Chapter Text
Brilliant garnet catches in the dust-speckled mirror, and Kim studiously runs her hands down the pleats of her dress for the hundredth time, pointedly ignoring the way her stomach flips and bounds below her ribs; a wily trapeze artist tying her gut into jellied knots.
'This is so not the drama.' Kim’s inner voice makes yet another paltry attempt at soothing her frayed nerves, absentmindedly running her hands down the crepe fabric where it bunches at the waist. A single shoulder loop rests comfortably against the swell of her right bicep, and she sighs, eyeing her reflection with a healthy disdain. She doesn’t do dresses. The tightness around her hips continues ever downward until the dress splits along her calf, allowing a modicum of flexibility as she widens her stance, and she’s careful not to step on the floor-length train brushing against her exposed toes. Crimson hair spills over her exposed shoulders, pooling around the gentle curve of her neck, and Kim anxiously pushes a stray lock behind her ear, fumbling with her hands as they meet together at her navel. A sigh seeps through her nostrils, olive eyes peering into the mirror with a wry awkwardness.
'So not the drama.'
Kim worries her lip between off-white teeth, biting hard enough to leave fine indents in their wake, and more than a few seconds pass where Kim strongly considers declining the mission. Her unease is briefly interrupted by the melodic trill of her watch, and a flickering warmth teases the underside of her breast as she spies the grainy picture of Ron’s face flashing on her right wrist. Faint blue illuminates the dimly lit hotel room as she depresses the bed, taking a calming seat before tapping against the glass face of her extravagant timepiece.
“KP!” The joy that travels through the tiny speaker fills the space around Kim, and a smile tugs at the edge of her lips. Lifting her wrist to her face, a small beam of light ejects from the carefully hidden lens, blue dots rapidly coalescing into a well-defined likeness of Ron’s head, rugged hair haphazardly finger-combed to rest just above his brows. “How goes it?” Kim doesn’t stop a suppressed laugh, bursting through the apprehension that tightens her jaw as she peers into the backwards-facing camera, its embedded LED blinking at her in short, red blips. Her arm twists and she awkwardly points the lens towards the mirror, and Kim doesn’t have to look–she already knows how Ron’s jaw slackens, summer-saffron brows racing to touch his hairline.
“Whoa, KP! You look-” Ron stumbles over himself, struggling to find the right words. “Stunning!” A blue hand comes up to cup his forehead, and Kim can’t help the sheepish grin that tugs her lips. Heat rises from her chest, dappling her shoulders and clawing up her neck with a flushed, pale pink. She hopes her blush is lost to the camera’s mid-grade optic, and if Ron notices, he graciously says nothing. 'Thank God Wade couldn’t fit the 4K,' Kim’s subconscious chirps, anxiety renewing its steady climb up the heroine’s backbone with unmatched fervor.
“Thanks, Ron.” Her voice is small, uncertain, and oh so quick to dismiss his assessment. Short nails pick at the threading of her gown, Kim trying and failing to resist the urge to peek down at the matte black straps of her finger-length heels, studying their neat taper where they leave fresh dents in the short, utilitarian carpet—another sigh. Teeth grind behind pursed lips, and Kim fixes Ron with a stare that bleeds her discomfort into the air for all to see. Though it’s just her and his flickering image in her box of a room, she can’t help but feel as though thousands of burning leers sear every inch of her being, scorching her pores and settling an invisible weight upon her chest. Kim swallows thickly, sucking in a sharp, soothing breath before bidding her voice to return from the queasy depths of her gut. “Just get in, ensure that nothing gets stolen, get out. Easy.” Confidence wanes with every word, and Kim winces a little at how meek she sounds, discomfort pulling at the very threads of her being. “It’s just the Met, how bad can this be?”
Ron’s face twists a little, a nervous laughter filtering through the speaker. “Piece of cake.” He grins, and Kim can’t help the newfound flush of comfort as it blooms across her sternum and warms her belly.
“So, what’s the plan if you run into mean green?”
Kim sucks her teeth, brows knitting together. Truth is, she doesn’t have a plan. Thankfully, the invite and transportation had been taken care of– 'Thank you, Wade,' –but… what then? Kim draws the stock photo of the necklace to the forefront of her mind, a glistening contemporary, diamond-crested design reflecting every photon that dared kiss its masterfully cut facets. Though, despite the breathtaking radiance of the chain and setting, nothing could compare to the heavy emerald centerpiece; unmatched brilliance, cut in the shape of a pear and no smaller than a baby’s fist, burns bright behind Kim’s eyelids, charred into memory and wholly unforgettable. Kim scoffs inwardly, picturing it resting neatly on the curve of Shego’s clavicle, hefty green gemstone nestled at the crest of her cleavage. More pink skitters across her flesh, and Kim pinches the bridge of her nose.
