#gofordrakgo

[legendary-guest]

@gogofordrakgo wrote something that included a red lab coat and I was compelled to bring it to life. Blue and red are one of my favourite colour combinations, I just had to see what it'd look like on Drakken. I went for a young Dr. D; he has not been at it for very long, but he's developed some muscle. Experimented with skin tones and the scar to see how they would look!

[selfox]

Any drakgo fic recs?

Hello ^^” a bit unexpected, but here.

From the obvious authors: Gothicthundra, bcbdrums and gofordrakgo 👌👌👌

I dug out some of the old ones from when I first got deep into KP in 2019.... Unholy... 5 years... 💀 Anyways

Thwarted by HematiteBadger on ao3

Two Lights Are Rising by CaptainLeBubbles on ao3

Various and Sundry by oldandnewfirm on ao3, unfortunately unfinished

Love is strange master by Eienvine

Series called S plus D equals K by neosaiyanangel it is both on ao3 and ff.net

Maslow by Ninnik Nishukan on FF. Net

I'm still checking if things I've read are still around and checking out new ones. Glad to see that they are and fandom is thriving

[bcbdrums]

Lexicon

A/N: I know I fell off the birthday fic bandwagon in a horrible way this year, but I've had this one pre-written for like eight months. For @gofordrakgo, a 100-word story in honor of the alphabet drabbles. (I still remember our conversation where you came up with those.) And hopefully a fitting sort of capstone with my chosen theme. Hope you enjoy.

Read on:  FFn     AO3

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

Lexicon: "The vocabulary of a person, language, or branch of knowledge"

"It is still only experimental Shego, but I speculize..."

Shego cringed.

"That syntho-plasma three-point-oh will be so powerful, so...terrorific..."

Her brow furrowed, her skin prickling in irritation.

"That the new drones will reign such carnagation..."

She stood with a low growl and approached him.

"That the world will flex to my...Shego?"

She cut off Drakken's string of nonsense with a kiss, her lips pressing against his forcefully as he tried to continue. When he acquiesced to her touch she relented, gazing at him critically.

Drakken smirked knowingly. "That was...wowful."

"Rrgh!"

She kissed him again.

[gofordrakgo]

Drabble Guide

1. Zowerswopped:

“Being sour or foul-tempered to the core”

2. Yakamoz: 

“The reflection of moonlight on the water”

3. Xaroncharoo: 

“Brilliant, evil, and insane”

4. Wayzgoose: 

“A party annually given to workers by an employer"

5. Volitation: 

“The act or power of flying” 

6. Ufology: 

“The study of UFO’s”

7. Temerarious: 

“Recklessly bold or daring”

8. Scientaster: 

“An inadequate or inferior scientist"

9. Rampallian: 

“A good for nothing scoundrel"

10. Querl: 

“To twist, turn or wind round”

11. Pacable: 

“Willing to forgive”

12. Oblivescence: 

“Forgetting; state of being forgotten"

13. Nemesism: 

“Frustration and aggression directed against oneself"

14. Malinger: 

“To feign illness to avoid work”

15. Lassitude: 

“Lethargy or lack of energy; fatigue"

16. Kairos: 

“A time when conditions are right for the accomplishment of a crucial action"

17. Juvenescent 

“Being or becoming youthful”

18. Idioglossia

“An invented form of dialect, language, or speech used by children, typically twins, and intelligible only to its speakers"

19. Hemeralopia

“The inability to see clearly in bright light"

20. Gorgonize

“To stupefy, paralyze, or petrify"

21. Febricity

“The quality or state of being feverish"

22. Elflocks

“Tangled locks of hair"

23. Dysaesthesia 

“Loss of sensation"

24. Calefacient

“Having heating or warming effects”

25. Bacciferous

“Growing or producing berries”

26. Agelast

“A person who never laughs”

27. Aquarium

“A place for the public exhibition of live aquatic animals and plants"

28. Beach

“A horizontal strip of land, usually sandy, adjoining water”

29. Carnival

“An outdoor event featuring games, rides, exhibitions, and other forms of entertainment"

30. Daiquiri

“An alcoholic drink usually made of rum, crushed fruit or fruit juice, and sugar”

31. Experiment

“A procedure carried out to support, refute, or validate a hypothesis”

32. Fire

“A burning mass of material, as on a hearth or in a furnace”

33. Games

“Activities engaged in for diversion or amusement”

34. Heat

“To excite or make hot by action or emotion”

35. Insect

“Any of various small, chiefly arthropod animals, such as spiders, centipedes, or ticks, usually having many legs"

36. June

“The sixth month of the Gregorian calendar"

37. Kite

“A light frame covered with paper, cloth, or plastic, designed to be flown in the air at the end of a long string"

38. Lemonade

“A beverage of sweetened lemon juice mixed with water”

39. Melt

“To soften, as by a warming or kindly influence"

40. Night

“The period of ambient darkness from sunset to sunrise during each 24-hour day"

41. Ocean

“The whole body of salt water that covers nearly three-fourths of the surface of the earth"

42. Picnic

“An informal social gathering, usually in a natural outdoor setting, to which the participants bring their own food and drink"

43. Quaint

“Pleasingly or strikingly old-fashioned or unfamiliar"

44. Ride

“A mechanical device or structure that moves people to create enjoyment"

45. Surf

“The swell of the sea that breaks upon the shore"

46. Thunder

“The loud rumbling, cracking, or crashing sound caused by expansion of rapidly heated air around a lightning bolt"

47. Ultraviolet

“Radiation having a wavelength shorter than wavelengths of visible light and longer than those of X-rays"

48. Vacation

“A period of time devoted to pleasure, rest, or relaxation"

49. Waterslide

“A chute having a continuous flow of water, down which one slides into a pool, as at a water park"

50. X-ray

“A penetrating form of high-energy electromagnetic radiation"

51. Yacht

“A sail or power vessel used for pleasure, cruising, or racing"

52. Zoo

“A facility in which animals are housed within enclosures, cared for, and displayed to the public"

53. Zipline

“A cable suspended above an incline to which a pulley and harness are attached for a rider"

54. Yoga

“A system of exercises practiced to promote control of the body and mind"

55. Xeriscape

“To landscape a garden or piece of land"

56. Wrestle

“To contend, with an opponent, by grappling and attempting to throw, immobilize or otherwise defeat him"

57. Volleyball

“A game played on a rectangular court between two teams, which involves striking a ball back and forth over a net"

58. Unicycle

“A vehicle that has a single wheel and is usually propelled by pedals"

59. Tennis

“A sport played by two players (or four in doubles), who alternately strike the ball over a net using rackets"

60. Snowboard

“A specially shaped board that you stand on to slide down a snow-covered slope" 

61. Relay

“A racing competition where members of a team take turns completing parts of racecourse or performing a certain action"

62. Quadrathlon

“Any of various athletic or sporting contests in which competitors take part in four successive events, usually running, swimming, cycling, and canoeing"

63. Paintball

“A competitive team shooting sport in which players eliminate opponents from play by hitting them with spherical dye-filled gelatin capsules"

64. Obstacle

“A series of physical challenges that one performs sequentially"

65. Nine-ball

“A variation of pool played with nine numbered object balls that must be pocketed in order by number"

66. Marathon

“A 42.195 kilometer (26 mile 385 yard) road race, or any extended or sustained activity"

67. Limbo

“A dance played by taking turns crossing under a horizontal bar or stick"

68. Kickball

“A sport similar to baseball, where a ball is kicked rather than hit"

69. Joggling

“A competitive sport that combines juggling with jogging"

70. Inline

“The activity of skating while wearing special skates with a single row of wheels on the bottom of each one"

71. Hockey

“A sport in which two teams play against each other by trying to maneuver a ball or a puck into the opponent’s goal using a hockey stick"

72. Gymnastics

“A sport involving the performance of sequences of movements requiring physical strength, flexibility, and kinesthetic awareness"

73. Fencing

“The art or sport of dueling with swords"

74. Equestrian

“Of horseback riding or horseback riders"

75. Dance

“A sequence of rhythmic steps or movements usually performed to music, for pleasure or as a form of social interaction"

76. Cheerleading

“A physical activity in which cheerleaders organize elements of dance, gymnastics, and tumbling for judgment or to cheer on a team”

77. Bowling

“A game played by rolling a ball down an alley and trying to knock over a triangular group of ten pins"

78. Archery

“The art, sport, practice, or skill of using a bow to shoot arrows"

79. Angelic

“Very sweet-natured or well-behaved"

80. Bumbling

“Acting in a confused or ineffectual way; incompetent; showing little or no skill"

81. Cold

“Marked by a lack of the warmth of normal human emotion, friendliness, or compassion”

82. Delicious

“Metaphorically pleasing to taste; pleasing to the eyes or mind"

83. Explosive

“Relating to, characterized by, or operated by explosion; tending to explode"

84. Frustrating

“Causing feelings of anger and annoyance”

[gogofordrakgo]

Drakgo Headcanon #3:

Drakken is super unthinkingly cutesy, kissing Shego’s forehead and her cheeks and whatnot. Shego never expresses that kind of affection- until after Drakken has fallen asleep. Drakken found out because one night he was only half asleep when she kissed his forehead and whispered that she loved him before crawling into bed. Sometimes he fakes being asleep, just so she’ll do it again.

[gothicthundra]

A SEMI belated gift for @gofordrakgo !!! Their wonderful idea that the river is in fact leading to a water raft outside the lair. LOVE IT!

[midnightcaptions]

have some young Drew and Shego Shea, of the Dwelling variety, @gofordrakgo uwu

[random-emerald-thoughts]

Got tagged by @f0xlight @creativenicocorner @babblish

Rules: share the last line you wrote, and tag as many people as there are words!

Fear flickered gold then red, behind his dark blue eyes. His father's eyes. Well, Morgana mused. Not exactly. I remember now. - Within the Mists of Avalon chapter 2

@sharperthewriter @everything-is-connected @babblish @danger-flammable @donttouchthefigs @gothicthundra @gofordrakgo @kathrynethegreat @twistedmashup @stricklakeetal @selenestrickler. And everyone else who wants to.

[legendary-guest]

what r ur favorite drakgo fics?

A very good question! I have a lot of favourites! List with blurbs and commentary incoming, giant. Reviewed Mad Angry, Mad Crazy by bcbdrums Hell hath no fury like a mad scientist scorned! Borderline psychological thriller, equal parts character deconstruction and tragedy, a twisted telling of the aftermath of So the Drama and Mad Dogs and Aliens. Love having your brain scrambled, heart torn apart? This one's for you! I've reviewed this one in particular for anyone who may feel lost when following the story; also, because I adore it.

Mint by OhBoyOhBoy A moment of deep sentiment and romance amongst chaos and debris. Tension is built upon excellently, the sweetness is the peak and the end, a (literal) gasp. This author has great work, but this is my absolute favourite. Contains my favourite Shego name ever.

Drakgo Drabbles by gofordrakgo Some of the best drabble work I have ever seen. No word is wasted. Moments in time, bits of unique characterisation, huge events condensed into 100 words; a wide variety of topics and themes. You will find something you love here, don't let the word count put you off. Less is more, and how! I recommend revisiting a piece that catches your interest to appreciate it better, don't fly through. Dwelling by gofordrakgo A unique origin story for our favourite villains, where a young Shego, Shea (my second favourite Shego name), worms her way into dorky Drew Lipsky's derelict apartment and the domino effect that comes of it. Reverse-engineered Drakgo; unrefined, naive, and...innocent? Lots of sweetness and humour with an underlying, creeping darkness. Developing story, I recommend sticking around - I know I am! and now i'm covered in you by soulffles (NSFW 18+) A fantastic post-Graduation get-together fic with wonderful prose. Deeply romantic, intimate and funny! The internal monologues for this piece are spot on, the way the author weaves in humour amongst these vulnerable moments and thoughts just endears me to Drakken and Shego's plight of...realising that they love each other. A Precise Hand by eclipsing-dreams Fantastic subject of hands being the focus, revolving around all the wonderful things they can do (and can elicit!). Two chapters, one for each of them. Excellently constructed, fantastic characterisation, and just a touch (har har) naughty. A slightly unique edge of characterisation is given to Shego's part that I find intriguing. Happy, sweet ending; you aren't left hanging! Highly recommend the author's other pieces, this is simply my favourite. Here by gofordrakgo Drakken and Shego show-up for each other when they need someone most. The Shego section in this story is my favourite; the best depiction of, to avoid spoilers, a 'vulnerable' Shego I have ever seen. This convinced me, this was her. Dr. D showing up for her in that part, my goodness. I love it. The wounded pride, the shame, the quashing of feeling she presents is just great. Fantastic balance. So lovely. Happy ending. Friends by gofordrakgo Shego realises she may not have been the greatest friend to Drakken, and questions the nature of their relationship post-Graduation in her emotional exhaustion. Fantastic character breakdown, very tightly written. If you love slow-on-the-uptake Drakgo, an emotionally exhausted Shego who suddenly lets her thoughts (and feelings) run wild and awkward domesticity, I recommend. Forfeit by bcbdrums The only winning move is not to play! Somewhat non-linear story-telling, smashing together the bits of Dr. Drakken's shattered life post-Graduation, and post-Shego. O, we love a good Greek tragedy! Parting is such sweet sorrow. Jealous by TheyCanHaveTheSex (NSFW 18+) How can I say no to angry, angst fuelled sex, anguish and repressed feeling? How can I say no to jealousy? I can't, is the answer. Love the tension and how bizarre Shego is in particular in this piece, at least to a certain point. The way the story gives way to genuine hurt, too, I really love it a lot. It's not very heavy, in my opinion, but it does get a bit sad. Sweet, happy ending, I really love this one.

Unreviewed A New Beginning by Windcage (NSFW 18+) Yet another fantastic post-Graduation get-together fic! Mature, sort of refined atmosphere that I love, featuring a particularly distracted Dr. Drakken and an unusually patient Shego - until she isn't. Very, very sweet, romantic and funny. Doc's plant mutation is characterised in a fun way here as well. Highly recommend. come back when you can by obijuankenobi (NSFW 18+) A Drakgo exclusive Graduation Part 1, basically! Excellently written exploration of Drakken and Shego's new careers post-Graduation, and insight into how Dr. D really sees himself, after all the fanfare. Well-written, fun plot that does not overstay its welcome, fun action scenes, Drakken and Shego protecting each other, and, most of all, extremely sweet and tender romance. A++, five gold stars, Honour Roll, you name it. And, Motor Ed gives Shego a sexy motorcycle! Why didn't she ever have one in the show? This author gets it. Bad is Good and Good is Bad by split-n-splice Realistic, gritty and somewhat surreal depiction of how Drakken and Shego met, before they became Drakken and Shego. Strong, tense atmosphere. Visceral, ugly, the lowest they have ever been in their young lives, and, when they meet, consequences are inevitable and paths are determined, set in stone. The author makes clever narrative choices, such as omitting names entirely, which builds upon the emerging, almost 'blank slate' aspects of the Doc's and Shego's identities as youths at this point in time. The setting is fantastic, probably my favourite aspect of this piece. So many strong bits of imagery that involve the environment, especially in the second and third chapters. A great scar origin story, too. I highly recommend for anyone who likes something meatier, more grounded. O yeah, and there's great art inside! How considerate of the author to help the reader out! Durable by tabbyclaw Love this one, especially the bluntness of Shego's inner monologue/prose. Possessive, cheeky, somewhat domineering, almost feigning playing second-fiddle to Dr. Drakken. The setting for this is great, there's a great sense of Shego-flavoured risk and recklessness involved without sacrificing her glamour. This might all sound like nonsense, but, I assure you, it is all there in the text! Fans of kissy-face, this one is for you! (Meaning, every Drakgo fan ever, but I digress).

