I read your words and listened to your songs, the more undeniable it became. I could no longer doubt that love.

She paused. Shego, consumed by despair, tried to interrupt.

—Kim...

—Please, let me finish,— Kim pleaded. Shego nodded silently.

—I could see your devotion. And I wanted to return it. I searched within myself for that same love —the one everyone says I once had for you, the one your every word seemed to breathe. I truly tried. But, Sheryl... it isn't there. And believe me, I don't want to hurt you. Not after everything we've already endured. I even considered pretending. I thought maybe, with time, the feelings would come back. But I realized you deserve more than that. You deserve something real. You deserve the world. And I... I can't give it to you.

—Kim, please, no...— Shego begged, making no effort to hide the tears streaming down her face —tears that broke Kim's heart.

—I'm sorry, Shego... but I think we should end this.

—Kim...— Her name slipped from Shego's lips in a ragged whisper.

—I'm sorry, Sheryl. But I believe it's what's best for both of us. You deserve more than what I can offer right now. I need time to understand myself, to rebuild, to get to know who I am again.

The silence that followed was absolute. Both were crying, their hearts pounding painfully in their chests, shattered into countless pieces.

At last, it was Shego who broke the silence.

—I promised I would respect your decision... no matter how much it destroys me. And I intend to keep that promise. I never knew how to deny you anything, my princess. And if this is what you want... you shall have it. Just allow me to reiterate what I said in my last letter: my heart is yours. It always will be.

With those words, she rose from the bed. With trembling hands, she disconnected herself from the monitors and IVs. She said nothing more. She simply walked toward the door.

—Shego, wait! Where are you going? You haven't finished recovering yet, please come back. I'm sorry!— Kim cried out, guilt strangling her voice.

—No, Kim. It's all right. Don't feel bad. I understand. But I can't stay here anymore. Goodbye, Kim.

Without waiting for a reply, Shego left the room as quickly as her injuries allowed. She ignored the inquisitive stares, the questions from doctors and nurses. She just needed to get away, to stay upright despite the tears threatening to blind her. She exited the hospital, hailed a taxi —still clad in her hospital gown— and, ignoring the driver's confused look, gave him the address to her apartment.

Kim was left sobbing alone in the hospital room, her heart breaking in ways she didn't fully understand, though she suspected the reason. Deep within her subconscious, something screamed that Shego was part of her —had always been part of her. Maybe even before they had been a couple. Perhaps... always.

She had no answers. She didn't want to think about it now. And yet, she cried. And cried. And cried.

—

Several days passed after that painful conversation. Kim was finally about to be discharged from the hospital. Her parents, who had come to take her home, watched her with a concern they could no longer conceal. They had no idea how to lift her spirits. Since their arrival, when they immediately noticed Shego's absence, all they had gotten from Kim was a terse explanation: they had talked, cleared things up... and Shego had left without revealing where she was headed.

They didn't know what to make of it. Kim had refused to share more details. Worried, they had tried reaching out to Shego, but their calls went unanswered. All they knew for certain was that, from that day onward, Kim had retreated into herself, her mood becoming dark and absent.

Once she had packed her belongings and was preparing to leave the room, a soft knock sounded on the door, followed by the appearance of Dr. Betty Director.

—Good afternoon. I need to speak with Miss Possible. I promise I'll be brief,— she said bluntly, her voice as direct as ever.

Drs. Possible looked to their daughter for approval. Kim gave a brief nod, and they discreetly left the room, leaving her alone with Betty.

—How can I help you, Dr. Director?

—First, allow me to say how glad I am to see you recovering, Miss Possible. Your absence has been felt on the crime front. We're counting on your return soon.

—Thank you. I hope to be back as soon as I'm able.

—Good. The reason for my visit is twofold: I need your report, and I must also clarify certain matters. You've made it clear you refuse to join our agency on a permanent basis, agreeing only to collaborate under special circumstances. However, our intelligence systems have detected irregularities in your behavior patterns. Additionally, there has been noticeable negligence in monitoring certain villains who were, implicitly, under your watch. Given recent anomalies, a protocol verification has been initiated to ensure everything remains under control... and to determine whether intervention is necessary.