A hushed restlessness seeps into the nerves where skull meets the spine, and Kim stifles the tremulous shudder threatening to overcome her as a needling, fire-hot frustration bites the underside of her palms and winds its roiling tendrils through her upper back. Sure, fighting Shego was one thing, but this wasn’t just another lair, destined for a smoke-choked demise. A hand combs its way carefully through her hairline. Kim isn’t sure how to bring the master thief down without bringing the whole facility down around them, and she knows for a fact that if anything like that were to happen, she wouldn’t be able to show her face in public for who knows how long . Green eyes narrow and Kim clenches a loose fist, missing the powerful thrum of her battlesuit where it would normally cradle her fingers and pull taut along her knuckles. Fighting in a dress wasn’t exactly her idea of a ‘good time’, but Wade had made it pretty clear that under no circumstances would she be permitted entry in something so, well, unfashionable as a full-body skin suit.
Bittersweet acid stings her palate, face twisting in the gleam of Ron’s projection. ‘Unfashionable’ wasn’t something Kim would readily use to describe herself, but allowing another once-over in the mirror just served to further solidify the imposing sense that she’d been shunted into a separate reality, masquerading in borrowed wealth to infiltrate one of the most extravagant fundraisers of her time. “To stop a heist.” Kim murmurs, ignoring the questioning glance coming from the hologram at her wrist. She composes herself in a fraction of a second, plastering a poor imitation of Possible confidence on her face as she forces herself to look back at her sidekick.
“I’ll improvise! Besides, anything is possible for a Possible,” Kim’s feigned conviction seems to placate Ron well enough. “It’s no big.”
“If you say so, KP!”
Kim forces a smile to her lips, olive green flicking to the bright alarm clock at her bedside as the digital numbers roll over to a cool six P.M. “Gotta go, Ron.”
There’s hardly a pause between Kim’s disquieted lilt and the satisfying * click* as she disconnects their call, bathed in all-consuming darkness. In this space, Kim’s nerves bully their way to the surface, eyes screwed shut as she wills herself to suck in calming breaths. Another glance at the tableside clock, and it’s five after, a cold shock of ice pouring down the stretch of her back. Rising to her full height, inches more than she’s used to, Kim takes steady strides towards the single mahogany door separating her from the impending celebration. The redhead snatches her brand-new clutch from the bureau beside the door, listening to the faint clack of her slate-tinted heels as she carries herself through the hotel’s empty hallway.
Time to get this party started.
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Languid fingers coil around the quartz stem of a half-empty cocktail, bloodied cerise swirling in a gentle whirlpool as she mindlessly twirls the coupe to watch the dwindling ice chips dissolve within scarlet liquor. Black-painted lips part ever so slightly as she brings the glass higher, tongue flattening along the bottom of her mouth as she throws back the final dregs of her Negroni. Fire licks down the length of her esophagus, and she swallows eagerly, replacing the empty glass along the balustrade with a satisfying *tink* and setting her bored gaze upon the sea of patrons flooding through the parted museum doors. Sequined tulle, textured silk, velveteen cashmere and a rainbow nebula of precious stones seated in yellow and white gold pour into the Great Hall, men and women of all ages and size checkering the marble floors in their respective displays of extravagance–the epitome of affluence, hearth-fire emeralds scan the blanket of faces on the floor below, unimpressed by what few familiar figures she can pick from the crowd. Warm, sand colored sconces nestled within marble-textured stone bathe the entire venue in a pleasant amber glow, and from her perch above, Shego is titillated by the near limitless opportunity lying in wait, ready for the taking. Her fingertips itch with excitement, and an all-too-comfortable smirk takes residence upon her jet black lips. 'Too easy,' she thinks, hungrily gazing upon an exceptionally gaudy piece settled neatly upon the cinnamon bosom of a strange-faced woman, glittering blue gemstone catching in the firelight.
Minutes pass as Shego bides her time on the second floor, lounging against the railing–a lioness in wait; observing, patient, stalking her prey from the sidelines. However, a particular something is missing from the crowd below — a specific jewel, one that beckoned the villainess from halfway across the country. Still, diamonds, topaz, amethyst, and more than a fair share of sapphire decorate the many throats, ears, and wrists of those below, so blissfully unaware of the piercing stare burning from above, and yet, their allure blanches in comparison to Shego’s actual target. Everything else, well, she’d just consider that a bonus.
Just as the ebon-haired rogue’s attention began to wane, she catches the barest glimpse of fire-red crimson in the multicolored masses, a single onyx brow quirked as the red mane stealthily navigates the crowd around them. Shego’s smirk broadens, threatening to split her cheeks.
“Hmm…” Shego’s intrigue coats her tongue with silk as she unleashes a sonorous purr, and a certain giddiness pricks her ears, sending electrified tingles from her head to her toes. 'Nothing like a good challenge to lift the spirit.' Shego inwardly grins, glass forgotten on the wide-brimmed railing as she pushes off the cool stone with a start, allowing herself to glide along the carpet in long, practiced strides. 'And I was beginning to think this would be a dull affair.'
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Frantic, furtive glances pull Kim’s olive eyes in every direction, hastily surveying her surroundings as she cuts through the deep throng of fashionistas huddled around the Museum entrance, dainty heels catching on the iconic red carpet leading up the hand-carved steps. Through the doors, head held low, Kim’s fingers dig into the soft underside of her handbag as she breaches the entrance, and it takes a great deal of effort not to gawk at the scene unfolding before her.