Untitled by tabbyclaw I always appreciate this author's maturity when dealing with Drakgo, I adore it, and it's present here, too. No skimping on the romance at all, it's just wonderful. A take on a love confession that's just so...nice. After the whirlwind and fervour, realisation rolls in. Comforting. Ocean Views by Aleego ; Tumblr fanfic link inspired by art by midnightcaptions (NSFW 18+) An excellent fic inspired by a great piece of art! Truly a merger of great minds! Phone sex might be nothing new, but it works excellently here to establish tension. It's actually a fantastic headspace for Drakken and Shego to be in as characters, not having to face each other, but to speak as if they were alone. It's a strange bit of intimacy between them that, potentially, serves as a lynch pin to how their dynamic changes. Tastefully written. Truth or Dare by those-other-ones (NSFW 18+) Love this one. Love how unique it is, how casual it is, how unglamorous it is. It's also incredibly sweet, vulnerable. Romantic drunkenness, if you will. Captures their competitive and stubborn personalities very well, sabotaging themselves without even knowing by throwing alcohol into the mix. Happy ending, very tender, intimate, sweet. Full-on sex not something you can handle? Try this one. Untitled by those-other-ones (NSFW 18+) An alternative take on an existing fic where Shego is still a hero in Go City and Dr. Drakken makes his villainous debut! I enjoy how weird this is as a first meeting. The setting allows for a great sexual tension and atmosphere that's very unusual, and, when villain and hero are alone together, fervour, desperation and tenderness are unleashed. Very different, highly recommend. Love this one. Routine by Nikki-wr (NSFW 18+) Drakken and Shego's relationship suddenly becomes physical, but it's not all roses. This is a really excellent, weighty, angsty fic. I love how their misunderstandings, miscommunication and insecurities are depicted, their fears of honesty and taking risks when it comes to each other, juxtaposed with irony of perpetuating a self-destructive path. My words might be strong, but this fic ends very, very sweetly. In truth, all of this author's pieces are strong, and angst-tinged, which I adore, but I've chosen this one to highlight. Love the passion. Oldies: Fics from Years Gone By! Vietnam by Dr. Agent My absolute favourite Drakken-centric Drakgo fic ever, bar none! Drakken's developing feelings for Shego are documented in unguarded moments, woven with masterful, restrained prose. The language in this blows me away, it's just. Wow. There is one line in this, a single line, that I obsess over. Powerful imagery and metaphor that ties together the wilderness, war and jungle-theming of the piece - just brilliant, multi-faceted. The author also has a Shego-centric one to mirror this, but Vietnam is my absolute favourite. Beautiful Dynamite by Crystal Allen My favourite Shego character-study fic, ever! Set during Two to Tutor, the author utilises Señor Senior Sr.'s wisened voice as our guide into the ferocious, yet unattractive, side of Shego. Brilliant, I cannot think of a more polarising pair to make commentary on each other, despite their shared hedonism, passion for wealth and villainy. SSS makes slight Drakgo commentary at the end, which I love. Makes me want to read more from his perspective on the two of them, since in this fic, their relationship sort of parallels and contradicts ones he has had in the past. I highly recommend for any big Shego fans. Jealous by NAster Another great Shego-centric fic with jealousy as a core theme that makes the list? Say it isn't so! Wonderful take on Shego's flighty, ornery nature and how it's influenced her behaviour with Drakken, and, with everyone else. Understated, sweet Drakgo, possessive Shego. What's not to love?

Out of Control by Blackfire 18 The Supreme One's treatment of her last line of defence has warped him, not just in body, but in mind. Some of my favourite nasty lines from Supreme Shego and Drakken live here. Rage, angst and tragedy, all in one. The Supreme One's future is miserable for all, even herself. Downer ending. Seeking Shelter from the Rain by Blackfire 18 A classic. Adore this author's Gothic atmosphere, it's very nostalgic, and very prominent in this dreary piece. Amidst a recent failure, Shego is vulnerable and Drakken is there with her. Comforting, sweet ending. Fatal Mistake in the Dark by Blackfire 18 In my opinion, not as strong as the other two pieces. However, it is the ending to this that I really like. The author's sense of building dread is fantastic and present in all her dark fics, but the pay-off for this one is intriguing. Tragedy...? Everything by Hematitebadger A measured, mature, sweet, outcome of a scenario where Dr. Drakken wins. The sheer gentleness, the duality of Lipsky, what he is capable of and who he is. Just lovely. Minutes and Years by Hematitebadger 50 sentences, a real relic from the past! One of the very best that Drakgo has to offer. You only need one sentence to grab you! Symbiosis by Ninnik Nishukan from The Ones That Never Happened Liked Out of Control? Watch a similar dynamic play out and end in a completely different way! Understand the reasons behind Shego and Drakken's transformation and relationship in this timeline, and the brief humanity they end up sharing. Optimistic, relieving ending compared to its sibling-fic. The author's best work, in my sincere opinion. More? Interesting ideas/cute moments/unique settings that I like Stay by Eienvine - Oldie Any Road Will Get You There by Crystal Allen - Oldie Definitely Exactly What It Looks Like by souljelly - Reviewed Sick Day by split-n-splice - Reviewed Practice Makes Perfect by split-n-splice - Reviewed The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie by split-n-splice - Unreviewed Not Sentimental by sweet_tangerine_dreams - Reviewed New and Not New by Malvolia - Reviewed A Knotty Situation by bcbdrums - Unreviewed In All the Gin Joints in the World, He Asks for Coco Moo by UnapologeticallyMeatwad - Unreviewed The Aftermath by dragannahEireann - Unreviewed / Incomplete Fic Expected by gofordrakgo - Reviewed Just a Pair of Cold Dwellers by OhBoyOhBoy - Unreviewed

Thanks razzledazzledrakgo, for breaking in my ask box, and for breaking the dam! I don't know how to add a Keep Reading cut.

[gofordrakgo]

Here

“ ‘Shego?’ Drakken’s voice quietly called from the entryway to their entertainment room. Or rather his entertainment room, she reminded herself. She may have been living with the guy for coming on two years now but she didn’t need to think of herself as being part of an ‘us’. Not with him, at least.”

Eeeee! Happy early birthday to @bcbdrums I hope you enjoy! 

His body couldn’t decide if it was hot or cold, so sweat dripped down his forehead even as he shivered. The scratch in his throat had gone from a dull itch to a fiery burning, and his chest ached with every cough. There was some sort of combination of drool and snot on his face. Rubbing at it with his sleeve did nothing more than make his skin feel sore.

Sniffling, he tossed and turned under the thick layers of blankets, grumbling to himself about the fact that supervillains weren’t meant to get sick. A clanging sound coming from outside his bedroom made him shoot up, which in turn made him cough and slump back into the pillows. And that was precisely why villains shouldn’t get sick! How was he meant to defend himself if he couldn’t even sit up? 

Of course, it hardly helped that he’d sent Shego - his new sidekick of sorts - away at the first sign of an oncoming cold that morning. He didn’t need his bodyguard getting sick, nor did he need her seeing him in such a pathetic state. Already in the few months that she’d worked for him she’d taken to mocking him as if he didn’t hold the future of her villainous career in his hands. He’d threatened to fire her twice, but she didn’t seem to care. It was like she knew he couldn’t actually fire her. So few individuals with her credentials were willing to stoop to sidekick, and he didn’t want to lose her. 

He croaked out some words that may have been a warning or may have been him begging the entity moving around his lair not to hurt him. He wasn’t entirely sure. The fact that his voice broke and faded to nothingness every time he tried to speak above a whisper actually served him well, just then. At least his potential attacker hadn’t heard him if he’d said something pathetic. 

Before he could work himself up into a truly frenzied panic, the door swung open. Trying to blink away his blurry vision he only barely remembered that he’d taken out his contacts and pawed at his nightstand for his glasses. A familiar green and black outfit came into focus and it took his muddled mind a moment to realize Shego was standing by the door. His bedroom door. 

He uttered something that only sounded like, “Wha’re ya do…?” even to his own ears. Shego rolled her beautiful… um… she rolled her eyes at him and walked into his room, gracefully leaping over the moat he’d dug into his floor during a particularly bad bout of insomnia. 

“Where did you even pick up a cold?” she asked with a teasing tone that made him want to curl in on himself. “You never leave this place.”

The only thing stopping him from blurting out that he went to karaoke every Friday thank you very much, was another coughing fit. Cringing, she stepped away from him, and he felt even worse seeing the look of disgust on her face. Great. He’d always wanted a sidekick that hated him. 

As the fit subsided and he could pull in a breath again he forced himself to make eye contact, even as he pulled the blankets up to his chin. 

“Why are you still here?” he choked out. Mocking him was one thing! But this was a direct disobey...ment of his commands! He’d told her to go home. 

Shego rolled her eyes again, though this time he swore her cheeks were turning a darker green than usual. If it weren’t for the bowl of soup she placed on his nightstand he would have yelled at her to quit rolling her eyes at him… At least, as soon as he felt better. 

“I’m not gonna let the guy who signs my paychecks croak, alright?” she said, but her flippancy did little to cover up the fact that… she stayed to take care of him. He couldn’t help but smile as he accepted the soup, which earned him a glare. “Just… shut up,” she dismissed. And then she turned on her heel and stalked back out of his room. But he already knew she would come back when he needed her. He was sure of it. 

*****

“Shego?” Drakken’s voice quietly called from the entryway to their entertainment room. Or rather his entertainment room, she reminded herself. She may have been living with the guy for coming on two years now but she didn’t need to think of herself as being part of an ‘us’. Not with him, at least.

“What do you want?” she demanded, turning her back on him before he could see the tears streaming down her cheeks. 

“I– I just wanted to see if… To make sure… Um… Are you alright, Shego?” he stammered, and she heard him shuffle a little further into the room. 

“Just go away.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and she refused to speak lest he actually noticed how thick her voice sounded with the threat of sobs. She considered throwing some plasma his way, to get through to him that she wanted to be alone, but right before the flames could reach her palms she heard him finally start to walk away. 

 And for whatever reason, that’s what made the sob finally break loose from her chest. Burying her head in her palms she let herself cry for the first time in years. It was so stupid to be this upset over some lame guy - especially when she’d known all along she was just using him. It was even more stupid that she wished Drakken hadn’t left her after all. 

She… she had been using him, right? Of course, right! She’d gotten money from him - not that he knew that yet. And, not that she would ever confess it to anyone, she’d finally gotten her first kiss out of him. Still, there was no reason to cry over some guy who dumped her just cause she wasn’t gonna fuck him after their second date. So why couldn’t she stop?

“He’s an idiot, you know.”

Shego let out a rare startled gasp, and was immediately furious with herself for crying like a baby to the point she didn’t hear clumsy, galumphing Drakken sneaking back into the room. 

“I thought I told you to get lost,” she grumbled, shoving him back with a palm to his chest. He winced as if she’d actually hurt him, and the stupid surprised look on his face made her nearly feel bad for lashing out at him. 

Rubbing his chest he muttered. “Well, I just… I thought. He’s an idiot, Shego,” he repeated. 

She glared at him, although it was sort of nice to hear him say that. “Yeah, so what?”

“So… nothing. I only meant… If he’s stupid enough to not be patient then he doesn’t deserve you.”

“Were you eavesdropping?” she asked, her voice shriller than expected. Before he could respond she pushed him back again, then told herself that she definitely did not at all feel bad when he fell to the floor. 

He scrambled back to his feet before he managed an answer through his stammering. “No,” he vehemently denied. “It just– I only… Sound travels through the lair, Shego! I didn’t mean to listen.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” she sarcastically agreed. “Go away.” When he only bit his lip, not budging from where he stood, she crossed her arms and demanded, “Why are you still here?”

“I thought maybe…” His voice trailed off and with a timid smile and shrug he held a carton of strawberry ice cream out to her. “I was going to watch a movie. I thought maybe you might want to join me?”

Despite herself, Shego couldn’t resist the small smile that formed on her face. “Fine, but you have to make popcorn too. And I’m picking the movie.”

His timid smile became his trademark idiotic grin, and he turned to make his way to the kitchen, calling over his shoulder, “Afterward we can fly over to his house and see how well the disintegration ray actually works.”

She rolled her eyes as she sat down on the couch, waiting for him to come back. He always did. She was sure he always would. 

*****

Things had been tense between them ever since Drakken had won his award for saving the world. There was so much to discuss, that neither of them was willing to bring up. Talking about whether they wanted to stay villains or let the perks of heroism take them in was shockingly among the easier subjects to discuss. 

His vines had wrapped around her during the ceremony, crushing them into an awkward hug - a picture of which ended up on the front page of nearly every newspaper and magazine around the world by the next morning. Stories claiming the duo were in a relationship were even more abundant than real reports of the events of the invasion.

They had agreed that it was nothing more than embarrassing and laughed about all the ways they would destroy the news companies if they ever decided to go back to villainy. Both deliberately ignored the twinge of pain at the denial of anything more between them. 

Drakken’s flowers had rapidly taken over the lair in the month that had passed, not that he or Shego minded. Vines climbed up the walls, and they had to walk over the petals lining the floor like a bride walking down the aisle. The sweet smell of roses overpowered the smell of the dinner he cooked to share with her, celebrating one month from the day they didn’t die. 

It wasn’t until dessert was served that mindless chatter bloomed into something more significant. The question that was asked wasn’t malicious. It was a mere curiosity, finally bringing the most difficult subject to light. The answer surprised them both with its simplicity. 

“Why are you still here?” 

“Because I love you.”

[gofordrakgo]

Friends

“ ‘Are you going to watch a movie?’ Shego glanced behind her to see Drakken standing in the doorway. It always threw her off to see him in clothing that differed from his usual lab coat. Seeing him now in black jeans and a light blue T-shirt made her blink. ‘I don’t know. I guess so,’ she lied. She wasn’t about to tell him that she’d only been looking through the movies because she’d been thinking about him.”

Shego never really spent much time thinking about Drakken. Sure, she wondered what fruitless plan to take over the world he would come up with next, and sure she cursed his name every time he got them caught, and sure she always worried about him a bit while they were in prison. But she never thought about him. 

She sat on the couch in the common area of the lair, staring at the medal he’d been given after the Lowardian invasion. It glinted in the sunlight, shining and iridescent above the fireplace. She hated it. That sounded harsh, but in a way that was the truth. She couldn’t possibly be more proud of Drakken, but she still hated what the medal represented. Not their overnight change from villains to heroes, though it surprised her she found she didn’t really care that much either way. No - rather, what upset her was that every time she looked at it she remembered once again that she almost lost him that night. 

They’d had more than their fair sure of rough patches in life. She’d spent hours patching him up, cleaning out cuts and icing bruises, and he had spent as much, if not more, time doing the same for her. It didn’t matter. None of it compared to the way she felt as she watched him disappear into the sky when she could do nothing more than uselessly reach a hand out towards him and listen to his screams. That moment damn near broke her. It hurt her enough to go looking for Kim freaking Possible for help. 

For the first time since she’d met him, she realized that she could lose him. He’d become a sort of permanent fixture in her mind. Something that she’d grown so used to that being without it would be bizarre. Leaving him for quick vacations was one thing. The idea of never getting him back was another thing entirely. 

Every time she looked at that damn medal it reminded her that anything could happen to him, that she could lose him at any time. And those thoughts spiraled into what she would do if something did happen - if he left, or died, or was injured so badly that he’d never be the same again. 

Hell, he’d mutated in front of her eyes and, although it freaked her out, she hadn’t been particularly frightened. Her only response - after they were sure he wasn’t going to drop dead where he stood - was to tease him for the petals that bloomed around his neck. What if mocking him, purposefully upsetting him, had been the last thing she’d ever done?

When he gave his acceptance speech, a very eloquently put ‘fuck you’ to those that didn’t believe in him, his vines wrapped around her waist, crushing her chest into his as he said that he never could have done any of it without her. 

Flustered by the shock of finding herself so suddenly close to him and embarrassed by the number of people who saw it happen, she considered blasting him as far away from her as possible. And then she just… didn’t. Maybe it had been the way he’d tentatively smiled at her, though she thought maybe she’d smiled first. Maybe it had been how warm he was or how well they fit together. 

In the week that passed since all of that happened, Shego, who never really thought about Drakken much, couldn’t get him out of her mind. 

She knew every single one of his flaws. 

His sweet tooth rivaled that of a toddler, and she often found candy wrappers lingering in the lab, or squished between the couch cushions. If he was upset she was bound to find him baking some sort of sweet-treat that he would gorge himself on if she didn’t stop him. 

He fidgeted constantly, whether that meant shifting in place or messing with things he shouldn’t. Once he blew up the TV she had just stolen because he wouldn’t quit fiddling with a malfunctioning ray gun, even after she told him to put it away. 

He scared easily, hiding under blankets when they watched horror movies and gluing himself to her side when the power went out and the only light in the lair came from her plasma powers. 

He tapped his fingers, he hated her music, he was quick to anger, and way too quick to forgive. He obsessed over ideas, even when he knew they would go nowhere. His sleep schedule was nearly nonexistent, he didn’t care about taking tropical vacations, he always cared too much about what she thought of him - except the times when he didn’t care about her at all. He probably wanted kids. He was obsessed with karaoke, all his favorite movies were meant for children, and…

Shego’s mind froze, mid-thought

What was Drakken’s favorite movie? She knew he loved that dumb snowman movie, because he made her watch it every Christmas, but thinking back on all of their past movie nights she couldn’t remember one that he’d actually chosen the movie for. 

He hated horror movies, she knew that, and yet nearly every movie she could recall watching with him was a horror movie. There’d been Bloodbath - a movie about a serial killer whose litany of victims were tortured and killed in brutal and unique ways, and Halley’s Comment - a more humorous horror film about a girl so distracted by her personal life that she was oblivious to the world being destroyed by a comet outside her window. It was funny, but the background horror had even had her on edge. Granted, she believed her anxieties surrounding comets were fairly justifiable, all things considered. 