Despite Betty's professional, almost robotic tone, the warning was clear. A veiled threat lurked behind every word.

Kim's brow furrowed slightly. She wasn't aware of any non-collaboration clause with Global Justice, but she suspected such provisions might date back to the days following the Bueno Nacho incident, days she no longer remembered. She decided not to show confusion or nervousness. Instead, she answered with equal formality, maintaining her composure.

—There's no cause for concern, Dr. Director. As you're aware, a few months ago one of Dr. Drakken's lairs was destroyed in an explosion. Ron was killed in that incident, and I was gravely injured. You'll understand that I've needed time to heal —physically and emotionally. Losing my lifelong best friend isn't something one recovers from overnight.

—I understand. My condolences.

—Thank you. That is the reason I've been off the radar for some time.

—Understood. Now, regarding the matter of Drakken and Shego: a few days ago, we received a call from Shego informing us of the surrender of Killigan and Dementor into our custody. Mr. Load corroborated the information. The call was made using a signal that mimicked your old 'Kimmunicator' almost perfectly, though he refused to provide further details, insisting we speak to you directly. What can you tell me about this?

Kim's mind raced, quickly assessing the implications and deciding on the best course of response.

—Dr. Director, as you well know, Drakken and Shego have long been my direct responsibility. I am under no obligation to disclose the terms of my dealings with them. However, I will tell you this: they will no longer pose a threat. We have reached a mutually beneficial agreement. I will soon initiate proceedings for the corresponding governments to expunge their criminal records as part of this understanding.

Betty kept her face impassive, but her voice grew noticeably tenser.

—Miss Possible, given the high-risk nature of individuals like Drakken and, especially, Shego, I require more than a statement to validate an 'agreement.' As Director of a global security agency, it is my duty to ensure that such decisions are properly substantiated.

—I repeat: this matter does not fall under your direct jurisdiction. However, if you require confirmation, I suggest you wait a few weeks. Then you may verify with the appropriate governments that everything is in order.

Kim grabbed her bag, stood, and headed toward the door.

—Now, if you'll excuse me, I have nothing further to discuss with you. Good day.

And without looking back, she brushed past the one-eyed woman, leaving her no chance to respond.

Chapter Text

Shego

The day Shego left the hospital after her conversation with Kim, she went straight to her bedroom the moment she arrived at her apartment. She shut the door behind her and slipped beneath the covers, as if trying to hide from the world. Only there, in the solitude of her refuge, did she allow herself to cry. She cried with every fiber of her being.

She had long known there was a strong chance Kim would not wish to rekindle their relationship; she had lived with that knowledge for months, preparing herself—or trying to—for the day it became real. And yet, the pain and anguish hit her with devastating force, and Shego allowed herself to feel it, completely and without restraint. Kim had taught her it was all right to do so.

And so she did.

For nearly a week, she remained buried in her misery, hidden under the blankets, emerging only when hunger and thirst became unbearable.

When she finally surfaced, she left her grief behind in that room. After one of her long, freezing showers—the kind where it seemed she was trying to freeze her emotions along with her skin—she reclaimed the resolve she had forged days earlier, when she had returned, after so many years, to her childhood home. This time, she would move forward for herself.

No more running from pain. No more self-destructive, chaotic attempts to mask her wounds.
Kim had shown her another way—one more dignified, more human—and Shego had decided she would honor everything they had lived together by living as Kim had taught her: with courage, with compassion, with hope.

With those thoughts beating in her mind and heart, she summoned the strength to face, one by one, her problems, her traumas, her guilt, and her regrets. Patiently. Kindly, towards herself.

The first thing she did was visit her brothers. She showed up at Go Tower, seeking peace, asking for asylum. Her appearance startled them; perhaps that was why they let her in, though she was hardly welcomed with warmth. Tension hung thick in the air, weighted with all the things no one dared to say. But this time, Shego did not walk away.
She stayed.
She listened.
She apologized.
And, for the first time in a very long time, she cried in front of them. Something broke then—or perhaps something was finally released.

Forgiveness came not through grand gestures, but through small, tentative acts: a cup of tea shared in silence, a walk through the gardens, a clumsily written but honest letter left on the kitchen table. She spent a few weeks with them, and although the wounds remained open and much healing was still needed, the fragile, long-forgotten bond of their childhood began to timidly reemerge.