Hundreds upon hundreds of people, all dressed in finery unlike anything Kim has ever seen, breathe life into the overhanging archways, fine marble slabs towering dozens of feet into the air where they converge in perfect domes, swathed in blonde, twinkling flames. The Great Hall beckons her deeper, and Kim can’t help the way her fingers brush against the rim of a white, chiseled fountain in wonder, slack-jawed as she drinks in the extravagant floral arrangement occupying the center of the room. Several smaller, modest arches bear laser engraved signs to branching exhibits, and peeking to the right awards the redhead with backlit glass displays through the gaps of tightly clustered groups, catching the barest glimpses of beautifully preserved sandstone, gilded likenesses of Pharaohs long past, and cases upon cases of unfamiliar stone statues littered between fine stretches of vibrant papyrus. She swallows, combing through the overstimulating tsunami of pure color, skimming the northern exhibit and its cloistered walkway, hammered bronze idols housed comfortably within. Head on a swivel, the redhead’s chin brushes against the curve of her shoulder where she peers to her left, and Kim skids to a halt, nearly tripping over her dress in the process.
Towering sculptures furnish herringbone floors, a wash of ashen ivory polished to a certain smoothness that causes the evening light filtering through an overhead skylight to pour over stone profiles in diluted honey. Kim doesn’t realize she’s taken a step, then another, and another until the archway begs to swallow her whole, opening its gaping maw and exposing the marble masterpieces in their incandescent glory; ivory and gold reflects in Kim’s sclera, and she releases a breath, awestruck in the way milky, snow-white eyes bear down on her from above. She approaches the heart of the exhibit, open-mouthed, where a chiseled goddess roots her in place. Green orbs barely register the gilded placard at the statue’s gilded feet, Athena Parthenos reverberating faintly beneath the steadfast pulse that beats between sun-kissed ears. Kim humbly revels in the echo of rich, yellow gold that bounces off her pale complexion, decorative peplos cascading down pearlescent flesh, an ethereal beauty radiating from an all-seeing gaze that forever surveys its splendid tomb. Pin-point pupils drag down the length of ivory biceps, betraying their otherworldly strength in the fine play of musculature so expertly carved into unfeeling dentin, and Kim vaguely registers the feeling of familiarity at bearing witness to such supernatural power, raw and spring-loaded, everlasting beneath the smooth swath of unmarred flesh.
Kim briefly ponders whether her battlesuit could do with some gold-hued accents, interrupted by a glacial shock, spider-webbing through stone-like scapula with a vengeance; a stark contrast to the balmy, weighted breath that carries itself over her hiked shoulders and into the shell of Kim’s ear, a single, jadeite finger curling around the fiery tresses that frame pink-speckled cheeks.
“Long time no see, Pumpkin.”
No sooner than the low, rumbling purr left onyx lips had Kim whipped around to face them, olive orbs flicking down at the sharp, toothy smirk mere centimeters from her face. A sudden inhale and Kim’s sinuses are positively flooded, consumed by the sweet jasmine and heady cedarwood that fills the air in droves, and her heart skips a beat, then two, as blazing tourmaline pierces into her very soul. Kim’s already struck her fighting stance before she can stop herself, uncaring to the sound of her handbag clattering to the floor, pointed stares burning into her face from all directions–they all pale in comparison to the oppressive gaze sending several charged tremors rioting through every muscle in the redhead’s body, catching the air in her lungs and holding it hostage; a spectral elephant, crushing her sternum and binding the soles of her heels to the wood grain underfoot.
A half step backwards, cocked hip, and well-manicured brow quirked into a high arch does nothing to settle Kim’s frayed nerves. “Cat got your tongue?” Clipped, dry chuckling pulls from subtly clenched jaws, and Kim spots the mirth blending alongside mild annoyance within those scorching, emerald irises.
“Shego.” Kim breathes, scowl etching itself onto her face as the green-skinned supervillain regards her with flippant indifference. A leisurely jungle cat hounded by a mere mouse, Shego doesn’t move an inch, broad grin alight as she studies the rigidity of Kim’s posture. She pays no mind to the tightly coiled fists hovering close to Kim’s chest and instead finds herself occupied by the redhead’s attire, a resonant hum drawing itself from the thief’s chest.
Kim struggles to remain still under the attentive eye of her adversary. “Red suits you, Kimmie,” Shego hums, bringing a hand to rest comfortably on the bend of her waist, brazenly inspecting her nemesis from head to toe. She drinks in the crepe pleats that accentuate Kim’s figure, eagerly observing the way olive-toned complexion sings against the matte red that envelops her lithe form. Shego raises a brow at the exposed skin of Kim’s shoulders and neck, a far cry from the cargo pants and low-cropped turtleneck she’d come to recognize just as easily as the back of her pale, mint-green hand. 'Better than that damn battlesuit,' Shego remarks pointedly, and a certain darkness darts behind her fire-lit pupils as she recalls hundreds of thousands of volts supercharging her heart and frying her insides, smelling her own burnt hair in the depths of a gnarled memory. Even still, Kim’s voice bounces around the confines of her skull, amber-dappled irises overflowing with an unbridled hatred that made Shego recoil like a superpowered fist to the gut. While lacking the same hostility from that night, the sharpness of Kim’s glower leaves an acidic tang in the raven-haired woman’s mouth.