There’d also been The Glistening, Juvenile’s Game, That, and Yell. All of them had been her choices, and he’d spent almost all of them clutching his knees to his chest and watching from between the gaps in his fingers. 

Shego rubbed her temples. She had to know what his favorite movie was. Why didn’t she know? She had to. They had a movie night at least once a week, if not more! How could she not know?

She leapt off the couch, and threw open the doors to the tv stand, scanning through their movie collection. She recognized a few musicals that belonged to him, some old cartoons, comedies, and a number of science-fiction and fantasy movies. He’d asked her to watch some of them with him: The Warlock of Zo, King of the Necklaces, Galaxy Fights… She couldn’t remember ever actually agreeing. Was his favorite The Tiger Ruler? Triassic Grounds? She should know the answer to this. 

“Are you going to watch a movie?” 

Shego glanced behind her to see Drakken standing in the doorway. It always threw her off to see him in clothing that differed from his usual lab coat. Seeing him now in black jeans and a light blue T-shirt made her blink. 

“I don’t know. I guess so,” she lied. She wasn’t about to tell him that she’d only been looking through the movies because she’d been thinking about him. 

He tucked his thumb into his pocket. “Can I join you? I’ll make popcorn.”

Why didn’t he bother to ask what movie she was going to watch? If he actually hated her choices shouldn’t he try avoiding movie nights? What was his deal? And - gah! - why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed, then added, “Make two bags!” 

He returned a few minutes later carrying a giant bowl filled to the brim with popcorn, the buttery scent infiltrating the air. 

“What are you watching?” he asked, and she heard the bowl clink gently onto the table. A stray piece of popcorn bounced down next to her. 

He always made the snacks for the movies, she realized. She could heat up a bag of popcorn too, but he always did it anyway. And a lot of the time he didn’t just make popcorn, but rather he’d set up an entire array of snacks and candies as if they were actually at a movie theater. Once, memorably, he set up a chocolate fountain that he’d found abandoned in his mother’s attic. 

She rarely let him pick the movie, but he made the snacks anyway. Could she say she would do the same?

“Um... I don’t know,” she answered. “Why don’t you choose?” She pushed herself up and turned around to see him staring at her, obviously baffled by the unusual offer. 

“Really?” he asked after a pause that bordered on awkward. “Is this some sort of trick? You’ve replaced my movies with horror movies, haven’t you?” he accused, rushing past her towards the TV stand. 

He pulled a VHS out, seemingly at random, and opened it, sighing in relief when he saw she hadn’t messed with his movies. 

She snorted and gave his shoulder a gentle shove. “Wow, tell me what you really think of me, Doc.”

“Well, it’s not as if you’ve ever liked watching my movies, Shego. What was I meant to expect? That you suddenly wanted to watch something I’d actually enjoy instead of something gruesome and horrible?” The way he spoke didn’t seem at all cruel, or even particularly upset about her history of movie decisions. Instead, he spoke like he would be shrugging if only he weren’t busy hunching over to choose a movie. It still made her feel guilty somehow, which was not an emotion she was - or planned to become - accustomed to. 

“Just pick a movie,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. As she moved to sit on the couch, she could hear him whispering titles to himself. 

He finally made a choice and hesitated for a brief moment before popping it in the VCR without telling her what he’d chosen.

As she watched the actors dancing and heard bits and pieces of songs that were bound to play throughout the movie, she figured out that he’d put on Fancy-Free even before the title scrawled across the scene in bright purple letters. 

She suppressed a groan, knowing that she really had nothing to be annoyed about. She’d never actually seen it… Maybe he was right and she would like it. Although, a bunch of snot-nosed teenagers getting into trouble for liking music seemed ridiculous to her. 

“You said I could choose,” Drakken reminded her, a pleading note in his voice before she had the chance to say anything herself. 

She forced herself to shrug. “Do you see me changing it?”

He grinned at her and practically bounced into his usual seat next to her. She had a flash of desire that distracted her for the first ten minutes of the movie. Since when did she want Drakken to sit… closer? There was barely more than a few inches of space between them already. Since when did she want him to close that distance? 

She had to force her brain to shut off, so she could at least watch the movie, if not actually enjoy it. 

She discovered fairly quickly that Drakken had been right. She loved the movie. Snot-nosed teenagers or not, the movie was fun. By the end she found herself mouthing along as the titular song played the movie off.

“What?” she asked when she caught him staring at her an absent sort of smile on his face. It melted into a full-on smirk when she addressed him. 

“I’ve been trying to get you to watch this movie for three years,” he said. “You always said you wouldn’t like it.”

“Yeah. Well, I–” She almost told him she didn’t, because she knew that he’d roll his eyes but otherwise leave well enough alone. “Shut up,” she said instead, half a giggle escaping her before she managed to choke it down. “It was… fun, but I still don’t get why you love it so much.”

“I saw it when it first came out when I was in college,” he began, leaning back against the couch. Again, Shego wanted to move closer to him. “I didn’t really care about it at first, but it became my favorite movie after the first time I went to karaoke night. Fancy-Free was the first song I ever performed since all the other songs on the list had already been sung at least twice. I got a standing ovation, you know.” 

She liked seeing him talk about good memories. He so rarely did. Most of what she knew about his childhood were things that had gone wrong. The bully down the street that she never actually listened to stories about long enough to find out what he’d done, his father’s disappearance when he was nine that she never asked for details on, failed experiments, and failed attempts at making friends. She’d heard about it all, not that she listened to him. 

“Are we friends?” she blurted suddenly before she even realized that she’d thought the words. 

He froze mid-sentence. “Wha– What?”

“I… I don’t know.” She shook her head, already wishing she hadn’t spoken at all. What the hell did she think she was doing?

“No, wait, Shego! What do you mean?”

“I mean, we don’t like any of the same things! I hate karaoke, you love it. I love horror movies, you get all freaked every time we watch one. I want to go to the Bahamas or Hawaii for vacation, and your idea of a good time is baking cookies or building a robot. You’re a scientist and I–” 

Shego stopped herself before she could say that she was stupid. She knew she wasn’t, she’d graduated college after all, but she still sometimes felt intimidated by how smart he actually was. She didn’t bother learning how most of his inventions worked, because he seemed to always be moving onto something new before she’d wrapped her head around the last project. He had trouble with words sometimes, but she’d figured out after less than a week of working with him that it was a matter of his brain moving faster than even he could keep up with, rather than actual stupidity.

After her rant, she expected… something from him. Anything. A rant of his own, a shocked reaction, just something. What she got instead was a strange look and a simple, “So?”

“What do you mean, ‘so?’” Shego found herself getting angry quite suddenly. 

He shrugged. “I mean, ‘so.’ I know you don’t like karaoke, but you always come with me. Sometimes you even sing.”

“Don’t remind me.”

“And no, I don’t like watching horror movies but… well.” Drakken started to look flustered, nervous even. Like her, he was never great with emotions. He tapped the remote against his knee, before dropping it to the couch, and began lacing his fingers instead. “You do, so I watch them with you because… I guess because we are friends - aren’t we?” 

“Yeah,” she sighed, hoping he couldn’t tell how much it relieved her to hear him say that. “Yeah, I guess we are.” What kind of a shitty friend was she though? 

“Shego?”

“Yeah?”

“We both like the movie.” He gestured towards the screen as the credits cut to static and white noise. For a moment she stared at him, then she snickered, and then she began to laugh. Soon enough they were both cackling, blissfully leaving behind the feeling of dread the conversation had caused to coil up in her chest. 

“If you ever tell anyone that I watched - let alone enjoyed - this movie I’ll set your teddy bear on fire.”

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Sixteen

“The moment her head jerked back ever so slightly he was sure that he’d messed up, but it still took him far longer than it should have to pull his hands away from her shoulders. Even as his hands slowly dropped back to his sides, he couldn’t look away from her eyes staring into his. They really were a startling shade of green. He was sure that he’d never seen such gorgeous and memorable eyes in his whole life.” 

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Fifteen

Dwelling Chapter Seventeen

The vibrant streak of blood on the toe of her shoe turned his stomach, but Drew couldn’t bring himself to look at anything else as he stumbled along beside Shea who was very nearly carrying him after his knees had suddenly buckled underneath his weight. He’d vaguely heard her saying something about “shock” when she caught him before he could fall. Her grip still tight on his arm was the only thing that stopped him from curling into a ball in the middle of the stairwell. 

Her hands were warm. 

And she still smelled good. 

And, although he couldn’t make out what she was saying, her voice was nice to listen to. 

But he couldn’t stop staring at the streak of blood on her shoe. 

He’d never seen something so ruthless in his life. Or at least, he’d never seen someone do something so ruthless on his behalf. It wasn’t shock, he thought, that had his head spinning. At least, not about how effortlessly she’d won a fight against a man twice her size - one who was armed, at that. It was that when she’d turned to look at him - or rather not look at him - she’d looked more nervous about… him than she had about a man she accused of threatening to kill him. 

Somewhere in the back of his mind he couldn’t help but note that she hadn’t even broken out her glowing green fire to help her. That thought was beaten down by the realization that bile was rising in his throat. 

Choking it down he gasped out, “Your shoes,” just as Shea unlocked the door to their apartment. She hummed curiously in response and, nearly begging, he elaborated, “Off. Take them off,” hoping he wouldn’t upchuck what little food was in his stomach. 

Pulling out of her grasp, he stumbled over and collapsed on the couch while she kicked her shoes off at the door. He’d all but forgotten the strawberries clutched in his arms until she walked over and plucked them from him. A faint smile formed on his lips as he watched her eat one like she was sneaking candy before putting the rest of the carton into the fridge.

“Are you okay now?” she muttered, sitting curled into a ball on the chair beside him. It was obvious that she was still avoiding making eye contact with him even if she tried to look relaxed, fiddling with the sleeve of the borrowed hoodie. 

Nodding, he closed his eyes to focus on taking a deep breath before trying to speak again. If he wasn’t expecting to blurt out what he said next he could only begin to imagine how much more surprised she must have been. Still, at least his offhanded question, “Have you ever seen a robot fight?” finally got her to look at him.

“Sure,” she answered after a moment. “Um… this lady, Electronique, has sent robots after us a few times. Doesn’t work very well, but she keeps trying.”

Drew blinked. Then blinked again. Despite the fact that he knew he ought to be scared of making her mad, he threw his head back and let out a laugh upon realizing what she meant. 

“That’s not the kind of robot fight I’m talking about,” he told her when his worryingly manic (even to his own ears) laughter died down. “I mean a– a robot fight. It’s… sorta a competition. Teams build robots then, well, make them fight.”

“Oh,” she muttered, her cheeks flushing. His own face warmed up at the thought that when she blushed like that, with the hood of his sweatshirt still pulled up over her head, she turned so green that she looked a bit like a turtle hiding its head inside its shell. A cute… A turtle. Just a turtle. Turtles are not cute.“Then… no. I didn’t even know that was a thing.”

“Would you - only if you wanted, of course - but I um… Would you want to join my team? Well, it’s not my team. I mean, the team was my idea and all, but James and Bobby and Kashwin are all–”

“Drew?” Shea mercifully interrupted his ramblings, raising an eyebrow at him. He gulped as he fell silent, and hoped that his nod showed her he was listening. “Not that I’m… saying no but I don’t know the first thing about building robots.” 

  Grinning, he shook his head. “You wouldn’t have to worry about that. We’ll build the robot.” He felt his grin grow wider as he thought about how merciless she’d been fighting a real person - he was sure that a robot would get even less pity from her. “But I think you’d be the perfect person to operate it.”

“Why?” 

“Why?” Drew repeated, scoffing before he remembered that not everyone’s minds worked the same way his did. “Sorry,” he apologized, although she didn’t look particularly offended. “Well, it’s just that you… You didn’t flinch. And that was a real fight, Shea! We could use someone as… as cutthroat as you.” 

He was fairly certain cutthroat didn’t mean… actually cutting someone’s throat. Could robots have throats? He supposed they could. Humanoid ones at least. Although animals had throats too, so if they built a robot that looked like a dog or a… a lion or something then it could sort of have a throat, right? 

Shaking his head, he forced himself to focus on the actual conversation he was having. 

“Of course I didn’t flinch,” Shea was mumbling, as he turned his attention back to her. “Flinch and people die.” Her voice was high and mocking, he presumed in mimicry of some lesson that had been drilled into her during her time as a superhero. But there was a more serious undercurrent to it too, something angry and sad and a little scared. 

Looking at her just then, the thought he’d been trying to avoid infiltrated his mind and wouldn’t get out. It must be terrible to be her. She really was just… a scared little— well, she wasn’t a little kid at all, but she was just a scared teenager. Sure, he knew he’d been the one to get so startled during that awful movie she’d made him watch that he fell off the couch and that she was the one who’d found it more entertaining than anything else. He also knew that never in his life had he met someone who seemed so on edge. And how could he blame her? How could anyone blame her? 

“What was it like?” he blurted, letting the question stray from his thoughts before he could stop it. “To be a superhero, I mean? Were you ever scared?”

“No,” Shea scoffed and then started to fidget, shooting a frown in his direction. “I mean, I guess when I was little it was…” Her voice trailed off and she shook her head, then shrugged. “Training was always worse than the real thing. By the time we actually had to face down people who wanted to hurt us, it… didn’t seem all that bad.”

“What about your little brothers? Don’t they get scared?” 

Shea scoffed again, though any trace of amusement was gone from her voice. He watched as she curled up into a ball once more, resting her chin on her knees. Her eyes turned glassy as she stared absently ahead of her.

“Of course they don’t get scared,” she muttered. “They still think it’s a game. They’re barely even ten. They don’t know that they should be scared.” 

“I would be terrified,” he declared, only realizing the truth in the statement as he said it. “Even with your powers - don’t you ever think that someone will—”

“Drew,” she snapped, pointedly cutting him off. He blinked stupidly at her and immediately began to feel guilty for blabbering about a subject she clearly didn’t want to talk about. “If some horrible awful thing exists I promise you someone’s already tried to do it to us. There’s nothing anyone could throw at us that we haven’t already faced at least once.” Adding in a mutter that he wasn’t sure he was meant to hear, she all but spat, “Or I haven’t faced, at least.”

Although “shut up” went unspoken, it was clear enough that’s what she wanted him to do. He bit his tongue to stop from asking her more about what her life was like. 

“I guess I wouldn’t want to talk much about it either,” he relented apologetically. “After all, I’m sure you didn’t just run away on a whim, did you?”

From the way she frowned at the floor, he suspected that hadn’t been the best thing to say. Maybe she had run away on a whim, he didn’t know. He didn’t know much of anything about her, really.

“I should make dinner,” he announced for a change of subject. “Do you… want to help?” 

She shook her head and after spending a moment too long watching her in the hopes she might change her mind, he decided to just let her be, retreating into the safety of the kitchen to prepare the chili mac he’d planned. It wasn’t his most impressive recipe - to be honest, he wasn’t particularly fond of it -but he hoped she wouldn’t mind. Given that her eating habits seemed so far to consist of nibbling on fruit when she wasn’t forgetting to eat, he couldn’t see why she would. Besides, it was a little late in the evening to be cooking anything more time-inducing as it was. 

He had just about finished prepping the ingredients he would need - only digging through to the back of the cabinet for his last unopened box of macaroni noodles - when he heard her shuffle into the kitchen, though hearing her didn’t stop him from jumping when he turned to see her sitting on the counter. She still had yet to pull the hood off her head and he was increasingly tempted to push it down himself. 

“There’s this one guy,” Shea began, her voice quiet. “His name’s Magnus. Literally, Magnus Tism. And you’ll never guess - the guy’s obsessed with magnets. Well, sorta. He’s convinced he can control metal. Or, at least, he seems convinced. We all thought he could at first too, before we found out that he had some weird super-powerful magnets hidden in this ridiculous costume that he wears.”

She paused a moment, staring into space as he silently added his ground beef and onions into the skillet on the stove and began to stir. He almost said something to encourage her to keep speaking, but then she sighed and continued as if she’d never lost focus at all. 

“The first time we fought him was a month after we got out of– a month after we officially became heroes. You know what he wanted? What he demanded so he wouldn’t bring down every building in the city? He wanted metal so that he could use his superpowers to make a sculpture. He didn’t even want a lot. But we couldn’t just help him get some metal. Oh, no. We had to fight him and throw him in jail even though all he’d done by then was make empty threats.”

She brought her hands up, closer to her face then, and started lighting her hands and letting the flames die over and over, plasma bouncing between her fingertips like a ping-pong ball made of light. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at her borderline-hypnotic idle habit, even as he continued cooking.

“He didn’t even know we existed. He didn’t want to hurt us. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. And then Heath - Hego - punched him halfway down the street. After that, he decided he was going to kill all of us. We spent half an hour dodging cars that the two idiots were throwing at each other. But you know what the worst part about it was?”