Only then did Shego dare bring up the matter of the family estate and their legacy. All her brothers—Hego (Hedley), Mego (Merrel), and the Wegos (Weller and Wendell)—agreed they wanted nothing to do with it. It was their way of protecting themselves from old scars, and Shego understood that deeply. Still, she spoke to them about her recent visit, about her desire to honor their parents and restore the family name that had been tarnished by their uncle and his wife. She explained that reclaiming their legacy was part of her own healing. To her surprise, her brothers received her proposal with relief.

She shared the discoveries she had made: due to events from generations past, their duchy was likely the only one in England whose laws allowed Hedley to abdicate in favor of Sheryl.
With everything settled, they began the legal process. A month later, it became official: Sheryl was named Duchess of Shaftesbury—a fact that, in some strange and beautiful way, further strengthened the fragile reconciliation with her brothers.

Once her family affairs were in order, Shego threw herself into her new responsibilities.
Restoring the family mansion to its former glory and repairing the reputation ruined by her uncle and aunt was no simple task, especially given her own infamous past as a villain.
But Sheryl embraced the challenge with quiet determination.

She had one advantage: not everyone recognized her. Most people associated villains with caricatures—flamboyant costumes, theatrical antics. Without her iconic green-and-black suit, with her impeccable manners and natural elegance, few even suspected who she was. An unexpected discovery aided her further: during the inheritance proceedings, she learned that all pending charges against her had been mysteriously annulled. Official records now described her as an upstanding citizen. Shego chose not to question it too deeply. Never look a gift horse in the mouth...

Once her footing was secure, she used the power of her title to launch the Ruby Foundation—named in honor of Kim. The organization was dedicated to supporting individuals with memory disorders, complex trauma, and survivors of prolonged emotional abuse, along with their families.

The foundation's headquarters rose where her true home had once stood: the modest house at the edge of the estate, the one destroyed by the meteor that had changed her life forever.
Restored, it became a place filled with light, soft colors, quiet corners for rest, and therapy rooms that felt more like sanctuaries.

The foundation grew quickly. Shego—or rather, Lady Gower—used her charisma, her story, and her influence to secure donations, attract top-tier professionals, and give a voice to those who had long been silenced.

Yet while her public and family life flourished, her private life remained barren.

She divided her days between Go City, where her brothers lived; England, where she now resided and carried out most of her public and diplomatic duties; and Washington, where she claimed to attend meetings... though in truth, she simply wandered near the university where Kim studied.

She never approached.
Never allowed herself to be seen.
She merely... existed nearby.

Sometimes, from a distance, she managed to glimpse Kim—at the library, or the little café where she had once taken her when everything was simpler. And although each sighting carved her soul open like a blade through flesh, Shego never intervened. Kim had asked her not to.

But not seeing her didn't mean forgetting her.

Her brothers sensed her sorrow but respected her silence.
Only once did the younger twins ask:

—You loved her very much, didn't you?

Shego didn't answer.
She merely nodded, her eyes shimmering with something so deep, so vast, it defied words.

For the first time in her life, Shego wasn't training to outrun her pain, wasn't seeking fights to numb herself, wasn't plunging into reckless missions to forget. She was learning—slowly, painfully—to live with the emptiness. To respect it. To build on it.

She was on pause. Learning how to be human without needing to explode.

Because though the world knew her as Shego—the villain, the mercenary, the woman of fire—at her most vulnerable core, she was Sheryl.

And Sheryl had loved.
Deeply, intensely, desperately.

Even if she could no longer have Kim, she could still make the world a little more worthy for someone else.

That would be her legacy.

That was how she would keep loving her... even across the distance.

—

Kim

When Kim was discharged from the hospital, the university semester she was supposed to rejoin had already begun. At first, she thought she would have to wait once more, but her reputation as Kim Possible—and her impeccable academic record—opened doors that might have otherwise remained closed.

Adjusting was anything but easy. In her mind, it felt as though she had leapt straight from her freshman year of high school to her junior year of college in the blink of an eye. Immersing herself back into academic life was no simple feat. Classes, assignments, projects, and exams weren't the problem—it was the social life that disoriented her. She remembered no one, yet many remembered her.