Kim sucks the back of her teeth. “I’d say the same, but–” A lame gesture to the mossy complexion across from her, and Shego snaps out a laugh.
“As if,” A labored eye roll, and Kim’s full-bodied tension seems to diminish, if only a fraction. At least the villainess appeared to be in a playful mood. “Besides, we both know how good I look in black.”
She hated to admit it– hated –but, as if noticing the green-skinned rogue for the very first time, Kim feels her throat go dry and her heart thumps proudly against her vocal cords, shooting a peach-hued blush to the hero’s cheeks. Midnight chiffon wraps around the thief like a second skin, a single spaghetti strap desperately clinging to one smooth shoulder while a palm-sized band of black rests limply on the swell of Shego’s defined bicep. Thoughtless, Kim allows her disobedient gaze to travel further, spying the horizontal ruffles that accentuate a sculpted waistline, tapering into a gorgeous trumpet silhouette that perfectly defines the voluptuous curve of Shego’s hips into powerful thighs–Kim swallows thickly, breath hitched at the generous slit exposing a single, jadeite leg, the subtle play of superpowered muscles rippling beneath pale sage ending in a glossy, obsidian high heel. The finger-width straps wind halfway up Shego’s calf, soot-black vines slithering snakelike against mint-tinted flesh.
Kim makes a Herculean effort not to choke on her spit, her wide eyes caught precariously on the low-hanging neckline of Shego’s gown, deliberately sloped to expose the crest of cleavage between twin globes meticulously wrapped in form-fitting cloth. Repeated tuts break Kim from her stupor, ruddy watermelon blush transformed into a blooming scarlet at the positively fiendish grin Shego has plastered to her face. Protective fists slowly return to the hero’s side, though she’s entirely unaware, far too captivated by the amber glow bathing the older woman in a gentle warmth–such a striking image, alluring even, were it anyone else.
Hurried shuffling brings Kim back to the present, and she chances a flitting glance towards the many bystanders that distance themselves from the women, pretending not to watch with hawk-like vigilance as they play at conversation, not quite fluid enough to be real. 'Get a grip, Possible,' Kim scolds, casually smoothing invisible wrinkles from her dress.
“So,” the redhead starts, allowing Shego to peer into the depths of her very being. Pine-freckled irises flex in amusement. “I don’t suppose you’re here on holiday?” Phrased like a question, though the inflection falls flat as the words roll off Kim’s tongue, an implication rather than an inquiry.
It’s predictable, the way that trademark Cheshire grin spills over Shego’s features, and she shifts her weight from one heel to the other, exposing more of her well-defined thigh to the skylight overhead. Kim maintains eye contact, which requires a peculiar willpower she’d prefer to let die in the unplumbed recesses of her consciousness. Jet black lips purse as a thoughtful hum passes through, rumbling deep in her chest and threatening to send yet another jolt down Kim’s spine. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” Shego chirps, flicking her silken mane over her shoulder. “What about you?” She leans in close, close enough that Kim can make out the sharpness of razor-thin, backlit pupils.
“I don’t suppose you’re just here to enjoy the show?” Honey drips from each syllable as it leaves the thief’s mouth, an obvious trap just begging for Kim to stumble through.
“It’s more of a surveillance gig.” Kim nips, side-stepping Shego’s snare with a forced look of indifference. “You’d be surprised how many supervillains frequent parties of this calibre. I’m just here to keep an eye on things.”
Vibrant, plasma-charged diamonds sparkle beneath carefully curled lashes. “Glorified babysitting, huh? No better way to spend your evenings lately?” Pearly white glimmers behind the swell of Shego’s lips. “I’m sure the buffoon would happily keep you entertained.”
Acid stings the heroine’s windpipe, a twitch of the lips betraying her agitation at the mention of her sidekick. “You know we aren’t together anymore.” Blinding tabloids and camera flashes burn behind Kim’s eyelids, her stomach tying itself into knots–she couldn’t watch the news for weeks.
“Boys not doing it for you anymore, Kimmie?”
Another trap, and Kim has to bite her tongue lest she allow herself to add more fuel to the fire. “You’re one to talk.”
Shego barks out a laugh, memories of brightly scrawled ‘Scandal in Paradise’ bubbling to life at the forefront of her mind; an escapade to the Caicos, a heist gone so deliciously right, and a celebratory drink in one hand with a gorgeous, heavy-chested thing in the other. Local media had gone absolutely wild, subtle flashes of phone cameras lighting up the dingy nightclub she’d holed up in to celebrate, and if she tries hard enough, Shego can still smell cinnamon perfume in the air, feel the sweat on her back, and taste the musky tang of–
…Funny how the mere mention of that ordeal dusts Kim’s ears with a precious rose.