Shea paused for a moment, long enough that he eventually realized she was genuinely looking for an answer, and he hummed questioningly in response. 

“All I could think the whole time was that at least cars were easier to see than knives. Easier to dodge, too. After dealing with that in training, having some mad-man with a magnet try and obliterate us didn’t seem that bad.” 

There was a part of him, a large enough part that it took more effort to keep it silent than it should have, that could only think that the story she’d told would make a fantastic comic book. If it weren’t for the fact that he’d seen her glow - and now seen her fight as well - he might have called her a liar and assumed she’d gotten it from one in the first place. He very nearly asked if there were comic books about her, but decided against doing so, remembering how upset she’d been that he knew something as basic as her hero name. It seemed best to let her tell him what she wanted when she wanted. Even if he was undeniably curious. 

He didn’t know how long he stood there in silence, trying to piece together some response. It wasn’t as if he had any experience with superheroes outside of reading about and watching their adventures. And until a few days ago, he’d thought they must all be entirely make-believe. 

“Huh,” he managed to utter when her foot - when had he lent her a pair of his socks? - pushed against his hip. “I um… Did he change his name or did it always sound like the word ‘magnetism’?” It wasn’t what he meant to say, not that he knew what he did mean to say. But it served to make her snort and push him back another step. 

“Far as we know, it is his real name,” she answered with an amused (or at least he hoped) roll of her eyes. 

There was another silence then, and finally, he confessed, “I’m sorry, I really don’t know what I should say.” 

“I don’t know what you should say either,” she said. He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not and he felt himself nervously staring at her until her eyebrows furrowed and she glanced away, making him realize what he was doing. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, glancing away as well to turn his focus intently on starting to add in his other ingredients. 

After a long moment, Shea spoke again. “Do you… want any help?” She sounded unsure of the offer, even as she said it. 

“You?” Drew asked, immediately starting to tease her without thinking about it. “You actually want to help cook dinner?”

She turned to glare at him, and he grinned back at her, more amused than scared. “Forget I asked,” she grouched. The small smile fixed on her lips detracted from how annoyed her crossed arms made her look. “Get stirring or whatever, oh king of dorks.”

It was his turn to glare, though he didn’t think he did a much better job at looking annoyed than she did.“You could measure out two cups of the macaroni for me,” he suggested, realizing that, distracted by her story, he’d completely forgotten to do so himself. 

“After you tried to burn me alive yesterday?” Shea snorted. 

“Nngh! I did not try and– And your hands are fine, anyway!” 

“You also tried to shoot me last night.”

“It was a grape!” he protested, his ears warming at how whiny he sounded. “Pest,” he added, grumbling under his breath. Was it really only the night before that all that had happened? It seemed like ages had passed since then. His whole body felt heavy with exhaustion suddenly. 

“Uh-huh,” she agreed, and it took him a moment to recognize the sarcasm in her tone. Airly commanding, “Just cook,” she waved a perfectly healed hand in his general direction. 

“You know, you’re very demanding!” 

Her laughter shouldn’t have delighted him so much, and he tried to glance away before thoughts about how cute she was could infiltrate his mind. He was too late and, for a long moment, the only thought in his head was one loudly pointing out how wonderful she was - even though it was true that she was very demanding.

“Yeah,” she answered, sounding almost too cheerful. “I know!” Her voice was wonderful too… and Drew desperately wished he could make the voice in his head shut up. He sternly reminded himself that she was only sixteen, feeling as if he were mentally stomping on his own foot. He nearly missed her teasing, “Like you said - I’m a pest.”

Too busy fighting his own mind to give her mockery any proper response, he practically begged, “Would you at least get the cheese from the fridge?” as he took on the responsibility of measuring the pasta. He all but threw the macaroni into the skillet as if the force would work to drive the discomforting thoughts away.

Her sigh came tinged with all the drama that only a teenager could muster, which was perfect too, and he— He needed those thoughts to stop before he got so frustrated with himself that he burst into tears. Even though he was sure he would never do anything… inappropriate… with her, it was still unsettling to know that even the vaguest notions of attraction to a sixteen-year-old girl existed within him. 

“Fine,” she said, and he almost didn’t remember what he’d asked her to do until she opened the door to the fridge.

When she popped back onto the counter, bag of shredded cheese in hand, impulsivity got the better of him. It was just after she muttered, “Here ya go, Doc,” that the… frustration, or whatever it was he was feeling about her hiding her face inside the hood of his sweatshirt finally got to him. And without thinking, he reached over and pushed it off of her. 

“Would you quit hiding your face?” he all but demanded. “I can hardly hear you!” It wasn’t quite true but an excuse still felt needed. 

The moment her head jerked back ever so slightly he was sure that he’d messed up, but it still took him far longer than it should have to pull his hands away from her shoulders. Even as his hands slowly dropped back to his sides, he couldn’t look away from her eyes staring into his. They really were a startling shade of green. He was sure that he’d never seen such gorgeous and memorable eyes in his whole life. And though there was something nagging at the back of his mind, telling him he ought to look away now, he couldn’t respond to the thought. He only vaguely noticed the green-tinted blush on her face, or the warmth spreading across his.

The awkward clearing of her throat finally snapped him out of it. Her mocking question of, “What are ya planning to do, kiss me?” only heaped on an extra serving of embarrassment. Especially when he couldn’t resist glancing at her lips, something in him wondering what it might be like to kiss her. Would she taste like plasma? What would that even taste like? Would her lips burn his when they touched? Would— stop!

And as seemed to be his only skill, he made the humiliating situation even worse. Stumbling away from her and stammering out some sort of apology, he managed to smack the skillet straight off the stove. His only reflex was to yelp and jump away to avoid the food splattering - which he’d thought would be inevitable. Her reflexes were far superior to his and without even having to do anything more than lean down a bit, she managed to catch the skillet in her palm. Only a few bites of food spilled down the side.  

“Doesn’t that—?” His panicked question died on his lips and he gulped slightly at her glare. “Right,” he managed. “Never mind.” Of course, the heat wouldn’t hurt. Still, the sight sent an unpleasant warmth into his palms, as if he were the one whose flesh was touching hot metal. “It really doesn’t hurt at all?” he asked, failing to resist the urge to shake his hands as if to cool them off. Bits of chili mac went flying off the spatula he’d forgotten was still his hand as he did, and he flinched when some landed on Shea’s face. 

She flicked it off and shrugged. “Not really.” Her gaze met his as she set the skillet back on the stove and they were both quick to glance away. “It kinda tingles, but it doesn’t hurt.” She sounded almost as awkward as he was feeling. 

“What about when you– your plasma?” he asked - or tried to ask. Clearing his throat he tried again, managing, “Does your plasma feel the same way?”

As if the mere mention of her powers made them surface, she brought her hands up and started lighting her fingers one by one. From the corner of his eye, he saw her gaze flick to the flames and, despite himself, he stole the chance to watch her face, wishing however briefly that he could read her mind and know what she was thinking. 

It took a long moment for Shea to slowly reply, “No… It’s– it’s more like…” She paused, and he quickly looked away as she hopped back onto the counter. “You know how you get all bundled up before going out on a cold day,” she started again, “so you don’t feel cold, but you can see your breath so you feel like you should feel cold?”

In the silence Drew found himself looking up at her again. “I… I guess so,” he replied, already making a mental note to remember that description for the first cold morning so he could be sure he understood what she was trying to say.��

“It’s sorta like that,” she concluded, putting out the flames and wiping her palms over her knees as if wiping off any residual plasma. “Using my glow kind of makes me feel warm, but like I shouldn’t feel warm. It feels more… comfortable than anything. Nostalgic, almost? Which I know doesn’t make any sense, but that’s what it’s like.”

It did and didn’t make sense at the same time. He wished he could experience the feeling, if just for a moment. “Did it always feel like that?” he wondered aloud. 

The shrill ring of the timer he’d forgotten he’d set seemed to momentarily startle them both. Had he really been cooking long enough for it to go off? He wasn’t sure anymore. He gave the skillet an extra moment on the stove, feeling a need to make up for the brief moment it had been knocked off, then hastily reached over Shea’s head to grab bowls. Scooping a generous serving into each bowl, he refused to let himself worry about making it look fancy. 

He pushed one of the bowls into her hands just as a curt, “No,” left her lips - her only response to his question. 

All but flinching away from her harsh tone he raised an eyebrow. “I get the feeling I shouldn’t ask.”

She slipped off the counter and he took that as his cue to walk to the table. “I catch on fire, Drew,” she pointed out, trailing a step behind him. “I’m sure you can imagine what that felt like the first few months.”

He thought he could. He didn’t want to. The very idea made him cringe. “It must have hurt.” She hummed in agreement, taking a bite so large he almost snapped at her to take smaller bites. Biting (heh…) his tongue, he asked instead, “Why’d you keep… using it? If it felt like that?”

“I tried to stop it,” she said, sounding like she was confessing a secret. 

He pushed his food around his bowl with his spoon, embarrassment still making it difficult for him to look right at her. “Yeah?” he muttered when she didn’t elaborate. 

A dark look, angry and sad and a little scared - just like her voice had been earlier in the evening - passed over her face. He wanted to flinch away from it, and he wanted to make sure that whatever she was feeling to give her such an expression… he hoped she would never feel that way again. He knew protecting her from feelings was probably even more difficult than protecting a superhero in general but he still desperately wished he could. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he assured her and momentarily forced himself to look at her again. His eyes were immediately drawn back to her lips and he had to look away. 

Despite his assurance, she told him, “It was… right after we stopped being dead. It hurt to use my glow so… I decided to stop, and just pretended I couldn’t when someone asked me to. And, that worked fine for a week. Even had a few of the doctors convinced it had completely gone away.” She sounded proud of that. “Then I was allowed to stand up for the first time in nearly a month. I’d barely been able to walk across the room without help and… halfway back to the bed I combusted. I don’t really remember much except that I swear every cell in my body was on fire. I guess I burned the nurse that was helping me too, cause she never came back.”

A worryingly frightened look crossed her face and he scarcely heard her horrified murmur of, “Oh god…” 

“What?” he nervously asked, ignoring his feelings long enough to force himself to meet her petrified gaze as her eyes locked on his. 

“I think I killed her.”

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Fifteen

“ ‘Stop that!’ Shea blurted. ‘Stop what?’ he demanded, annoyed, and confused, and annoyed that he felt confused. ‘Trying to apologize?’ She threw her hands up, all but shouting, ‘Yes!’ as if that should explain everything she was feeling.”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Fourteen

Dwelling Chapter Sixteen

It took precisely twelve minutes of trying to explain himself to her door for Drew to give up and retreat into the kitchen. He wondered briefly if she’d just turned her implants off so she wouldn’t have to listen to him. Remembering how upset she’d looked the entire time they were broken, he dismissed the thought. He couldn’t imagine she would do that by choice.

Thirty minutes after he’d given up trying to coax her out of her room, the smell of his freshly baked peanut butter stickies did the trick. He knew they would. She darted in and out of his personal space, snapping the tray from his mittened hands before he could so much as blink. As she moved away from him, she popped a piping hot fresh-from-the-oven cookie into her mouth. His warning that they were hot died on his tongue when she didn’t so much as flinch - clearly, she could handle higher temperatures just fine. 

Knowing that didn’t stop him from gently prying the tray from her hands before she could blister them up again. He took the fact that she let him as a good sign. Or at least… not a bad sign.

“I really am sorry, Shea,” he said for what had to be at least the tenth time. She grunted, granting him only the faintest trace of acknowledgment. He decided it was better not to stop her when she scooped the tray back up and all but stomped over to plop down on the couch. He followed - giving a cautious few steps worth of space - and sat in the chair across from her, lacing and unlacing his fingers. She bit into a second cookie and the swell of pride that blossomed in his chest at the fact that she clearly liked them had him reaching for one for himself. Without even bothering to turn her head she swatted his hand away with a quick smack, like his old speech therapist striking his knuckles with a ruler.

“Mine,” she snapped, as he hastily retracted his hand. At least she was eating, he thought, with a slight roll of his eyes. Despite the fact that she was glaring at the TV with such malice that he worried she’d blow it up with her mind, her voice was quiet when she spoke again a few minutes later, mumbling, “We’re out of strawberries.”

He froze with his fingers locked together, startled by her statement. “You ate the entire–? I mean… Um… We can get more next week,” he began to say, but Shea was shaking her head before he finished speaking. 

“No,” she protested. In a weird way, it was nice to see her acting like a normal teenager. Even if that did come with grumpy, grumbly demands. “I want more now.” Unsure if he should be mentally sighing or mentally grinning, Drew reminded himself once again that at least Shea was eating. “Fine. I’ll get more tomorrow.” Her lack of response outside of an annoyed sounding and entirely incoherent grumble made him add, “I’ll even go before class if you just talk to me!”

Her glower moved from the TV to him and he couldn’t help pressing himself back into the chair as if he could phase right through the fabric to safety. “There’s nothing to talk about.” 

Gulping past the fear forming a lump in his throat, he managed a choked, “Shea–”

“I’m not talking until I have more strawberries.”

At least she stopped glaring at him with that murderous look in her eye. 

Taking a risk he let his eyes dart around the room, looking for the sweatshirt he’d lent to her the last time they went out. Spying it on the back of her chair in the kitchen, he stood and retrieved it. She was watching him coldly, another half-eaten cookie held up to her lips. 

“Then let's go,” he said, stepping in front of her and dropping it into her lap. He would have laughed at her flabbergasted expression if he wasn't so worried it would send her over the edge and make her decide to blast him. Briefly, he considered how lucky he'd been that she had been desperate enough for a place to go that she hadn't followed through with her threat to hurt him the night they met.

“I'm not going with you,” she protested, flinging the sweatshirt to the ground. 

Hoping she didn't notice his nerve fading as he took a step back, he forced himself to shrug. “Fine, then I'm not getting you any strawberries.” 

Not that he would admit it to her, but he did have two… fairly fair… reasons for not wanting to leave without her. The first was just that, on principle, he thought if she wanted something she should at least be with him to get it. The second was that it was quickly getting dark outside earlier in the evening - in synchronization with the cooling September air. And to be honest with himself, the idea of going out this late made him nervous. He figured she was more capable of defending herself than he was, so going out without her to, well… protect him was out of the question. By now, she must have figured out that he didn't exactly live in a great area.

Her chest heaved, her nostrils flaring, and he took another hurried step back, no longer caring if she noticed his fear. Staring at him, Shea loosened her grasp on the tray of cookies and let them unceremoniously clatter to the ground. 

Again, he was tempted to laugh. There was something so wonderfully childish about her way of expressing her emotions. She might get annoyed with him for pointing out how young she was, but he found it endearing, in its way. As much as he enjoyed her company over the last few days, something about her that he found deeply unsettling vanished only when she behaved the way he was used to teenagers behaving - which he supposed was to say when she did anything other than sitting or reading in silence. She always looked like... She looked as if she were waiting to be told what to do with herself. He found that odd, to say the least.

She muttered something under her breath that he couldn't quite make out, but before he could ask what she'd said, she sniffled and knocked their shoulders together in her hurry to push past him. He let himself wonder only briefly if she was crying before he darted toward her, grabbing her arm.

 Jerking out of his grasp she turned to glare at him again. Her eyes looked a little watery, he thought. Not enough to say she was crying though.

“Don’t touch me,” she ground out, her gaze dropping to fixate on the floor instead of his face. 

“I should have told you I knew,” he sighed, holding up his hand in surrender and as a promise not to touch her again. 

“Stop that!” Shea blurted. 

“Stop what?” he demanded, annoyed, and confused, and annoyed that he felt confused. “Trying to apologize?”

She threw her hands up, all but shouting, “Yes!” as if that should explain everything she was feeling. 

“You know what?” he muttered, turning his back on her to make his way back to the couch. “I know I messed up with the– with the flyers, but I don't know what you want from me.” 

Truly, he thought, he would never fully understand other people. But perhaps that had simply been the fault of attending high school from the age of nine. He never did interact much with people his age, let alone anyone younger than him. Then again, maybe she was just confusing. Shouldn’t she be happy that he was trying to make sure she wasn’t found? Or… or did she secretly want to go home? Maybe she was hoping her family would find her. That thought stung in a strange way, so he pushed it from his mind before he could get upset about it. 

“I want strawberries,” she said, and he thought it almost sounded like she was trying to make a joke. He wasn't sure if laughing would just be setting himself up for getting shouted at again. 

"Yeah well, either you come with me or you're not getting them," he muttered, kicking a piece of a broken cookie out of his way and falling back into the chair. "So, there," he added, putting his own childish spin on the situation by sticking his tongue out like a petulant toddler. 

Embarrassed by the impulse as he was, he was glad it at least got a quiet snort out of her. A hint of a smile formed on his own face at the sound, even though he tried to resist it. 

“I don't want to go with you,” she muttered insistently. 