Whispers soon began to spread that fame had finally gone to her head. Few dared to approach her with genuine questions about her mysterious disappearance the previous semester. With a lump in her throat, Kim would explain the essentials, but the discomfort quickly became palpable. Her classmates, unsure of how to treat her, reacted in different ways: some stared at her from afar with thinly veiled pity; others simply avoided her altogether, while behind her back, rumors multiplied and mutated with every retelling.

Only two of her former friends remained by her side: Malik, a student of International History who could still coax a smile out of her with his outlandish theories about secret diplomats; and Zoey, a future psychologist who, without even trying, helped Kim more than any therapist ever could. Rekindling their friendship wasn't easy— for Kim, it was like meeting them for the first time. Yet they remained steadfast, patient, and understanding throughout the long and difficult process.

Sometimes she went out with them—out to dinner, visiting museums, wandering aimlessly through the National Mall. On the surface, she seemed fine. She laughed, debated passionately about global politics, took on small cases for the university, and gradually resumed her training: running each morning, rebuilding her strength, hoping that soon, she would be able to return to her missions.

But at night... it was a different story.

In her small apartment—which she had always chosen to keep for herself, unwilling to disrupt anyone with her erratic hours or put others at risk—a stack of journals sat atop her desk. Some were blank; others overflowed with memories. For weeks she avoided them, afraid that opening them would be like unleashing Pandora's box.

Until one rain-soaked dawn, heart tight and mind in knots, she reached for one at random.

"April 28. Fought with Shego today. Again. I don't know how she can make me feel so alive and so frustrated all at once. And still... I'm dying to see her smile. It's madness. I'm madness."

She read aloud in a broken whisper. Then, trembling, she flipped to another page:

"June 15. Shego keeps trying. It amazes me. I always knew there was something more behind that sarcastic exterior; I always believed that part of the real Shego hid within Miss Go. But I never imagined she could be so gentle, so loyal, so sincere... and, above all, such an irredeemable romantic. I hope she keeps trying. You're getting close, Shego."

Another page slipped open—and with it, she found a simple bookmark — a laminated green slip of paper, bordered in black, framing a sentence written in a handwriting she now recognized instinctively:

"I don't know if anyone's ever told you this,
but after dining at the finest, richest, most elegant restaurants,
after traveling to the most extravagant places,
I discovered that your body is my favorite place,
and your mouth, my favorite meal.
You are all I ever need."**

Hands shaking, and with the bookmark still in her hand, Kim read the entry on that page:

"June 26. Today Shego took me sailing on her yacht around Santorini. It was fun; the views were simply breathtaking. But the best part was the kiss beneath the stars. I don't have words to describe what I felt. It was so sweet, yet so charged with passion... Shego held me so carefully that I felt completely safe in her arms. All I wanted was to stay there, clinging to her.
Shego, what are you doing to me?
I think I'm falling in love with you."

Kim slammed the journal shut. She couldn't read another word. Her hands were trembling, and only then did she notice the tears streaming down her cheeks.

Though her mind struggled to rebuild her past, her heart reacted instinctively—every time she read or heard Shego's name.

Kim tried to move on. She refused to remain trapped in a half-finished story, caught between broken memories and a love so vast she feared she could never live up to it. Shego deserved more—deserved everything—and Kim, at that moment, believed she had nothing to offer.

So, when Zoey suggested she try dating again, Kim agreed.

First, it was a guy from her geopolitics class: kind, attentive, even funny. But throughout the date, Kim felt detached, as if she were playing a role that no longer fit her.

She tried a few more times—a girl she met at a leadership conference, then a friend of Malik's. They were all perfectly pleasant, perfectly appropriate... and utterly hollow. It didn't matter how interesting or kind the person across from her was. She always found herself staring into her glass, mind miles away, stomach twisted, heart... cold.

The last time, she didn't even make it to dessert. She excused herself, stepped outside into the cool air, and leaned against a tree, breathing deeply until the shaking in her hands subsided.

That night, back in her apartment, she slipped off her heels, sat at the edge of her bed, and called Zoey.

With a surprising calm, she said:

—No more dates. Not for now.