“Don’t knock it till you try it, Cupcake.”
The redheaded vigilante bristles ever so slightly, though that’s not what piques Shego’s interest; Kim’s placid glare is suddenly broken, bottom lip caught between loosely clamped teeth, and whether she’s aware of it or not, Shego eagerly clocks the way her hands wring together in an almost soothing gesture that has the thief’s innermost thoughts alive with intrigue. The moment passes before either of them can think to speak, interrupted by the resounding clink of metal on glass that beckons their attention to the museum entrance. An assortment of guests file in a neat line through the lofty archway, careful to give both women a wide berth.
A soft pink darts out to wet obsidian-tinted lips, and Shego’s low timbre presses uncomfortably against Kim’s eardrums. “Well,” A pregnant pause as everyone filters from the room, leaving the two women in their shared space, and though she knows it isn’t real, Kim can’t help but feel burdened by Athena’s ever-observant stare from above. “Shall we?”
Feigned nonchalance overcomes the redhead’s expression, and she’s careful not to study the exaggerated sway of Shego’s hips, nor the pronounced outline of her backside as she stalks towards the herd of party-goers crowding together in the room adjacent. When Kim fails to move a few seconds later, the world-class larcenist casts an inquisitive eye over her shoulder, exposing the barest hint of feathery lashes and summer-pine cheekbones.
“Don’t keep me waiting, Princess.”
Kim doesn’t bother stopping the eyeroll that overcomes her in response, taking purposeful steps to close the distance between her and the villainess. Together, they reunite with the sea of strangers, Kim’s purse having been long forgotten on the hardwood floors.
'Well,' Kim broods. 'At least I’ll get to keep an eye on her.'
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Led from one long hall to another, Kim expertly matches pace with Shego as they're ushered deeper into the Museum. It’s as if nothing ever happened; with no more wayward glances and tentative whispers to call attention to themselves, the women are carried on the swift current of noblemen and high-brow influencers like leaves down a stream, invisible and so easily forgotten that it’s as if they were never there in the first place.
Seconds stretched to minutes, two adversaries walking in tandem, when together they emerge into an expansive chamber, embowed at its peak and littered with glittering candelabras that sprout from the grey-mottled walls like golden jessamine. Numerous display cases lie forgotten at the far reaches of the room, allowing an absurd number of people to crowd a brightly lit center podium where an empty glass box stands proudly in the periphery.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I want to start by thanking you all for being here tonight.” Stood atop a miniature stage, a matriarch most refined presses her cherry-red lips gingerly against a lone microphone, her mature face framed by a honeyed bob that barely kisses the white-feathered shawl around her shoulders. Even from a distance, Shego could easily make out the delicate glint of yellow gold chains drawn close to the woman’s collar–a subtle elegance against the bushy feathers that shroud her entire upper torso in reflective snow. “Your presence is a testament to the compassion and generosity of our community, and it means the world to me and everyone at our organization.”
Another once-over of the orator at the center of the hall, and Shego swears she’d seen this same face on the cover of a Vogue Magazine back in her early days of villainy. A vague memory of dust-gummed laminate tearing between talon-tipped fingers springs to mind, hearing the faint cackle of Drakken’s tinny voice prattling on in the distance. ‘World domination’ this, ‘foolproof plan’ that, and a troublesome redhead lurking somewhere in between.' A pointed look to her flank, ethereal orbs twinkling in the shadows cast by the sconces overhead.
Kim listens with rapt attention, and the older woman isn’t sure if Kim is simply unaware that she’s being watched or if she chooses not to care. Regardless, Shego snaps her gaze back to the podium.
“Tonight, we gather to pay tribute to the indelible style of Black culture and offer an exploration into-” Green eyes glaze over as the speech drags on, turning instead to comb through the hundreds of multicolored faces as they heed the spokeswoman’s every word, searching for an unclaimed prize.
Kim, however, can’t help but notice the sudden lack of warmth at her hip, goosebumps budding along the cool, exposed skin of her forearm as she spares a glance where Shego had been, only slightly concerned when the ebon-haired rogue is nowhere to be found. A low buzz bounces around her skull, and Kim hardly registers the applause that begins to echo throughout the exhibit. Her attention shifts, and that feeble needling in Kim’s nerves roars to life with a vengeance, eyebrows shot to the ceiling as yawning pupils drink in bright, diamond-crested viridian where it rests gently in the gloved palm of its handler. A gaudy pear-shaped emerald sucks the air from the room, and Kim counts the tiny, raindrop gems housed in a ribbon of flawless silver that catches each flicker of candlelight in its expert finish.
“We’re proud to announce a generous donation to our beloved Museum: an anonymous party has graciously gifted this stone, passed down generations of Russian nobility, and-”
'Shit, shit, shit, shit-'
Kim’s coal-colored heels clack against the polished floor as she immediately takes off through the throng of fashionable dignitaries, deaf to the mild exclamations coming from those disturbed by her lithe figure slipping between tightly compacted clusters of stationary partygoers. She surveys the crowd, face after face, lavish gowns and pressed suits blending into an overwhelming wave of color that, much to her dismay, fails to produce a familiar jade. Soft tissue of her inner mouth drawn between stiff jaws, the hero spies a double-wide staircase leading to a lofty second floor and takes leaping bounds to climb its steps, scrambling for a better view of the cavernous exhibit. Deceitfully slender fingers clamp the balustrade with enough force to turn pale knuckles white, and Kim nearly flings herself over the edge in an effort to spot her nemesis in the undulating sea below.