“If you're so mad at me that you don't want to go with me then why won't you just let me apologize?” he argued. 

“I don't want to go because I'm already putting you into danger just by– by existing near you, you idiot!”

Rearing back from the sudden increase in volume, he gawped at her. “You're mad at me because... you're dangerous?”

“No,” Shea denied, her voice dropping to a mutter as she shuffled back toward the couch and stooped to clean up the broken cookies. “I’m mad because... because... I don’t know!” 

He didn’t say a word, hoping his silence would goad her into finishing her thought. Miraculously, he was right.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor with her gaze averted and his sweatshirt clutched to her chest like a childhood blanket - which he told himself was not cute - she confessed, “I’m just mad that... that you know who I am. I... It was nice, okay? To think someone could like... I don’t know, me and not Shego. And I’m mad that... that I didn’t tell you even though I knew you could get hurt because of who I am. And I’m mad that I was stupid enough to hope you wouldn’t find out before I told you. And just– forget it. All of this is so stupid.”

For a moment he managed only a feeble, “Oh,” as he processed what she’d said. “You– You know I’m not mad. I get why you wouldn’t want to tell me. And really, I don’t know anything about... um... about Shego, except that that's your... superhero name?” 

With another seemingly rapid change of emotion - at least, as far as he could understand her emotions, she sniffled. “I– I get it if I’m not worth the risk,” she choked out, and this time he was more than certain she might start crying. If she hadn’t just yelled at him not to touch her he might have even tried to hug her. 

“Not...? Shea, I’m not going to kick you out just because you didn’t tell me about– about all that,” he promised in a rush of reassurance. Strange as he knew it was, there was no part of him that wanted her gone. 

“That isn’t what I meant. It’s not about me not telling you,” she insisted with a shake of her head. “It’s– You could get hurt, Drew! Or someone could decide to blame you for my running away - they’ll say you kidnapped me if you get caught!”

“Will you just come with me?” he interrupted, hoping to stop her from talking before her words could go to his head and make him as worried as she seemed to be. “Why don’t we just...? Let’s just go buy more strawberries and you can see that everything is fine and you’re no more dangerous than anything else.”

“But I am more dangerous!” Her hands flared at her sides and he wasn’t sure if she was attempting to prove her point or if she didn’t have as much control over the flickering green flames as he’d first thought. “You don’t know what my family will do for the team.” She sneered at those words as if personally offended, disgusted even, by them. 

He risked tossing the sweatshirt to her again and her fire quickly went out as she caught it. “So, come with me. Fill me in on the way.”

“Just forget it,” she muttered. “They don’t matter.”

They, he thought, weren’t precisely what she was trying to claim didn’t matter. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face, waiting in wonder to see if she would begin to cry or if her claim that she wasn’t a crier was true. As it was, it had been a long time since he had seen someone look so confused and distressed. And he certainly didn’t want to think about the previous times.

“Are you still mad?” he questioned, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose before he could start tearing up himself, at the very thought of seeing Shea cry.

“I don’t know!”

He sighed. “Can we please just go so I can buy you more strawberries and at least pretend to make up for not telling you?”

“Still doesn’t make up for me not telling you.”

“It does if you come with me!” He stood as she slipped the sweatshirt on, throwing the hood up with one final glare in his direction that most certainly did not make him flinch ever so slightly. Grinning back at her, he sifted through his backpack for his wallet and hurried to the door when he realized she’d already stepped into her shoes and was waiting for him.

“You aren’t allowed to blame me if something goes wrong,” she informed him. 

Watching her stuff her hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, he had a suspicion he wouldn’t be getting it back. It didn’t really matter, he supposed. He did have one other sweatshirt, which he liked better anyway. And letting her keep that one stopped them from having to spend the money to buy her her own as the weather continued growing colder. Not to mention how cute she–

He shook that thought away and glanced away from her as he promised that he wouldn’t blame her if something were to go wrong. Although he would have liked to have promised that nothing would go wrong at all, he couldn’t say that for sure and it seemed extra wrong to lie to her when his whole afternoon had already been spent worrying about her being mad at him for doing so.

“To the grocery store!” he declared, thrusting his keys into the air as he followed her out of the apartment. It would have been easy to miss her lips quirking up in a small smile if he hadn’t been looking to make her laugh in the first place. She was quick to bite her lip and force the smile away. 

“Uh-huh,” she answered instead, rolling her eyes at him. Slouching even more than before, she drifted a step or two behind him the entire way out of the building no matter how many times he slowed down in hopes of letting her catch up. 

The further down the street they went, the more distance she put between them until he gave up on giving her the choice, snagged her sleeve, and dragged her along beside him. “Would you keep up?” Her only response was to shuffle her feet and shrug her shoulder. “So, you were going to fill me in on your family and ‘the team’,” he said, almost but not-quite joking. 

Shea scoffed and he dropped his hand mid-finger-quote. “Trust me, you don’t want to know.” She heaved in a breath and barked out a dry, bitter sounding laugh. “Honestly? You’ll probably be just fine,” she muttered, not without a hint of... something... in her tone that made his stomach coil deep into the realms of nausea. “They’ve let guys a lot worse than you get away with a lot worse than– Oh, never mind. Who knows? Maybe you won’t be fine. It wouldn’t be unlike them.”

Gulping back his fear, he wiped his clammy palms on his jeans. “And you?”

“What about me?”

“What will happen to you? If we get caught?”

He barely noticed her inch closer to him but felt himself swell with a strange sense of pride nonetheless. Knowing for a fact that she could protect him better than he could protect her didn’t stop him from, well, feeling protective over her. And it was nice, he had to admit to himself, to have someone look to him for protection, even if he knew he couldn’t supply it. 

“I dunno.” She gave a half-hearted shrug, and stepped even closer to him, almost pressed against him, as they walked inside the shop. “I’ll get dragged back to Go City, probably get stuck under doubled high-security containment measures, and get some damsel in distress script to follow when asked about where I was.” 

“Containment measures?” he sputtered, then squeaked and promptly fell silent at her less than gentle stomp on his foot. Dropping his voice he muttered, “You could have just told me to be quiet, you know.”

“Can we just get the stupid fruit and go?” she whined, giving his sleeve a tug.

He nodded, doing his best to not let how nervous she was making him show on his face. From the way her fingers seemed locked around his sleeve, he suspected he wasn’t hiding it all that well. Either that or there was something else that had her clinging to him and glancing around suspiciously as they made their way to the produce section.

Five minutes felt like they dragged on for hours, especially when the cashier miscounted their change three times and had to start over each time. Though he’d pointedly not commented on Shea’s proximity it hadn’t helped that she was glued to him the whole time. She smelled good. Like the shampoo she’d bought the day before, rather than his shampoo which she hadn’t hesitated to tell him was weird. It was... nice, in a horribly distracting way that was all the more horrible for the fact that it shouldn’t have been distracting at all. 

She finally seemed to relax once they were halfway back to the apartment. Not heeding his warning to wait until they could get home to wash them, she snagged the carton of strawberries from his hands and snuck one out, momentarily staining her lips red in her hurry to take a bite. He realized as he watched her that peanut butter stickies didn’t count as dinner - which meant he also realized quite suddenly that he didn’t even get one of them, and his stomach was starting to growl in protest. How could he hope she’d take his insistence that she eat seriously if he couldn’t be bothered to remember just because he’d been distracted?

Sneaking a strawberry for himself earned him a mocking repeat of his warning not to eat any before they’d been washed, and his gentle shove to her shoulder finally got him that laugh he’d been needing to hear all day. He was glad, to say the least, that she seemed to be relaxing. And the less she glanced around like there was danger lurking on every corner, the more he found he could relax too. 

He finally let his guard down when she made to snag for his glasses - "Payback," she'd claimed, "for stealing a strawberry." With a laugh, he twisted out of her reach and danced backward away from her.

He really shouldn’t have let his guard down.

His back crashed into something solid and before he could flinch, let alone turn to see what he’d bumped into, he was roughly shoved forward. He stumbled into Shea who easily caught and steadied him before he could knock them both to the ground. The moment he was stable, he whirled around, pushing her behind him in alarm. 

He was fairly certain that the blond man standing before them, not much older than himself, didn’t have good intentions - especially considering the sneer on his face and the knife he held up between them. He wasn’t sure, however, whether Shea truly didn’t understand what the world was like outside of her strange little bubble, or if she was just impulsive. No matter what the reason, she was quick to duck under his arm as he stuttered out apologies. 

He squeaked and fell silent for the second time that evening as she angrily demanded, “What’s your problem, dude?”

Whatever the man said fell on deaf ears. All Drew could hear anymore was his own heartbeat. Whatever it was, it clearly bothered Shea. He saw her shoulders tense, and then shake up and down, almost as if she was laughing. For a brief moment, he was able to focus past the blood rushing through his head, just long enough to hear her response.

“I’m gonna give you one chance to back off,” she laughed, though there was no humor to it. She sounded genuinely threatening - nothing like any of the threats she’d thrown his way over the last several days… How many days was it anyway? Four? Even her threat to “kick his ass” the night they met had been nowhere near as grave as she sounded at that moment. 

The blond man clearly didn’t take her threat seriously. The next several seconds seemed to pass in slow-motion, and in the blink of an eye at the same time. 

Drew might have shouted something as the man lunged for Shea, the slender knife glistening dangerously under the light of a street lamp, but the carton of strawberries was shoved into his stomach with enough force to drive the wind out of him. Doubled over, trying to catch his breath, he watched Shea gracefully side-step away from the weapon, like a ballerina but scarier.

Her leg kicked out with such speed he didn’t see it happen until it was over. The man reeled back several steps, one hand shooting to his face. The blood dripping from his nose was enough to turn Drew’s stomach, and he would have turned away if it weren’t for Shea. Shell-shock was only one of the reasons he didn’t try and grab her to pull her away from the fight. The fact that she was evidently winning, which really shouldn’t have been surprising, was another good reason to stay still and see how things played out. 

With a sense of excitement that terrified him, he realized - as the man cursed and called Shea something foul - that she was… toying with him. She jumped back, firmly knocking Drew out of harm’s way as the blond wildly swung the knife at her. She ducked and dodged his sporadic attacks, goading the man into spinning in dizzying circles until he looked ready to fall over. 

With a laugh that was closer to a girly giggle than he’d heard from her before, she kicked out again, a blow to the blond’s stomach that had him keeling over. That really should have been the end of it. Hell! The first kick should have been the end of it. But Shea launched forward anyway, her fist swinging upward and connecting with his jaw with enough force to seemingly bend the man’s spine in the wrong direction before he finally collapsed to the ground, groaning and scrambling away. 

Drew was still frozen in place, the strawberries clutched dutifully to his chest, as he stared wide-eyed at Shea who bent down to scoop something off the ground. 

“Finders-keepers?” she asked, twirling the discarded dagger between her fingers as if she’d been training with knives for years. He really wouldn’t have been surprised if that were true. 

His brain all but shut down for a moment and without realizing what he was doing, he grabbed her by the shoulders and started hauling her back to the apartment. It was only once they reached their street that his mind snapped back into his body.

“What the hell, Shea?” he blurted, pushing her a step away from him. 

She had absolutely no right looking as… sweet, and innocent, and young as she did, blinking up at him nervously as if she hadn’t just gleefully beaten a man bloody. A man who seemed intent on stabbing her, but that did little to silence the buzzing thoughts running rampant through his mind, too loud and too fast to be heard clearly.

“You did hear the part where he threatened to kill you, right?” she asked, mumbling without looking up at him. “He started it,” she added and kicked a pebble, seemingly fascinated with the way it bounced into the middle of the street. 

[gofordrakgo]

slice of life, pregnancy, drakgo pleeeeease

Well! This took me awhile to get around to, but it’s finally written! I hope it proves to be worth the wait! Enjoy some drakgo fluff!

"Though her skin still beckoned his lips he resigned himself to kneading his knuckles along her spine the best he could in the somewhat awkward position, while they watched the snow falling over the ocean. “Does this count as their first snowfall?” Drew teased quietly."

The list - scrawled across an entire wall of the kitchen in variously colored erasable markers - had been thoroughly ingrained in his mind for weeks. He knew every possible choice by heart. That didn’t stop him from turning his attention to it as soon as he popped the homemade cinnamon rolls into the oven. Cradling a mixing bowl in one arm, he absentmindedly stirred the ingredients for the icing together as he stared at the list.

He knew they needed to make a decision, and soon, but he was as indecisive as ever. He just hoped that when the time came they would somehow instinctively know and that they wouldn’t end up regretting the decision later on.

Arms wrapping around his waist behind him pulled him out of his distracted stupor, and tension he hadn’t noticed faded as he relaxed into her.

“Good morning,” he greeted just before his wife’s hug loosened. Her hands traveled up to his shoulders, and then to his head where she pushed her fingers through his hair. A pleasant shiver coursed through him when her lips pressed against the nape of his neck.

Sometimes he missed his long hair and wished that his flower sprouted out of his arms instead, like that one popular arachnid comic book character. Then, perhaps, he wouldn’t have had to cut off his ponytail to stop the vines from tangling in it. When she was there, however, silently reminding him that she liked it the way it was, he forgot all about his petty regrets. Not to mention the fact that even though they had left villainy and begun using their proper names in conversation he really had no interest whatsoever in looking like a hero. Even if he technically was one. And even if he was quite proud of his accomplishment.

Stretching an arm out he let the bowl of frosting fall to the counter so he could turn and give her a proper kiss before she asked, “Have you narrowed it down any yet?” tilting her head toward the list behind him.

He shook his head and stepped away to take their breakfast out of the oven. “Have you?” he asked in turn as he frosted the piping hot cinnamon rolls.

She looked more than a little dismayed when she also had to shake her head. Her shoulders slumped. “Nope. Not even a little.”

“Well, we still have some time.” He was trying to be comforting, but he knew it wasn’t much use. The decision had been weighing on them for months.

“We might not, Drew. You never know.”

With a horrified sense of glee, he realized that she was right. A few weeks earlier than expected wouldn’t be too unusual. He practically collapsed to his knees in front of her and planted a kiss on her stomach. “You two better not even think of coming early. At least let us narrow it down a little first,” he quietly, almost jokingly, begged. She brushed her fingers through his hair again and for a brief moment his eyes fluttered shut and he let his head go limp against her palm.

Icing splattering against his glasses made him sputter and pull away.

“Those are–,” he cut off his warning at the sight of her raised eyebrow. Of course, she wouldn’t care at all that they were still hot. A breathy laugh left him as he stood to rinse his glasses in the sink.

He’d asked her once if she ever thought of the fact that it might hurt the babies to eat things that were still piping hot. Having a slice of homemade pizza hurled at his face fresh out of the oven was a good way of telling him to shut up, though speaking to a medical professional about it had been more helpful at reassuring him the babies would be fine.

“The twins like them,” she said, grabbing his hand to let him feel them kicking with all the giddiness as she had the first time they’d moved.

He grinned, drying his glasses off with his shirt. “I’m so proud.”

Suddenly she threw her arms around his neck, dragging him into an unexpected kiss that tasted like cinnamon and sugar. When she stilled, leaving him delightfully breathless, she murmured, “Guess what?” against his lips.

He only managed to hum his acknowledgment, greedily focused on her touch and the feel of her lips on his to properly respond.

“It’s snowing,” she told him, turning her head as she pointed out the window above the kitchen sink. He took the opportunity to turn his desire fueled attention to her neck. For a moment that would have been too short if it had lasted hours, she held him close, letting out a content sigh that warmed him to his core. With a shuddery breath, she gently pushed him away. “Drew. Breakfast. Snow.” She was smiling at him as she said it, though her voice sounded serious.

“Drew… Shea,” he argued, gesturing to her. Before he could move back into her she stuffed a bite of cinnamon roll into his mouth. It was a bit conceited, he was sure, but he instantly let himself be distracted by how delicious it was.

He just managed to grab a roll for himself before she snapped up the whole tray and retreated into the living room with a wry grin. Staving off a smirk he trailed leisurely after her, shaking his head at the sight of her cross-legged on the ground in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. He paused to watch her for a moment, still flabbergasted nearly a year after he finally worked up the courage to tell her he loved her that, for some reason, she had decided she loved him too.

Snatching the blanket from the back of the couch on the way, despite how comfortably warm it was inside, he joined her on the floor. She settled herself between his legs almost immediately with her back pressed to his chest and her hands atop his over her stomach.

“I love you,” they synchronized.

She let out a low moan, muttering some complaint that her lower back was hurting, as it had been doing more and more frequently. Though her skin still beckoned his lips he resigned himself to kneading his knuckles along her spine the best he could in the somewhat awkward position, while they watched the snow falling over the ocean.

“Does this count as their first snowfall?” Drew teased quietly.

Shea snorted, shaking her head.“If they’re still inside my body, then no.”