—No spark? —Zoey asked from the other end of the line.

Kim shrugged, knowing Zoey couldn't see her.

—It's not what I'm looking for. It's not what I need.

She never confessed that the spark she was searching for wasn't something new, but something lost. That she wasn't longing for a love to build, but a love to reclaim.

A love that came in the form of plasma and sarcasm; of tenderness masked by toughness; of a woman who could ignite her soul, even if her memory had not yet fully pieced together why.

Now, at last, Kim understood.

But she was terrified it might be too late—to find Shego again, to ask for forgiveness, to try once more.

Sometimes, training alone in the gym, she could almost hear a voice: a warning whispered between gasps, a word of encouragement carried on a breath. Sometimes she would turn, heart pounding wildly.

And there would be no one.

It only fueled her guilt further.

Kim continued reading the journals until she had exhausted them all. Sometimes she would write new entries—letters to a Shego who was no longer there. She didn't sign them. She simply let the words pour out:

"I wish I were as good with words as you, but still, let me try: I miss you. Even though I don't know why. Even though I don't understand what we were. Even though I don't know if you think of me too.
But at night, when the world goes quiet,
my mind fills with green.
With you."

During this time, she also resumed taking on small missions. In the field, with adrenaline flooding her veins, she found moments of clarity—as if, if only for an instant, she could remember who she was.

And even though she didn't realize it yet, every mission, every word she wrote, every hesitant step forward... was leading her, inevitably, toward the moment when she would meet Shego again.

—

Six months after the conversation at the hospital

The café-bar near campus was bathed in warm lights and soft conversations. Amid the scent of freshly brewed coffee, craft beer, and forgotten books, there floated an unspoken sense of home.
It was Thursday night: open mic night.

Kim hadn't planned on going out. But her friends had insisted on checking out the place they'd heard so much about.

—Come on, Kim. It'll do you good. Just for a little while.

And so, she found herself sitting at a table in the back, drink in hand, offering a faint smile while a nervous boy sang about a heartbreak he clearly hadn't moved past. His voice was swallowed by polite laughter and murmurs.

Until silence fell, sudden and heavy, like a curtain dropping.
The host climbed onto the small stage, smiling conspiratorially at the audience.

—And now, ladies and gentlemen... our Thursday night star. Always professional, always heartfelt. A voice that shakes the very foundations. Please welcome... Shego.

Kim's heart skipped a beat.
Shego?

The name, spoken so casually by the host, slammed into her chest. She snapped her head up, lungs frozen.

And then she saw her.
Her.

No leather. No green. No visible armor.
Just Shego, simply dressed: dark jeans, a fitted black blouse, her hair loose, cascading over her shoulders like ink. Behind her, a guitarist tuned his instrument with easy familiarity. Shego took her seat at the waiting piano.

Kim wasn't sure how, but she saw her—truly saw her—before anyone else. She recognized her entirely, even before the first note played.

The crowd applauded, familiar and casual, but Kim barely heard it. She sat paralyzed.
Shego leaned into the microphone. Her posture was steady, slightly angled toward the audience—confident, effortless. She wasn't an amateur. She was a full-fledged artist.

—As always, this song's for her,— she said, her voice serene, yet carrying something more—something raw and heavy beneath the calm.
And then she began.

"Another morning, and it hurts to wake
Another guitar, and it hurts to play
Another week in the same old café
Another song you'll never hear anyway"

But tonight, Kim heard her. She felt Shego's voice envelop her, strip her bare. The lyrics struck like a secret never confessed. No one else in the room seemed to truly grasp what was happening. But Kim did.

Shego's voice didn't tremble. It was clear, deep, tuned with impeccable precision. But beyond the technique, it was the soul that mattered. Shego wasn't singing to entertain; she was singing because it was the only way she knew how to survive her own emotions.

"And here I am
Tearing my voice apart
Searching for you, singing through the crowd
Hoping somehow, inevitably, you'll hear
And know it's me
The one you lost among the masses
The one who'll love you forever and come back
To you
And always dream of you
And every dawn with you
I would give anything to come back to you"

Shego wasn't seeking applause. She sang with her eyes half-closed, as if reliving something too painful to speak aloud.