“Damnit, Shego!” Kim hisses, brows drawn tight above the bridge of her nose as she does another fruitless scan.
“Yes, Princess?”
Vermillion hair whips into her cheek as Kim nearly tears her head from her shoulders to turn around, a vexing mixture of relief and indignation twisting the scowl plastered across the redhead’s face. Shego just stands there, a wine glass in one hand and a rocks glass in the other, and a perfectly sculpted ebony eyebrow arched high into her temple as she regards the young heroine before her with a cool indifference.
Trying (and failing) to rein in the shock sprawled across her features, Kim chooses instead to focus on the beverages held securely between sea-foam digits: rich, arterial red swirls lazily within the confines of a crystalline goblet, nestled firmly in Shego’s left hand where her right houses a short, translucent tumbler brimming with faded ochre. Kim’s eyes trace the path of a single maraschino cherry floating in its depths, extended outward and sloshing precariously where it hovers several inches from the redhead’s chest.
Distrust brews beneath sun-kissed eyelids, and Kim watches the way Shego’s throat flexes as she sips gingerly from her Ruby Port.
“What is it?” A seemingly innocuous question, but the suspicion that taints Kim’s lilt doesn’t slip by the ever-observant supervillain unnoticed.
“Ginger ale.” Bare lips twitch at the corners, and while the mere declaration sounds innocent enough, it does nothing to deter the sudden, hazed memory that dominates Kim’s thoughts– midday lunch rush at Bueno Nacho, Kim squeezes herself into a sticky booth, rhythmically tapping her fingers against the cerulean tabletop as she smiles warmly at the person facing her. Irradiated yellow plastic pints clash horribly with Kim’s skin tone, but it’s utterly insignificant compared to the green-tinted complexion sitting parallel in their shared booth.
“Thanks for the lunch, She-,” A blush creeps along the redhead’s face as she slips up. “Er, Miss Go.”
A flippant wave of the hand punctuates a long pause as Miss Go takes a slow sip of her soda, ending with a satisfying * pop * before she replaces the dandelion cup along the table. “It’s, as you say, ‘no big’.” Jet lipstick curls upward in a slight grin, and Kim can’t help but mirror it. “Although I must say, I’m not sure I understand your addiction.” A well-manicured finger points at her own drink, then the one across from her. Both fizz the same muted amber, and Miss Go doesn’t hide the way her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth, shaking her head in mild disapproval.
Kim positively beams, snatching her drink and swallowing deeply of its contents before proudly slamming it back onto the blue acrylic. “What do you mean? Ginger ale is the bomb!”
Hardly missing a beat, Miss Go has used the tip of her finger to slide her cup across the table, warmth brimming in her emerald eyes as Kim eagerly clasps her hands around the offering. “All yours, then.”
Olive orbs are affixed to the world-class thief’s face, and she hardly registers the peculiar shift of tourmaline that seems to find interest in anything– everything –but the redhead. Kim’s thoughts are strangely quiet, aside from the single, resounding whisper echoing throughout her skull: 'She remembered.'
Shego raises the garnet liquor to her mouth in a paltry attempt to hide from the way Kim explores every centimeter of her mediocre facade. Time seems to freeze, and the villainess contemplates a snarky comeback to break the silence when a small, near-imperceptible smile draws the corners of the redhead’s lips outward; it reeks of gratitude, and Shego’s insides writhe in discomfort.
“Thank you, Shego.” They sound wrong, the words pouring from Kim’s mouth, but she doesn’t stop them and simply accepts the glass with an appreciative nod.
“Don’t mention it.” 'Ever.'
The redhead’s smile persists, even after she takes a drawn-out swig of her beverage. In such close proximity, Shego can hear the faintest of pleasant hums rumbling in the younger woman’s sternum.
“So, Shego,” Kim hums, spying the pointed look she receives from the rim of the wine glass. Raven lips sip gingerly from its ruddy depths, and Kim can’t help but notice the way her bottom lip glistens in the candlelight, fine ruby droplets glimmering against their jet backdrop. “What are you doing here?” The redhead presses, doing all that she can to avoid peeking back at the verdant brilliance on display in the center of the room.
“Can’t a girl enjoy a nice night out?” The half-lidded look of disbelief she receives coaxes a meagre chuckle from the green-skinned woman’s chest. “Perhaps you’ve forgotten, but I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for pretty things.”
‘Pretty’ rolls off the tongue in such a way that it has Kim swallowing thickly into her ginger ale, and it takes a fair amount of effort to meet the vibrant emeralds peering at her through thick, sable lashes.