“I can’t wait to meet them,” he said, not at all surprised to find tears welling up in his eyes. He’d cried more in the months since he’d found out he was going to be a father than he had in all the years since the day he dropped out of college. Which, admittedly, had been far too many tears then. Until he’d met her. Someday…someday he would tell her she had been the one who inspired him to seek the world.

“I’d still like to have names for them,” she countered, rubbing her thumb in circles on his knee. “Even if we named one Petunia like your mother wanted.”

“She thinks she’s so funny,” he muttered. “ Oh, Drew,” he began mimicking his beloved mother in a falsely high pitched voice,  “how cute would it be to name a little girl after a flower, just like her daddy?”

Shea patted his knee. “We both know that’s not how that conversation went down… Drewbie.”

“Oh, haha,” he replied dryly. “Yes, she did call me Drewbie. But every other word was… um… Every other word was verbatim!”

“That’s a big word!” she just continued to mock. “And you even used it right! I’m so proud.”

“You know, if I didn’t love you as much as I do I’d—”

Shea snorted without letting him even finish his sentence, twisting in his arms as she shook her head. “No, you wouldn’t.”

He managed to glare at her for an entire five seconds before his facade cracked and he grinned. “I really wouldn’t,” he agreed, planting a kiss on her cheek.

Her face softened, in a way he was slowly getting used to. “I love you too,” she murmured, although she didn’t really need to. Surprising though it was, he could practically feel how much she loved him when she smiled so warmly at him the way she was.

Just as they both leaned in for a kiss the loud ringing of what was meant to be an emergency phone interrupted them. With a sigh, he quickly pecked her lips then shot her an apologetic look as he clambered to his feet. She was still giving him that same soft look as he rushed across the room to answer, so he figured it may be safe to guess that she wasn’t upset with him.

Before he could even say hello, his mother’s shrill voice was crooning in his ear. “Have my two babies figured out names for their two babies yet?”

He sighed, mouthing, “It’s my mother,” to which Shea only smirked and directed her gaze back to the snow. Of course, she wasn’t surprised about who dared to call them so early in the morning. As much as he loved his mother, her once weekly phone calls had turned into more than three times a day since he’d told her about the twins and he was growing unfortunately tired of talking to her. It hadn’t helped that his mother spent the first three months yelling at him for not inviting her to the wedding. He didn’t dare to mention that they’d had it in a panic less than a day after they’d realized Shea was pregnant.

“Good morning, Mother,” he greeted as politely as possible despite his annoyance. “And no. We’re still trying to narrow it down. But we’re getting closer!” That was a lie, but he hoped that it would dissuade her from trying to give him any more suggestions.

It didn’t.

“What about Petunia?” she asked. He could picture the over-excited grin on her face as if she were standing right before him.

“Mother,” Drew sighed, not sure if he should be annoyed or worried that she was repeating herself. From the corner of his eye, he could see Shea attempting to get off the floor and he rushed back to her to give her a hand.

She smiled at him and popped the last bite of… the very last remaining cinnamon roll into his mouth while - unaffected by what he thought was an obvious lack of interest in her unhelpful suggestions - his mother continued, “Azalea?”

“Mother, please.”

“I’ll be in the kitchen,” Shea whispered, and he couldn’t help but watch her as she walked away. He couldn’t resist smiling as he watched her drag her fingers through the tray, licking up any remaining trace of food and he reminded himself silently that he would have to try making them with strawberry icing for her.

“Marigold?” The squeal that followed made him jerk the phone from his ear and wince in pain. Rubbing his ringing ear he switched the phone to his other hand just in time to hear, “Oh, Drew, Mary Lipsky would be so cute!”

Exasperated beyond measure, he tore his gaze away from Shea’s backside and grumbled, “I am not naming my children after plants.”

“But they could be little twin flowers!”

Lying to his mother for the second time in one short phone call didn’t make him feel particularly good, but it didn’t stop him from pointedly claiming, “I think I hear Shea calling for me, Mother! I have to go now!”

He almost began to cry when even claiming his eight months pregnant wife was calling for him didn’t stop her. “If it’s a little boy you could name him Cedar! Or Cypress. Or Oleander!”

“It’s twins, Mother,” he reminded impatiently. “It might be two little boys. Goodbye!”

He really did feel bad for hanging up, cutting off her farewells, but he was too tired of listening to her incessant rambling to care too much.

Similarly to the way he had been not an hour earlier, Shea was staring at the list hard enough his head ached. “What were your mother’s suggestions this time?” she teased when she saw him walk into the room, and she twirled an uncapped marker between her fingers.

“They were all plant names.”

“Tell me anyway?”

After a moment of annoyed grumbling, he listed off the names, rolling his eyes when she added every single one to the list as if it weren’t tortuously long already. He sidled up behind her again, massaging down her back and hips before letting his hands rest lightly on her stomach, delighting in the slight movement beneath his palms as she continued to twirl the marker and glare at the wall.

He had let his head fall on her shoulder, his face nuzzled against her neck, and his eyes had begun fluttering shut by the time she whispered to him, “You know what? I kinda like Oleander, actually.”

“I do too,” he muttered against her skin, annoyed at himself for letting his mother get in his head. He’d been so confident that they would find names on their own, without anyone else’s help. “Little Olly... We’re not doing it.”

Shea laughed, presumably at how whiny he sounded, and reached a hand up to stroke his cheek. “Middle name?”

“That… could work,” he mused as he stood up straighter and moved to face her as they talked. “But we’re not telling my mother!”

She rolled her eyes. “Are you just going to keep our children’s names a secret? Oh don’t pout,” she added as his face fell. “You know I just want to kiss you when you do.”

Grinning, he rocked forward and landed a gentle kiss on her lips, happy to oblige anytime she even thought she might want a kiss from him.

“I kind of like Azalea for a middle name too,” she admitted as he pulled away.

“Well, fine,” he whined, gesturing wildly at the list. “But picking their middle names doesn’t help if they still don’t have first names!”

“How is it that the brilliant Doctor Drakken could name all those schemes and inventions, but now can’t even name his own children?”

He grunted and crossed his arms. “How is it that the great and powerful Shego could fight off teen heroes all day but now can’t even stand up off the floor on her own?”

“I’ve got two six-pound parasites growing in my stomach,” she laughed. “What’s your excuse?”

“Nngh– I love those parasites and their host too much to risk ruining their lives with names that don’t suit them!” He snapped his gaze back to the wall, glaring at the list with growing resentment. “I don’t want them to hate me,” he mumbled after a moment. “Giving them names that they grow up and get made fun of over would be the quickest way to get them to.”

“They’re never going to hate you, Drew,” she assured him, squeezing his hand. “You’re going to be the best dad they could possibly have. Come on, let’s just forget this for a little while.”

Trying not to cry, he let her tug him to the door. “What are you doing?” he asked, giving her a watery smile and pushing his glasses aside to swipe at tears before they fell.

“We should enjoy the snow for a few minutes,” she explained, tugging her coat over her arms. She held up her boots to him, which he slid on her feet and laced up for her before getting himself ready to go outside as well.

“This might be our last childless snow,” he murmured while the two walked out into the haze of gently falling snowflakes. “And I can’t even throw snowballs at you.”

“The twins are on my snowball fight team as soon as they’re old enough!”

“Why do you get them both?”

“I just deserve it. You can have your flower help you.”

“It doesn’t like the cold!”

“Then I guess you’re just gonna lose.” She shrugged nonchalantly at him before turning her gaze up to the sky, opening her mouth to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

He really did love her. Which he supposed explained why he moved closer to whisper in her ear, “Wanna make a deal?”

“I don’t have a soul to sell. You know that.”

He laughed but shook his head. “Whoever picks the names for the twins gets them on their snowball fight team.”

“Oh,” Shea cackled, already turning on her heel. “You’re so on, nerdlinger.”

He followed after her as she walked back into the kitchen, and while she plopped herself down at the table to resume staring at the list, he made himself busy making hot cocoa moo with an extra splash of cinnamon in her mug.

“You know what?” he murmured, three cups of cocoa moo and two bags of popcorn later. His eyes burned and he felt like his brain had turned to liquid inside his head, from doing nothing more than thinking about the list for so long.

“Hmm?” came Shea’s sleepy response, half-asleep with her head on his shoulder.

“I think we should erase the list. Maybe we’ll just know what to name them when we see them. What if we decided on names and then we see our babies and they don’t look like a Rosie or a Cypress?”

“Tell you what, Doc,” she muttered. “I think that’s the first good baby name suggestion you’ve made in two months.”

Despite his objections to her statement, he made quick work of washing the list off the wall. As he turned back to her, a weight lifted off his shoulders despite the fact they never made a decision, he teased, “I suppose you were right, Shea. Lists are lame.”

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Fourteen

“She looked momentarily stunned as she stared down at the paper clutched in her hand, and her knuckles going a paler shade of green was a good indication that she was upset. He found himself scrambling backward even before she shoved the flyer toward him, furiously demanding, ‘What the fuck is this?’ ”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Thirteen

Dwelling Chapter Fifteen

The last thing he remembered super clearly was Shea thanking him again, in that gentle, nervous little way she did when she really meant it. He remembered opening his mouth to respond and then bolting off the couch instead. He hoped he’d actually made it to the bathroom before he’d been sick, taking the fact that he was lying on the floor with his cheek pressed against the cool tile as a good sign that he had. 

His blanket was thrown over him almost half-hazardly. That wasn’t right… Haphazardly. It was thrown over him haphazardly. As he curled his shaking fingers around the fabric and pulled the blanket tighter around himself he vaguely recalled Shea following him into the bathroom. 

He wasn’t sure if he’d begged her to go away or had just wanted to beg her to go away but he was sure that she’d gone and put a glass of water down by his hand and patted his hair in a way that bordered on genuinely sympathetic. And of course that made him a whole different sort of fluttery inside and he had to remind himself again that she was sixteen, and then he told himself that the fact that he had to keep telling himself that was… worrying. 

After poking his tummy a few times to be sure he wasn’t going to throw up again he dragged himself to his feet and wibble-wobbled his way out the door. He wasn’t exactly listing expectations, but seeing Shea dangling upside down over the back of the couch like a bat with a book in her hands wouldn’t have been high on the list if he was. 

The sight of her made him dizzy, and instead of the greeting he meant to say, he grumbled, “Would you sit properly? You’re making me nauseous.”

She scoffed but did some twisty-turny motion he couldn’t quite make out that landed her sitting up properly on the couch. “Happy?” she said, with that lilt to her voice that told him she was only teasing him. 

He grunted and staggered the rest of the way over before flopping onto the couch next to her. “My head hurts.”

“Yeah, I know. You’ve told me that at least once every hour since six this morning.” Shea laughed, but he didn’t see what was so funny, so he just glared. More grimaced at her really - the sunlight hurt his eyes. “Did you brush your teeth?”

In lieu of answering, he asked a question of his own, his fingers fluttering to his face as he realized there was more than just a hangover to blame for his blurred vision. “Where are my glasses?” He sounded whiny again. Why did he always sound so whiny? At least it didn’t seem to make her angry.

He had to stifle a gasp at her fingers grazing against his skin, as instead of answering she slipped his glasses over his face for him. Blinking away his shock, he reached up to fix them on his face, mumbling, “Oh. Um… Thanks.”

“You look better,” she commented dryly, and after catching her looking him over almost critically he was quick to look away. 

“Just do me a favor.” He pulled the blanket tighter, squeezing his eyes shut. “Don’t ever let me drink again.”

“Yeah, no kidding…”

He managed to crack one eye open just enough to glare at her which, as happened more often than not with her, made her smirk at him. “Please, tell me you at least got a little bit sick.”

Shea shrugged. “If you want me to lie to you I will, but…”

“You drank as much as I did!” Well, did she really? He wasn’t exactly sure how much he’d had to drink before she joined but he knew for a fact she’d been the one to finish his last glass when she was showing him how she breathed fire. “How could you not have gotten sick?”

She shrugged again. “I think my body may just burn off the effects if that makes sense. It happens with poison too.”

“With…?” He felt his eyes shoot open. “You’ve been poisoned before?”

Her face flushed a wonderfully alien shade of green, and she looked away.

“But you just said! Um… I mean…” He let his voice trail off at the look on her face. Gulping he asked instead, “Do you burn off medicine that same way?”

“No,” she repeated, grumbling under her breath.

“How is that–”

 “Some friend of yours called,” she informed him, quickly changing the subject despite the fact that he’d been smart enough to fall silent at her glare - even if she was lying to him. 

Drew blinked. “Who?” He didn’t exactly have a whole lot of friends, and the three he did have rarely called out of the blue. Maybe she misunderstood his mother or one of his cousins. Eddie, maybe? Smart as he was, and as much as Drew admired him, he tended to be loud and brash and rushed when he spoke, and he had a hard enough time understanding him even with perfect hearing. 

Shea paused for just long enough that he started to wonder if she was just lying to change the subject. Finally, with a one-shouldered shrug, she said, “I think he said his name was Robby or something? I dunno, the guy just started talking before I could say anything.”

“Bobby,” he corrected reflexively, then paused, blinking as surprised curiosity overwhelmed him and made his headache start to fade. So, it really was one of his friends. Strange that he would call, especially on a Tuesday of all days - if they did call it was on weekends, to talk about upcoming plans. Or sometimes for help studying, but it seemed too early for that. “What did Bobby want?”

“He was wondering if you were taking some dorky class with a name too long for me to bother remembering.”

“That’s not exactly– What time is it?” 

Shea reeled back, hopefully just surprised by his sudden shouting and not scared or angry at him for it. “A little before one,” she told him, snatching his wrist to shove his watch in his face. 

Nearly cursing his earlier reckless stupidity, Drew jumped off the couch. Well, he attempted to. It shouldn’t have surprised him that his foot caught on the blanket and he went tumbling face-first in the direction of the floor. He didn’t get the chance to scream before Shea had shot out her arms and caught him mid-fall with a hand planted on his chest. 

His ears were burning as he retreated to his room in an increasingly flustered rush. He could still hear her giggling about his tripping over the blanket a second time by the time he shut the door behind him, locking it for good measure. 

He hadn’t been so drunk earlier that he’d forgotten his inebriated decision to skip class, but he wasn’t so hungover now that he still thought it would be a good idea. It was only the second day of the semester! He couldn’t miss the second day! Especially considering his only class on Tuesdays’ was one his boss taught. 

Grape juice was reason enough to change clothes entirely and he nearly fell several more times yanking a clean pair of jeans on. Without looking he reached into his dresser to pull out a t-shirt, but the soft, worn-out feeling of the fabric made him slow down for just a moment. The Mighty Martian shirt he’d grabbed, still too big on him a decade and a half later, was reserved for only the worst of days. As much as it meant to him, he didn’t want to risk ruining it. 

Carefully folding it again, Drew turned and grabbed a white polo shirt, hoping it would help make him look a little more presentable. There was hardly enough time to brush his hair, let alone water it down to slick it back the way he liked it, so he needed any appearance boost he could get. Was that why robots needed to be so shiny? Because if they got rusted and dirty they’d be more evil-looking or scary? No, he decided, yanking the shirt over his head. No, they were shiny because being shiny is what made them scary. They were just too perfect. 

Perfect just like Shea when she smiled at him from her place on the couch. Perfect and scary. And yet somehow, he couldn’t resist smiling back, even as his brain pounded in his skull like it wanted to escape out his eyeballs. Ew. Another word to never use again, Drew decided. Eyeballs. Weird.

“Food,” he stated, realizing only after he did that he said it out loud. “Um… Have you had any?”

She hummed, though he couldn’t tell if she was answering him or just acknowledging that he’d spoken as she turned back to her book. Deciding she would eat if she got hungry - though the day before had disproven that theory - he poured himself a bowl of cereal, which he ate with one hand while attempting to tie his shoelaces with the other. 

Milk dribbled down his chin and his laces were more knotted than ever, but his real mistake came after he’d dumped his bowl in the sink. Well, it sort of came the night before, when he’d done his homework on the couch rather than in his room, and had been stupid enough to leave his backpack unzipped. But asking Shea to toss it in his direction certainly didn’t help.

He realized as she reached down for it that her looking inside would probably not end well for him. He never got the chance to tell her to wait. Sure enough, though she didn’t bother looking up when she grabbed it for him, the loose contents of his backpack spilled out as it hurtled through the air in his direction. Paper flyers fluttered to the ground much the same way fleets of spaceships on Mighty Martian and Captain Constellation landed, which was not a comparison he should have been mentally noting at that moment, all things considered. 

Just his luck, his notebooks and textbooks all stayed safely inside, and he ended up stumbling back a step as the still-heavy bag smacked him square in the chest, a yelp escaping him as he futilely tried to grab for the papers. Shea glanced up at the commotion. 

“I’m– Just let me!” Drew snapped in a panic, rushing forward to grab her hand in an attempt at stopping her from inspecting the papers. He missed completely, not that she seemed to have noticed him trying to stop her as she plucked one of the fluttering flyers out of the air.