"I return to your name, return to the waiting
I return to doubt, if only for a second
The distance slams against every future
And I sit staring through the glass
Believing in your unreal reflection
I unravel the knot in my throat
If time will just allow me to sing to you again, and
When it was you and me, may the day stretch on
I never knew I could lose you so easily
This love flew by faster than this life"

Each verse was a confession. A message disguised as a song. Kim swallowed hard, her eyes fixed on Shego. She wasn't performing. She was bleeding, slowly, in public—for her.

Her friends shot her curious glances.
—Do you know her?— one asked.

Kim didn't answer.
She only listened.
Shego's voice reached its most delicate point, almost a plea. But it never broke. Not a single note faltered. The pain was contained, carried with brutal grace.

"I would give anything to come back to you
To you"*

The final chord hung in the air for a long, trembling moment, as if reluctant to die.

Silence.

And then, applause.

Shego dipped her head in quiet acknowledgment but did not smile. She nodded to the guitarist and left the stage with the same calm grace she'd entered. Without looking at anyone.

Kim stood up. Her heart was hammering in her hands.

She didn't know what she was going to say. She didn't even know if she should say anything. She only knew one thing: She couldn't let her go.

Not this time.

—

—Hi...

Kim's voice emerged lower than she'd expected, barely more than a whisper. Her heart pounded in her chest, as if it hadn't been warned she was about to speak.

—Hi.

Shego replied without moving much. Her arms remained crossed over her chest, a silent shield that needed no words.

—Funny running into you here,— Kim said, instantly feeling foolish. Funny? Please. It was obvious she had come with the hope—though not the certainty—of seeing her.

—Yeah... well... yeah.

Shego averted her gaze, uncomfortable. It was strange, awkward. She wasn't ready, not really. And yet, somewhere deep inside, something stirred at the sight of Kim. She just didn't know what to do with it.

—How have you been?

The question slipped out before Kim could stop herself. Seriously? How have you been? After everything that had happened... she regretted it the moment the words left her mouth.

Shego arched an eyebrow but gave no reply.

—What do you want, Kim?

Her voice wasn't aggressive, just flat—neutral. The voice of someone standing at the threshold, undecided whether to open the door or slam it shut.

Kim swallowed hard.

—You're right,— she said. —I'll get to the point. I've been torn about reaching out, and finding you here feels... like some kind of sign.

The words tumbled out too quickly, too messily, too late to catch.

—I just wanted to say... I'm sorry. I was foolish. I am truly, deeply sorry.

Shego didn't react. Not a gesture, not a flicker of expression. The silence pressed down on Kim, suffocating her.

She drew a deep breath, summoning the courage she'd rehearsed a hundred times in her mind. Don't run now. Say what you came to say.

—I'm ready now. These past months... they've made me realize what I want, what I need. And that is...— Kim's voice shook, the words feeling larger than she was, —if you're willing... I'd like to get to know you again. To give us a chance.

The admission felt like stepping out onto thin ice, every word risking a fall.

—And I would completely understand if you said no. I know time has passed, and I know it's my fault—what I did, how I hurt you, and... you know what, forget it. Maybe this wasn't a good idea. I'm sorry. I never wanted to make things harder for you or bring back any pain. I—

—Kim.

Shego interrupted, calm but firm.

—Uh?

—Stop talking.

—Oh. Sorry. Right, I'll just... go...

Kim took a step back, feeling the heat rise to her cheeks. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. The most important moment of your life, and you manage to ramble like you're being paid by the word.

—Kim,— Shego said again, this time with a faint smile. Almost... tender.

Kim froze.

—I'm not throwing you out,— Shego said. —You just needed to stop. You were spiraling.

—Oh...

Kim flushed even deeper, uncertain whether to laugh or apologize again.

—So,— Shego continued, —you're saying you want to get to know me?

—Yes.

Kim's voice was soft but steady, laced with that raw, desperate hope that leaves the heart utterly defenseless.

Shego narrowed her eyes slightly, studying her with an intensity difficult to decipher—part suspicion, part tenderness, part lingering hurt.

—Are you sure? Why now?

It wasn't an accusation, but it was an open wound laid bare. Shego needed more than empty promises.