“How vain.” Kim’s dryness doesn’t quite match the subtle intrigue that keeps her eyes bound to the older woman before her.
“As if I’ve ever claimed to be anything else.”
“You could at least pretend to have some humility.” Sun-kissed fingers mindlessly tap against the redhead’s drink, short nails clinking as the thief fixes her with a heated look. 'Shego? Humble?' Kim nearly scoffs at the prospect.
“And where’s the fun in that?” Silken tresses curtain Shego’s face, shielding her from the rest of the room as she tilts her head to the side, sea-foam embers ablaze as she relaxes into her skin with a practiced ease. A shared breath passes between them — a much-appreciated reprieve for the moss-colored rogue, and she watches with bated breath as the redhead continues to nurse her non-alcoholic beverage in earnest. They continue to bask in silence, and for once, Shego doesn’t feel the need to nip and jab at her adversary with every nanosecond they spend in shared quarters. Angst feverishly nibbles at the forefront of her mind, noting something that feels almost like enjoyment as it settles quietly in the depths of her stomach — a troublesome thought to the egocentric freelancer. 'Odd.'
The uneasy twinge persists long after Shego takes an exceptionally deep mouthful of sweet maroon, mulling its raspberry chocolate flavor over every inch of her palate. Cinnamon kisses her taste buds, and coupled with the way Kim’s eyes probe unbidden into her thousand-mile stare, Shego can’t help but picture that night in Caicos; submerged in a neon haze, half-lidded, saucer-like pupils leave invisible lines on the villainess’ sweat-slicked figure, and an earthquake of electronic vibrations pulse through Shego’s body as needy, caramel hands grope aimlessly in the alabaster booth. Frequent bursts of white light cast a nebulous halo around tightly coiled curls in front of her, and the thief recalls the sheer intensity of that lecherous gaze sitting atop her lap. Straddled by a stranger, neither she nor the ravenous woman grinding into her abdomen spared a second thought for the cameras capturing every touch, fondle, and drunken kiss shared in their intoxicated stupor, so utterly consumed by their little world that had they been left undisturbed, Shego is sure she’d have to add ‘public indecency’ to her lengthy roster of misdemeanors.
She still hears Drew’s incredulous reprimand through the speaker, barely able to catch the faint rustling of newspaper under his crazed squawking. He’d hardly gotten more than a sentence or two before the phone had been permanently recast as a molten, distinctly hand-shaped blob in her clawed grip.
“My turn, Princess.” Light creeps into Shego’s voice, and she pins the redhead in place with her piercing gaze. “What on Earth convinced you to run security duty at the Met, of all things? You say surveillance, I say babysitting, but we both know there’s plenty more going on in the world that could use your-” Shego feigns a thoughtful pause, tapping a single digit against the curve of her bottom lip as she searches for the right word. “-expertise.”
An answer doesn’t come readily, and off-white canines nibble on the soft pink of Kim’s inner cheek—a novice bomb-defusal technician studying a primed IED, she’s careful not to slip and ignite the villainess’ notoriously short fuse. However, Shego doesn’t award Kim the chance to reply, leaning in close enough to see the faint sheen of sweat that beads along Kim’s brow.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you came all this way just for li’l ole me.” Shego purrs, her wine-muddled breath splashing into rose-dusted cheekbones.
“Don’t flatter yourself, or your ego might explode.”
An absolutely feral smirk streaks across the villainess’ face. “I don’t seem to recall you ‘keeping an eye’ on anything else.” Kim takes a swig of her ginger ale, hiding her involuntary cringe behind jasper fizz. A crack forms in the heroine’s composure, and Shego can’t help but sink her claws into the gap. “What is it, Kimmie? Like something you see?”
The crack widening into a full-blown fissure, Kim fails to restrain the deep flush of blood orange that climbs up her chest, over her shoulders, and stains her pale face in a brilliant red haze. Still hovering no more than a foot away, bent a little too far at the hip to be natural, Shego can make out the subtle flair of Kim’s nostrils as she siphons air into her choked lungs, struggling to regain a foothold as her eyes betray her, flitting involuntarily to the front of Shego’s gown where they catch, for a fraction of a second, on the generous display of smooth-skinned breasts peeking out from their chiffon prison. 'Kimmie, Kimmie, Kimmie,' the thief inwardly croons. 'Hook, line, and sinker.'
The air hangs thick between them until, after what feels like an eternity, Shego decides to straighten, leaning back to rest her exposed shoulder blades against the cool, stone wall; simultaneously, Kim relaxes into the marble railing at her backside, relishing the newly acquired distance between them as she downs the rest of her soda in one gulp; pop, cherry, and ice in all.
Kim doesn’t pay any mind to the way Shego regards her from her perch, choosing instead to shoot an arm halfway into the air as she spies a wayward server in the far reaches of her periphery. He wastes no time in bounding towards the two women, oblivious to the way Shego’s eyes are locked onto the redhead with laser-beam intensity, and silently accepts the hero’s empty glass as she places it upon his wide-brimmed tray. Kim slides a kind yet strained smile onto her lips. “A cosmo, please, and thank you.” There’s a brief pause as Kim spares the villainess a sideways glance.