“Ever heard of closing your—” Her voice cut off suddenly, and he risked a nervous glance at her face. She looked momentarily stunned as she stared down at the paper clutched in her hand, and her knuckles going a paler shade of green was a good indication that she was upset. He found himself scrambling backward even before she shoved the flyer toward him, furiously demanding, “What the fuck is this?”

He was fairly certain, for a brief moment, that her eyes were glowing with her anger, and he continued to move backward toward the door.

“I don’t– It wasn’t– I thought I– Nngh!” 

And with that he shoved open the door and fled, leaving Shea glaring at him from inside his apartment as he raced down the hall. He stopped running halfway down the first flight of stairs, his lungs burning already. There’d been no sound indicating the door had opened, so, for whatever reason, she wasn’t following him. 

Chastising himself for being such a coward all the while, he made his way to the bus stop, ripping yet another flyer from the billboard while he waited. Shea wasn’t stupid, he knew, so she knew exactly what she was seeing. He’d just hoped she wouldn’t have to see it, was all. He hoped even more that taking them down had been the right choice, even if not telling her what he knew wasn’t. 

He had figured out the truth the day they went to the library. Her story about getting struck by a comet had intrigued him, and having just seen her fascinating superpowers he was inclined to believe it. But he was sure something like that would have been reported. So, while she searched for books, he spent his time searching for… well, her. Her comet, at least. 

Drew rested his head against the cold window, despite the fact that it pressed his glasses into his face and knocked his head hard enough to hurt. He still didn’t understand how she’d made it all the way to Lowerton from someplace called Go City in seemingly just one day, but he hadn’t known how to bring it up. Even harder to bring up was Shego, which he’d been able to tell was her even with the mask covering her eyes in the glossy black and white photo. 

It wasn’t that he had a problem with it! The opposite, in fact! He wanted to talk to her about it. It was pretty cool, considering the coolest thing he’d ever done was… he wasn’t sure he’d done anything people considered cool. But she hadn’t brought it up, and he wasn’t sure she wanted him to know. 

He thought he was sure, at least, that she wouldn’t want flyers hung up everywhere they went. When he saw the first one on his way to class the day before, he’d ripped it down in a panic. And then he’d exhausted himself running around trying to find any others around MIST’s campus. He’d been strangely offended on her behalf when they all called for help finding Shego. Then he’d questioned if she just made up the name Shea so he wouldn’t figure out who she was earlier. He still wasn’t sure. 

All he really knew now, he thought as he wandered off the bus and in the direction of the neuroscience building, was that people were definitely going to want the reward attached to handing her in, he didn’t want her to disappear (even though she was a pest), and that, now, she was mad at him. And he really, really, didn’t want her to be mad at him. 

An arm thrown around him suddenly made him yelp, pulling him out of his thoughts about how he was going to explain himself to Shea when he got home. So long as she hadn’t run away… 

The shiny metallic rims of round glasses came into his view through the corner of his eye and Drew forced a smile at Bobby Chen who hardly spared him a glance as he dragged him faster toward the neuroscience building. “So, you are in Advanced Neurobiological Chemistry with me right, Lipsky?” Bobby asked. “I’m thinking I could use that brain of yours.”

“Sure, I am,” Drew muttered, only just paying attention to what was being said to him. 

Bobby elbowed him gently in the ribs, and he blinked, focusing his attention on him. “Family visiting or something? I tried calling, but you weren’t the one who picked up.”

“Oh, that was just my new roommate,” he explained, with what he was sure was an unnoticeable hint of resentment in his voice. He didn’t want to remain upset about his three friends ditching him all the way out in Lowerton for a house on the outskirts of Upperton, but he was hardly able to help it. It wasn’t even that he was mad at them, so much as at the fact that he couldn’t possibly afford to join them, even splitting the cost between the four of them. 

Although, he thought brightly, if he had moved in with them he never would have been able to meet Shea. So far, he didn’t think he’d make that trade. Sure, he was more than a little nervous about going home after class now, but he still liked her. She was interesting, even before the superpowers. There was just something about her that he was drawn to. Hell, even the night they’d met he had been secretly thrilled when she continued to follow him after he’d told her to leave him alone. 

“Your roommate sounded an awful lot like a girl,” Bobby said with a slight grin, and before Drew could point out that that was because she was, they’d entered the classroom and were immediately hushed and told to find seats. Cringing back slightly at the glares shot their way for the disruption - although class hadn’t officially begun yet - the two shuffled to seats at the side of the room, as close to the front as they could get, wearing matching blushes. 

“This will not be an easy class,” the accented voice of the professor declared, as he walked to the front of the classroom. “As students here at MIST, I expect all of you to be able to handle the work.” 

Dr. Cyrus Bortel, a short, dark-haired, man in his early forties, was a genius in every way, and Drew had never admired another human being more. Dr. Bortel had been the one to scout Drew out when he was just thirteen, offering free tuition for him to attend some of his introductory courses. 

Although it took a few years for his mother to agree, the offer was never dropped. In exchange, Drew had had the privilege of working alongside him since his very first day of college. Sure, sometimes he wished his tasks went beyond grading, fetching lab equipment, and teaching the occasional lecture, but he still knew he was incredibly lucky to watch the man work at all. Not to mention the perk of practically being paid to attend college. 

“You can come to me if you’re ever struggling,” Bortel droned on. Much as Drew admired him, even he couldn’t find a way to make syllabus day entertaining. “There is no TA in this course, however,” the man wandered towards where Drew sat, gesturing to him briefly, “I trust Mr. Lipsky here to be of aid to any student who needs it if you ever cannot reach me.”

Drew gave a tense nod at his mentor, and then another in the direction of the room, hoping his ears weren’t as red as they felt. He pushed his glasses up higher on his face, as Bobby snickered beside him and gave his arm a light shove as the professor walked away. 

Twenty minutes later, having learned little more than if Dr. Bortel would accept late work (he wouldn’t) and if he would be giving assignments every week (he would), Drew found his eyes closing against his will. Exhaustion combined with the panicked nerves still making his heart thunder inside his chest at sporadic moments seemed to catch up to him all at once. 

The next thing he knew, he felt someone kick his shin under the table and his whole body went rigid as he blurted out, “I’m sorry!” Giggles started up from the few tables around him, but the rest of the room hadn’t seemed to notice his nodding off. 

“At least you don’t snore,” Bobby mumbled to him with a shrug, as he wiped drool off his cheek. It was of little comfort (though he appreciated the effort) as Dr. Bortel’s gaze turned to him. 

Drew gulped. The only time he’d been yelled at by a teacher of any sort had been when he was seven. He’d bitten another child who’d been sitting in the waiting room at the speech therapist's office. He still stood by the fact that the kid had deserved it, but his therapist had screamed and screamed at him until he was crying even more than the boy with teeth marks in his arm. 

He resided himself to being yelled at by one of his favorite people in the world, willing away tears already. But then, Dr. Bortel just shook his head, laughing as he said, “I told you, you didn’t need to grade those exams so quickly, Drew. Look at you, you’ve exhausted yourself!” 

He shrugged meekly back in response, perfectly content to accept that over shouting. 

As the class came to an end, Bortel waved goodbye to the students as they shuffled out past him, giving Drew a pat on the back as he walked by which made Bobby snicker, “Teachers’ pet,” under his breath. Much as he knew he was kidding, it still worried Drew to think others would see him as a suckup. Teachers had always liked him and typically that meant students… well, didn’t. Thankfully nobody else said a word to him if they paid him any mind at all.

Bobby’s arm came to rest on Drew’s shoulder, and he slumped a bit to allow it. “Are you joining the rest of us for lunch, Drew?”

He almost agreed. He almost agreed for the sheer fact that he didn’t want to go back to his apartment and explain himself to Shea. But that same fact was exactly what had him shaking his head and saying, “No, no. I um… I need to talk to my roommate about something, actually. Tomorrow though!”

“We’re all busy tomorrow,” Bobby sighed. “But we’ll be over at your place on Saturday, right? Your… roommate won’t mind?” 

Something about the way he hesitated before saying, “roommate” made Drew pause. It almost sounded like he didn’t believe he had one. He dismissed that thought as quickly as it came. He had no reason to disbelieve him. He’d even spoken on the phone with her! Just because she wasn’t paying rent didn’t mean it didn’t count. Not that Bobby knew that, he assumed. 

“I’ll ask,” he said. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.” He hoped so at least. They always got together on Saturdays to watch the newest episode of Captain Constellation and play Hideaways and Hydras. 

Worse, he remembered halfway to the bus stop, tearing down three more flyers on his way, was the possibility that she was already gone. He didn’t know, though it had only been a few days, how he was meant to move on if she’d decided she didn’t trust him anymore. If she was gone… He didn’t know what he’d do with himself. They’d never even gotten to get their ice cream…

Running the rest of the way to the bus stop did absolutely nothing to get him back to the apartment any faster, considering he still had to wait for the bus. Of course, he managed to forget that. Some genius he was! He bounced from foot to foot the entire time he waited, at least until an older woman asked him if he “needed to go potty,” which embarrassed him enough to make him sit down and wring his hands until his bus arrived. He all but threw himself down in the back seat, deliberately avoiding eye contact with the old woman. 

He moved as fast as he could while still being able to breathe, all the way back to the apartment. Six flights of stairs later, he cautiously tried the door. It was closed now, unlike when he left, but it was still unlocked.

The creak of the door as he pushed it open made Drew cringe. Coming face to face with Shea standing cross-armed and clutching a fistful of the flyers in her hands on the other side of the door made his mouth go drier than the surface of Mars. 

“Hello,” he managed, his voice croaking like a frog going through puberty. Ha. If she didn’t hate him he’d have to remember to tell her about that thought. She’d probably think it was funny too… eventually. At the moment she didn’t exactly look ready to laugh at anything. She just thrust the flyers at his chest - more pushing him than anything else - knocking him back a step. Her quirked eyebrow was perhaps the only indication he had that she was giving him the chance to explain himself. “Can I– Can I come in?”

“It’s your apartment,” she muttered, sarcastically gesturing him inside.

“We should change your bandages,” he blurted, pointing at her hands, still bandaged from the small fire the night before. He knew he was jabbering in what he also already knew was a terrible attempt at getting out of the upcoming conversation. 

The flyers still clutched in her hand caught fire and fell around their feet in a pile of ashes. She tore the in-tact bandages off her left hand, throwing them at him. “My hands are fine and you know it!” Shea said, in a low voice that he decided was far worse than if she’d yelled at him. “What else do you know?”

Drew squeaked and moved away from her a few steps. “I… I know you aren’t an alien.” Now that he thought of it, he was surprised the idea hadn’t occurred to him before he’d looked her up. “I was only trying to help,” he pleaded, holding his hands up in surrender. Her glare softened, fading just enough for him to risk stepping closer, repeating himself as he reached a hand out toward her. 

She stepped away from him as if suddenly he were the one with dangerous superpowers. It made him want to cry even more than the fear of Dr. Bortel yelling at him had. “You know,” she snapped at him like a… like a snapping turtle, “it makes sense that I wouldn’t know how to bring this up but you knew. You knew and didn’t say anything. And here I was planning on telling you the truth like some kind of idiot.”

“I was going to! I was going to tell you! I’m sorry,” he pleaded. The sight of her eyes brimming up with tears - more out of anger, it seemed, than out of sadness - made his own begin to fill up too. He feared his chance to explain had been lost. 

At least when she stormed away it was into her bedroom, the door slamming childishly behind her, rather than out of the apartment and out of his life altogether. 

[gofordrakgo]

Dwelling Chapter Twelve

“The moment she stepped out of her room something clicked, then whistled and she ducked just in time for something to whiz by where her head had just been. Whatever the flying object was splattered against the door frame, some sort of liquid spraying the back of her neck. She swiped at the moisture rapidly, already wondering what form of toxic poison it might have been.”

Dwelling Summary

Dwelling Chapter One

Dwelling Chapter Eleven

Dwelling Chapter Thirteen

She couldn’t possibly have been asleep for very long when Drew shook her awake, laughing, “I can’t believe you fell asleep before the judges could decide who won.”

She brushed his hands off her shoulders, more than a little flustered by the realization that she was only a small movement away from genuinely cuddling up to him. “Yeah, well,” she muttered awkwardly, going to rub at her eyes before remembering her bandaged hands and dropping them back into her lap. “Who’d they pick?”

The name he said only made her raise an eyebrow at him until he sighed out, “The one that made the steak with the garlic herb butter?” 

Shea nodded at that. “Good. That looked good.”

“I know. You probably bruised my ribs from how many times you told me to make that.” He rubbed at his side, glaring at her through glasses she was tempted to steal for no other reason than to annoy him… and to make herself stop feeling awkward about having fallen asleep on his shoulder. “You should eat some more food,” he said before she could follow through with the idea. “There are at least two more servings left.”

“Not hungry.”

He practically wagged his finger in her face. “I told you earlier, you have to eat more to make up for skipping lunch.”

“I’m not hungry. I’ve already eaten more today than I do most days,” she mumbled, hating that telling him this still felt so… so much like telling him some big secret. Something she should be ashamed of. Maybe because of the way his brow furrowed or the way he shook his head slowly like he didn’t know what to say.

“Fine,” he relented sullenly. “But we’re going to have to work on building your appetite. Eating so little can’t possibly be healthy.”

Shrugging, she yawned, “Whatever,” and waved her hand to dismiss the uncomfortable subject.

He blinked at her, a frown still plastered on his face before his expression shifted and he rubbed at his shoulder awkwardly. “You should– um… You look– Well, no you just… you seem tired… You should– and I will too– but you should go to bed.”

Embarrassed, she was quick to agree and retreat into the safety of her own room, barely remembering not to lock the door behind her. She heard his door close just after she collapsed onto her bed. 

Of course, once there, she couldn’t fall back to sleep. She tossed and turned, squeezing her eyes shut so tight colors danced behind her eyelids. She couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than staring around the room at the panic-inducing blank white walls. A moment later, when the mortifying wishful image of curling up against Drew flashed through her mind, she decided that staring at the walls was better, even if it did make her stomach turn. 

She pulled restlessly at the blankets, all her earlier fears coming to mind at once. She knew he had already, but the temptation to go make sure the front door was locked was strong enough that she had to twist herself into the sheets to stop herself from checking. Not that it would matter if anyone on Team Go discovered where she was. 

Despite her resolve not to go checking the door she stumbled out of the bed a moment later to check the small window in her room, wondering if the seal was tight enough that Mego wouldn’t be able to shrink small enough to snake his way inside if Hego hurled him up. Hell, she dismissed, even if it was tight enough to keep him out, it wouldn’t be unlike her parents to simply tear the wall down. Or the twins would clone their way inside. She had no idea if there even was an effective way to keep the little doppelgangers out. 

Drew’s casual reaction to the potential of being labeled a kidnapper had her all the more worried. He really didn’t seem to understand how bad things might be for him. She blamed herself for that too. She should have just told him the whole truth the moment he told her she could stay. It was as she finally fell back to sleep, on the brink of unconsciousness, that she mentally declared she would tell him in the morning. 

She woke up in a cold sweat, Wendell and Westley’s names dying on her tongue. She choked back a sob, commanding herself not to cry. She couldn’t change anything now. They survived. Before her minimal words of self-comfort could calm her, a new wave of panic flashed through her as some sort of clanking sounds drew her attention to her bedroom door. 

She’d been sure Drew had gone to sleep, so she could see no reason for him to be out there. A glance toward her window showed the star-lit predawn sky, further evidence that if he wasn’t asleep he certainly should have been.

Pulling in a heaving breath, she listened intently for voices but heard nothing but a continuation of the quiet sounds. As she stood, combing her fingers through her hair and glaring at the door, she debated who she’d prefer for it to be. 

If it was cops, she and Drew were both screwed. Heath would be a pain in the ass for her, and unless she could convince him, somehow, not to bother checking the other rooms, Drew would be beaten to a pulp before he could even get his glasses back on his dumb not-cute face. Heath was picky with when he played the overprotective big brother card, but she knew instinctively this would be one of those times. Merrick would be fine. As much as he drove her crazy he might be the only one who would understand why she would want to run away, and if she said to leave the other rooms alone he’d respect it - even if he did it with more than a fair share of mocking questions. The twins were unpredictable - but if they were the ones snooping around outside her room she hoped they’d be more excited to see her than they were about finding out who ‘kidnapped’ her. 

She doubted her parents would bother to be the ones to show up. They never showed up to anything anymore, except for news interviews where they doted on and bragged about their children as if they didn’t treat them like magic puppets the rest of the time. She didn’t even give the question of what would happen if it was them the time of day… or night, as it were. 