Kim inhaled deeply. The moment hung in delicate balance; one wrong step and it could all shatter again. But at least she was trying.

—Since I woke up, I've felt like something was missing,— Kim said. —Among other things, it was that undefined emptiness that kept me so angry, so frustrated…. It was easier to lash out at you than to confront it. I've spent months trying to fill it, but it never went away. Nothing and no one could.

At those words, Shego's body tensed. She knew Kim had been dating. Even as she kept her expression carefully neutral, inside she felt a sharp, physical pang. The image of Kim with someone else lodged beneath her skin like a splinter.

—I was afraid of what it meant,— Kim admitted. —But not anymore. I'm sorry it took me so long to face it. But now I know... the missing piece has always been you.

Kim lifted her gaze, vulnerable, exposed, trembling at the possibility she had come too late.

Shego remained silent. She didn't know how to react. Was this real? Not another illusion conjured by hope or self-torment? Kim's confession was burrowing past her defenses with a ferocity both terrifying and tender.

A part of her wanted to close the distance immediately, to hold Kim and never let her go. Another, more wounded part, still hesitated—still didn't know if she could trust again.

The moment stretched thin between them, a fragile thread trembling in the air.

Shego felt her pulse beating hard against her throat.

And then, finally—

She moved.

She extended her hand, and with a warm smile and a glimmer in her eyes that Kim hadn't realized how much she had missed, she said,
—My name is Sheryl. Nice to meet you.

Kim blinked, surprised. That simple introduction carried the weight of everything they had lived through—and everything that could now begin. She looked at Shego's hand as if it were an open door. She could feel its weight, the restrained tremor, the silent promise. And she understood.

—Kim,— she replied, taking her hand and squeezing it in a greeting between strangers. Yet in that simple contact, something inside her unlocked—like finally coming home after a long journey. —Would you like to sit down and talk... maybe grab something to eat?— Kim asked, her voice a blend of awkward hope and anxious caution. Every word escaped her carefully, as if afraid to shatter the fragile spell between them.

Shego seized the opportunity to tease her, just like she always loved doing with her princess.
—Whoa, whoa, whoa. We just met and you're already asking me out? Bold move.

Kim's eyes widened. Her face flushed crimson in an instant. Her brain completely short-circuited for a few long seconds.
—Oh! No—I didn't mean—well, maybe—I mean, yes, if you want to—

The way Kim stumbled over her words drew a genuine, heartfelt smile from Shego. There was something endearingly charming about seeing her so flustered—this woman who was normally so composed, so confident. Shego felt that familiar flutter in her chest—the one only Kim could ever stir.
—I do want to,— Shego said, her voice soft but certain. —I'd love to have a date with you, Kim.

The intensity in Shego's eyes, the tenderness in her tone—it all hit Kim like a warm tide, melting something inside her. It made everything—every risk, every fear—feel worth it for this one moment. And yet, the nervousness lingered. Every second was heavy with that strange, bittersweet mix of the new and the familiar. Like touching a wound that had only just begun to heal.

—How about we get something to-go and take a walk?— Shego suggested. —I know a place where we can talk more privately.

—Yeah. Yeah, that sounds good,— Kim replied, relief flooding her voice.

—Let's order, then,— Shego said, nodding toward the counter, subtly motioning for Kim to walk ahead.

Kim nodded with a small smile and turned around, feeling the weight of her own steps—and acutely aware that her back was now fully exposed. She felt foolish and brave at the same time. And for the first time in months, she felt something else too: hope.

And as Kim walked away, Shego allowed herself to feel.

The café's noise faded into nothing, like someone turning down the volume on the world. In its place rose a celestial choir, singing to the glory of a flame-haired vision before her—rekindling a fire in her heart that had been extinguished for far too long.

The ground seemed to vanish beneath her; she floated, carried by soft, invisible clouds. Every sway of Kim's perfect hips was a breath of air to Shego's heart, a bellows stoking its long-dormant embers. The air smelled of strawberries and roses, and when Kim glanced back over her shoulder, searching for her, their eyes met. And in that look, Shego knew. 

She could have died that very instant and gone in peace, because in Kim's gaze, she saw hope again.