She looked herself over, deciding that the clothes she was wearing were sufficient enough to face whatever was happening outside and quietly opened the door. All she wanted to do was throw it open and start screaming, but if she was going to be forced to leave she figured it was better to do so without waking Drew. If she was going to leave it would probably be better for him if she simply vanished from his life altogether. That, and she couldn’t stand the idea of him… being there when she got dragged away, knowing she’d probably never get the chance to repay his kindness. She couldn’t even force herself to take the bandages off her hands, fearing momentarily that they would be the only reminder of him she’d be able to take with her. 

The moment she stepped out of her room something clicked, then whistled and she ducked just in time for something to whiz by where her head had just been. Whatever the flying object was splattered against the door frame, some sort of liquid spraying the back of her neck. She swiped at the moisture rapidly, already wondering what form of toxic poison it might have been. It was cold, but it didn’t hurt, and as she whirled around to check the door frame she realized that it was… a grape? 

She whipped her head back around, and realized with an almost painful relief that Drew was sitting at the small dining table, looking unharmed, if a bit panicked. He’d begun apologizing profusely before she even noticed the strange, colorful device in his hands. She relaxed as she took in the bits and pieces of… stuff spread out across the table. It was him. She’d heard him… tinkering away at whatever the device was outside her door. 

“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to hold back a hysterical laugh.

“Um… I… Uhh… I built a grape cannon,” he stammered, grinning sheepishly at her and holding the thing, that did look a bit like a gun, out for her to see.

She snorted, to hide how much her hands were shaking. “Why?”

“Well, because, you were– and I was and… You threw grapes at me and I– I had the idea and wanted to see—”

It took her a moment to realize what he was talking about. “What,” she asked incredulously, “I threw some grapes at you at the store so you decided to kill me ?”

“No,” he shouted, sounding more worried than upset. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to shoot at you! It just gave me the idea and I wanted to see if I could… build a projectile weapon to shoot… grapes.”

Peeling the bits of smushed grape off the door frame, she chuckled, “You’re a weird dude, Drew,” and flicked the mush over at him. 

He stuck his tongue out at her, relaxing back into his chair. “Nyeh. Maybe I should’ve shot you.”

“Watch it,” she warned, mostly teasing. 

“Do you wanna fire it?” he asked, holding it out toward her.

As she reached for it she teased, “At you? Sure,” and he pulled it back against his chest, with enough speed to surprise her, cradling it like a baby.

“Nngh! Nevermind, you’re not allowed.”

“Aw c’mon, let me see!”

“No!”

“Drew!” Shea reached forward, trying to get him to pass the dumb device over, but he pulled it away from her again. “I’m not above fighting you for that,” she warned him, already ready to throw herself across the table to get if she had to. 

He gulped. “Just don’t– Just shoot it that way!” 

She snatched the miniature cannon from his hands the moment he held it out to her. As per his instructions, she turned it away from him, aiming it at the door - or at least she hoped so. Superheros don’t need weaponry. Well, if she weren’t a superhero the surprising force of the kickback might have knocked her back a step or two - even if pulling the trigger in the first place was a little awkward with her hands still bandaged. The grape that shot out smacked against the door with a solid ‘thwunk!’ sound. She burst into laughter and fired again, her aim off, but just enough that she hit the hinge of the door instead. Grape bits flew through the air. 

“Hey,” Drew protested, rushing around the table to snatch it from her. “It’s my turn!” 

She laughed, relenting easily and letting him take his toy back. When he nudged her out of his way she caught a whiff of a vaguely familiar scent, and before she could realize she knew what it was, she was asking, “Have you been drinking?”

He fired the cannon, grape splattering just above the door, and shot her an impish grin. “Just a bit,” he confessed, holding a finger to his lips. “It’s a secret recipe. And I’m legal, so whatever.”

“Can I have some?” She was mostly kidding, but his quick, snappish reply in the negative had her crossing her arms and demanding to know why not. 

He answered her with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Ask me again in five years and I’ll give you some.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion for a moment. Then she reached out and shoved his shoulder. “Come on, don’t be lame. I only want a taste.”

He shook his head, stepping away from her. “No chance. I am not abetting in underage drinking.”

“You’ve been in college since you were how old? You’re really going to try and tell me nobody slipped you a drink from time to time?”

Drew stammered at her, opening and closing his mouth as he struggled to find an argument. When she snorted he threw his hands up in frustration, dropped the grape cannon on the table, and stormed into the kitchen. He came back a moment later with a small cup of… of something, that barely filled even half the glass. 

Now that she had it in her hand, she was a little nervous to actually drink it. She might be able to believe that Merrick had snuck some alcohol before, but she knew for a fact Heath had never touched the stuff. She hadn’t either - she’d tried to buy some cheap beer once, in a small act of rebellion, but had been unsuccessful and led outside the corner store by the owner who warned her she was lucky he wasn’t going to call her parents. Too bad he hadn’t realized that was exactly what she’d hoped he would do. If she hadn’t wanted to be caught she would have just pocketed the stupid drink. 

“What is it?” she asked curiously, swirling it around the glass. 

“Secret recipe,” Drew answered, scooping the cannon up and shooting at the door. He missed, and the grape splattered several inches to the side. A laugh burst out of her and he turned to glare in her direction. “It’s like caramel apple,” he elaborated, grumbling almost defensively. “I don’t usually make it until closer to Halloween but I wanted it so I made it now.” 

Shea took a cautious sip, and couldn’t help smiling at the unexpectedly sweet taste. She took another sip, the alcohol burning a little as it ran down her throat, but not enough to discourage her from gulping down a bit more. 

“Easy,” Drew practically whined, peering at her from over his own much larger drink. He pulled the glass away from her lips. “I know it’s not strong but still .”

“It’s good,” she told him, reluctantly putting the drink on the table, and holding out her hand. “I wanna shoot it again.”

He smirked, though she wasn’t sure if his smugness was from her praise of the drink or her interest in his little invention. Either way, he passed the device over to her. 

“Aim for the… Aim for the door handle,” he laughed. 

She leveled the device against her shoulder, and asked, “Why are you calling it a cannon when it’s more of a gun?” before shooting it. The click came, but nothing happened. She turned to look at him, and he just laughed again. 

“Oh, yeah. Give it here.” As he dumped a handful of grapes into some strange looking compartment, she downed the last few sips of her drink. He snapped at her again to, “Slow down!” and ripped it from her hands. “I’m not going to give you anymore if you’re just going to chug it like that.”

“Sorry,” she offered, unapologetically. “It’s not my fault it’s delicious.”

He blushed, glancing away from her. “It’s better when I make it with homemade apple cider but I guess it’s good enough.”

She took the cannon from his outstretched hands, aiming it toward the door again. “Can I have some more?” 

“Just a little,” he agreed with an overdramatic sigh, before taking her glass and retreating to the kitchen. 

‘Just a little’ apparently meant double the amount he’d given her before. Glancing at his nearly drained cup she wondered how much of the stuff he’d really had before she caught him. Her suspicions were amplified ten-fold when he stumbled, smacking his hip on the table. He barely winced though she still had to snag the drink from his hand before any of it spilled. 

“How much have you had?” she demanded, almost instinctively. 

She’d had to walk a significant number of drunks home as part of her hero duty in the early years. Heath took over for her not long after she turned twelve. He’d run into her walking some man home, just in time to hear him offer her a beer or two in exchange for ‘an hour to do whatever the fuck I like to that perfect little body.’ She’d been near tears by the time she got home although she hadn’t even fully understood what the man was suggesting until a few months later when a similar scene played out in one of the horror films her parents forced her to watch. The situation had ended far worse for the young woman and Shea had melted one of her metal practice cubes, screaming and burning in horrified sympathy. It was the last movie she’d watched that she actually found frightening. 

“Not too much,” he replied, picking up his own glass and draining the last of it.

“Uh-huh…” She trailed a step after him as he refilled his glass to the brim, sipping at it carefully as he moved back to the table. She took a sip of her own, following him back. 

She barely saw him roll his eyes as he put the cup down. “Door handle?” he said hopefully, pushing his grape cannon toward her again. 

She grabbed it without putting her cup down and fired. The click was followed by the newly distinctive whistle of a grape flying across the apartment. Her aim was off, but not enough. The grape hit the door handle but she’d been hoping to hit it dead center. Drew still cheered, and she couldn’t resist shooting a smile his way. 

“Again!” he exclaimed, and she gulped down a sip of her drink before laughing and firing again. He was tugging the cannon away from her for his turn even before the grape splattered.

His first shot actually hit the door and she found herself cheering even before he did. His second missed and nearly knocked down a picture frame beside the door. He yelped as it wobbled, then sighed in obvious relief.

“Would you rather,” he mused suddenly, near half an hour and too many drinks later, “go live in the woods or… get to live in a mansion but never get to go outside again?”

“Woods.”

“Why?”

“Did enough of never getting to go outside already.”

“Oh yeah,” he said, almost laughing before awkwardly taking a sip of his drink. 

She knocked the rest of her own drink back. “What about you, Doc? Woods or a mansion?”

“Is not getting to go out really that bad?” “Judging from how pale you are, I’d guess you don’t spend a whole lot of time outside anyway,” she teased, firing the cannon.

Drew whined in protest but didn’t actually defend himself much further. “It might be nice to live in a place that actually has heating in the winter. So, if it’s a nice mansion… I’ll take the mansion.”

“What if it’s some shabby run-down mansion? Or haunted?”

He fidgeted and snapped the cannon away from her. “Then I guess I’ll join you in the woods. Your turn.” Shea held out her hands to take it back, but he just shook his head. “No, I meant to ask a question.”

“Oh. Um… Would you rather,” she paused to think, watching as a grape exploded against the ceiling above them. “Would you rather get the chance to go back in time and change one major event but know that it will just happen later or…. Change one major event but erase yourself from existence in the process.”

“I would erase myself,” he answered the moment the words were out of her mouth. 

“What would you change?” she asked curiously. 

“Nothing you need to know about.” She must have looked hurt, because as soon as he said it he looked away from her, passing the gun sheepishly back over and adding, “Nothing I want to talk about.”

“I’d do the same one,” she told him. She wouldn’t mind disappearing if it saved her brothers from living the life they did. She would stop the comet and let herself fade away without anyone’s knowledge that there were ever going to be super-powered kids saving a city.  

She didn’t say that, but he nodded as if he understood anyway. 

“Would you rather be able to breathe underwater or breathe fire?”

“I thought we were flipping coins for this before.”

“We’re both answering, so who cares?” Shea sighed and shook her head, pouring some of his drink into her glass, earning herself a glare and a refilled cup, still not quite as full as his had been. “I’ll take underwater. I’ve done the fire breathing thing. It just hurts your throat.”

“I thought you said you couldn’t breathe fire!”

“No,” she said pointedly, “I said I’m not a dragon. And no. I’m not showing you. It’s stupid and it hurts.”

“Come on, please?”

“No.”

“Pest.” Drew’s next fire of the grape cannon finally knocked the picture frame to the ground with a strangely loud shatter. His mood shifted almost instantaneously before the picture even hit the floor. If she’d been a little more focused she would have lunged for it, but as it was they both simply stood there and watched it fall.

He groaned as it broke, putting out a hand to stop her when she stepped toward it. “Glass,” he pointed out, though his voice sounded off. It took Shea a moment too long to realize his speech was more slurred than she’d realized.

He stepped carefully over the pieces of broken glass after pushing the cannon into her arms. Despite his repeated warning, she dropped the device on the table and moved toward him. She barely caught him slip something from the back of the frame into his pocket. 

“What is that?” she asked, grabbing onto his arm. 

His instantaneous, “Nothing,” caught her off guard, and she was quick to let go of him when he jerked his arm away. “She’s going to be so upset,” he murmured, tugging the picture free of the frame and stumbling his way over to the couch.

“Who is?” Shea asked, scooping up the glass. She could almost appreciate the bandages, for helping her to not cut up her palms. 

“My mother,” he replied, holding up the photo for her to see. 

Squinting at him from the kitchen she could see a picture of a woman with a young boy. “Is that you?” she asked tossing the wrapped up glass shards into the trash can.

“Sure, when I graduated high school. I was twelve here.”

“Why’d it take so long for you to go to college?”

She watched Drew’s shoulders move in a strange little shrug. “She didn’t want me to go off to college too early, so I homeschooled for a few years. It was probably a good thing, what with my not being able to read.”

“Did you always look like a dork?” she asked.

He dropped the photo on the coffee table. “Decide for yourself.”

This, Shea declared to herself, must be what if feels like to be drunk. Granted, she didn’t think she’d had all that much - and she was fairly certain he had been watering down every drink he’d given her. But the room was spinning a little, making her dizzy as she took slow, deliberate steps in his direction watching him take another swig of his drink.

A note of terror rang through her as her fuzzy mind cleared for the briefest of moments. He could have done anything to her drinks, anything at all, and she’d never even thought to be wary of it. She just… drank them as he handed them to her. As suddenly as it came, the terror was gone. He wouldn’t do that. She knew he wouldn’t do that. She’d known him for -what?- three days, four? She had no reason to trust him, not the way she did, but she did. 

“Yeah,” she said with a nod of her head towards the photo that made the spinning change directions. “You were definitely always a dork.” Twelve-year-old Drew didn’t look much different from the Drew she knew, save for the cap and gown that were both clearly too big and the innocent look of a pre-pubescent child. 

“Yes, thank you for that assessment,” he grumbled.

A laugh slipped out of her as she stumbled over air and collapsed onto the couch next to Drew. No, not next to him. On top of him. She fell into his lap, and in her daze, she forgot to make herself move off him. Even if she could have, his arms snaked around her, holding her against his chest though not in any real way, it felt like. Like he only did it because of instinct.

“Come on, come on, tell me the truth.” She realized he was laughing as she tried to process his arms around her. “Do you really think that rib-eye looked better than the salmon?”

She meant to say she did, but what came out instead was a gasp as she leaned back into him and poked his cheek slurring, “You should… you should make steak. I missed food. Didn’t even know I missed food ’til I met you.”

He chuckled and fell back across the couch. She hadn’t even noticed him push her off his lap. “Can’t afford to make that,” he said, gesturing to the TV. “But sure. Can make some sort of steak. Next week.” His fingers latched around her arm. “If,” he said pointedly.

“If what?” She asked, knowing she’d agree to just about anything in the moment. 

“If you show me how you can breathe fire.”

She should have said no. She knew she should’ve said no. With a quick snap of her wrist, she’d snagged Drews drink out of his hand and said instead, “You know you’re lucky I like you, right?”

His grin faltered so slightly that she almost didn’t notice it. She took a small sip of the drink, surprised to find it tasted no more like alcohol than any of hers had, and swirled it around in her mouth. 

Working the flames to her hands was easy. She’d focused on that, trained to do that for years. Working it up her chest and throat burned, making her eyes water. She almost gagged the plasma back down, but she took a deep breath in through her nose and tilted her face towards the ceiling.

Her powers didn’t come out like a dragon spitting flames in some cheesy kids movie. It bubbled between her jaws for a moment, like the world’s hottest mouthwash. She let out her breath, and with it, the plasma, burning through the air in a strange arc above her, before abruptly steaming out of existence.

She coughed and swallowed the residual flames. “It’s not effective and it hurts.” She coughed again, wiping her lips with the back of her sleeve. 

With a grunt, Drew sat back up and shocked her by poking at her lips. “That,” he admitted as she swatted his hand away in surprise, “was pretty cool.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. “Yeah, well. Y’better not be too drunk to remember it, cause I’m not doin’ it again.” 

“You said you like me,” he teased suddenly, breaking out into a wide grin. “You don’t really think I’m a dork.”

“Do so think you’re a dork,” she argued. “But… yeah. Still like ya. You’re… I dunno, fun?”

Drew hummed and lay back against the couch, facing her. “I like you too.”

“It’s weird,” she confessed, wishing the room would start spinning again to justify why she was still talking. “I feel like… cause we only met a few days ago. But–”

“–I feel like I’ve known you forever,” he said, in unison with her.

“Jinx,” he exclaimed, pointing a finger in her face. “You owe me a soda.”

“Do you have soda?”

“I think there’s some in the fridge.”

“I’ll get you one.”

“You’re just gonna shake it up, aren’t you?” Drew whined suspiciously.

She smirked, fighting back a full-on grin and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Then I don’t want one.” He yawned and pointed vaguely in the direction of the kitchen table. “I just wanna take my cannon and go to bed.”

“You’re gonna bring that thing to bed with you?”

“Nngh– no, I just don’t want you to shoot me with it!”

“You shot me!”

“I shot at you,” he corrected. “Accidentally!”

“So I should get to shoot at you.”

“No!”

“Dork.”

“Pest.”

“Crybaby!”

“You can keep insulting me,” he sang, “but I know you like me!”

Shea rolled her eyes, and before she could say anything else a strange gurgling sound filled her ears and then everything went silent. Ice cold terror burned in her veins as Drew’s mouth continued to move. No sound came out. No sound that she could hear.