She was happy. Overwhelmed. Her very soul trembling.
That night, she confirmed something deep within herself: what she once felt so fiercely—so fiercely she nearly asked Kim to marry her—had not been madness. It hadn't been fantasy.
There was something real between them.

Something unbreakable.

A bond that only comes once in a lifetime.

An eternal love.

The kind of love that few are ever lucky enough to find.

And yes, Kim was only offering them a chance. It wasn't a reconciliation, nor a return. It was just a date. A first step. But Shego knew—she didn't know how, she just knew—that everything would be alright. Kim would find her way back. They had a future.

Shego couldn't even remember what she ordered to eat. She didn't know if she paid or if someone else did. She was still adrift on her dream-cloud, seeing flashes of wedding bells, sunsets on a porch, silver hair blowing in the breeze, a horde of little redheads running across a sunlit field.

Until a warm hand touched her arm and a soft voice brought her back.
—Sheryl... where did you want to go?

She blinked. They were already outside. When had that happened?
Kim was looking at her with a slightly raised brow and an expectant expression. Shego cleared her throat.
—Oh... sorry, it's this way,— she said, starting to walk north, leaving her castles in the sky behind—at least for now.

She focused on the present instead:
On the moonlight, which had once silently witnessed so many of their nights together—and was now back again, hanging in the sky as if it had never moved. On the soft breeze, carrying Kim's scent to her—sweet, clean, unmistakably hers.

Shego stole a glance sideways. Kim walked quietly, eyes ahead, her profile etched against the night. She was so beautiful it hurt. Shego got lost in the sight of her—so much that she didn't see the small stone in her path. She stumbled, almost falling.

Kim caught her with quick reflexes, steadying her. And when Shego felt the blush creeping up her neck, Kim let out a soft, crystalline laugh.

And Shego, feeling the heat of embarrassment and the clumsy pounding of her heart, thought she wouldn't mind tripping a thousand times more if it meant hearing that angelic sound again.

Yes. Shego was happy.

And nothing—absolutely nothing—could take that from her tonight.

Tonight was not just a new beginning.

It was, deep down, a continuation.

Chapter Text

Rumors had begun to circulate around the café-bar. Its popularity had surged recently, driven by the mysterious absence of its star performer—who hadn't taken the stage on open mic Thursdays for several weeks.

When Shego first started frequenting the place and singing her songs, no one recognized her. No one suspected she was the infamous Shego—once a feared supervillain, now a quiet philanthropist. She had been received with the same polite curiosity offered to anyone bold enough to step into the spotlight. But from her very first enigmatic greeting—when she declared her songs were for "her"—to the last flawless note that left her lips, Shego held the room captive.

Week after week, she returned with new songs for her. Each one aching, raw, and sincere. Slowly, she gathered a small but devoted following. And though she never knew it, there were people who came on Thursdays for the sole purpose of hearing her sing—just to catch a glimpse of that heartbreak in motion.

Then one night, she simply didn't return.

Not that week, nor the next, nor the one after that. With no explanation, and no one truly knowing who she was, whispers began to rise. Perhaps as a way to cope with the loss of their star, or simply for the joy of storytelling, the regulars began to craft their own narratives—each one more improbable than the last.

Some claimed Shego had been a ghost all along—a lost soul, searching for her beloved, moving from bar to bar in eternal longing. Others believed it was her lover who had died, and Shego sang to her because she couldn't bear the silence. According to that story, after pouring out her final ballad pleading to reunite, she had finally crossed over to find her.

There were those who insisted she'd been nothing but a shared hallucination. And still others who swore she must've been an angel.

But the most beloved rumor—the one repeated by hopeless romantics and weary hearts alike—was the story that, on that last night, she finally heard her. That Shego had found her, and that at last, the two were together again. There was no more need to sing, because now they were living their happily ever after.

What no one knew was that this tale, of all the rumors, came closest to the truth.

Only... that "happily ever after" wasn't the end.
It was, in fact, once upon a time—
the beginning of a brand-new story.

(If this were a movie, this is where the credits would roll... and this would be the song.)

https://youtu.be/lsbqH5bJURc?si=SWb5IJz8hp6jrtgo&t=36

https://open.spotify.com/track/0CXEPVeQDLgDBfvcsQpXq1?si=b12be9ebf03f42b3