Shego tips the rest of her wine into her mouth, casually leaning forward to set her glass beside Kim’s. “Negroni.” Without a word, the waiter is off, disappearing into the crowd and leaving the women to themselves once more. Simmering jadeite cinders spark with curiosity as she returns to her place against the marble masonry. “Alcohol, Kimmie? I didn’t realize the word ‘cosmo’ was even in your vocabulary.”
“For your information,” Kim nips. “If I’m going to be stuck—as you said, ‘babysitting’ you,” The hero works overtime to deflect the barbed look boring holes into her forehead. “I might as well enjoy myself.”
“Besides, it’s not like it’s my first time.”
No sooner than the words left her mouth had Kim wished she could take them back, inwardly groaning at the smoldering inferno blooming within Shego’s everlasting stare. Once again, she’s tilting inward, far too close for comfort, and Kim has to bite back the sharp gasp that threatens to fill her lungs with the perfumed air lingering between them. One step further, a masterfully sculpted thigh slipping through the waist-high slit in her gown, and Shego’s face is now mere inches from Kim’s, eyes positively scorching as they bear down the length of her nose and into the olive-toned orbs below.
“Is that so?” The low hum reverberating between ebony lips leaves Kim sweltering. “Tell me, Kimmie,” One dexterous hand plants itself firmly against the balustrade, and Kim can feel the sheer heat rolling off the older woman in waves. “What kinds of things do you get up to after dark?”
Fate is on Kim’s side, it would seem, as the server waltzes from the smaller woman’s periphery, drinks in hand and a wonderfully ignorant look about him. A second and Kim has expertly extracted herself from between alabaster and supple sage, sucking in a breath now that Shego’s scent no longer lingers close enough to cloud her sinuses in a dense, jasmine fog. Kim snatches her cocktail by the stem, barely managing not to spill a single drop as she brings it to her lips and throws it back all at once. Liquor sears down the length of her esophagus, an intoxicating warmth settling firmly in her belly–she hands her glass to the server, ignoring his wide-eyed gawking as she signals for another.
Shego watches the younger woman, amused by the peach-pink flush that overcomes Kim’s soft cheeks, and slowly reaches for her drink, paying no mind to the waiter’s look of concern before he takes off to fetch the second round. Taking small, measured sips, Shego doesn’t try to stop the smirk that tugs at her lips, thrilled by the way Kim outright refuses to look her in the eye.
“You’re insufferable.” Kim huffs, suffering the barest glance to her nemesis–a decision she comes to regret almost immediately when she finds herself unable to tear away from the positively ravenous expression shrouding Shego’s visage.
“Debatable.” Another sip of crimson liqueur stops whatever retort had been brewing on the villainess’ tongue. 'You’re off your game, Pumpkin.' Semi-sweet bitterness mulls over uncaring taste buds, and she rakes her eyes over the unbidden heat dusting Kim’s features in a muted rose. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, Shego vaguely registers the notion that the redhead’s blush suits her; an extension of her natural beauty, and one that the thief finds oddly charming when she’s the one who put it there.
The thought brings Shego’s inner monologue to a grinding halt.
If Kim notices, she doesn’t show it, though the rogue suspects a raging conflict wholly occupies the younger woman’s mind, far too consumed by her thoughts to notice the way Shego’s body stiffens like a board.
Round two returns in record time, and neither women waste any time in downing their respective cocktails — round three is no different, and round four has just arrived as the sconces along the grey-mottled arches begin to die, burnt-sugar wax dribbling down the decorative fixtures and threatening to splatter on the floor below. Kim’s face is stained in a permanent blush while she stares pointedly into her cosmopolitan, and though she grapples with the best way to break the silence, it’s Shego that swings first, cutting the tense atmosphere with a muted chuckle.
“I think you’ve had enough, Princess.” She quirks her brow at the snap of Kim’s gaze, forested irises thin around dilated pupils that seem to clamp down on the villainess’ visage. A scoff comes in response, and the heroine’s knuckles turn white with how fiercely she clutches her glass.
“As if.” Kim’s borrowed line, though short, is slightly muddled, and her tongue sticks to the roof of her mouth as she takes another, drawn sip. “Besides, you’re not stopping.” It comes out as a slurred whine, and Shego doesn’t try to stop her obsidian lips from twitching at the corners, pulled into a weak smirk that lacks its usual luster.
“My metabolism burns this stuff in a fraction of the time, which is more than I can say for you.” Despite the truth in her explanation, a dusky green has taken up residence on her jadeite cheeks, stretching across the bridge of her nose just under half-lidded emeralds.
“Cheater.”
Bold laughter frees itself from the depths of Shego’s chest, and Kim’s face splits into an intoxicated smile. Without her conscience to weigh her down, Kim traces the faint laugh lines appearing on the other woman’s face, blind to the unnatural heat that pools in her belly and shoots liquid fire through her limbs. If she’s not careful, Kim would almost think it was beautiful the way Shego’s lighthearted guffaw breathes life into her image, reminiscent of that very same laughter the redhead had shared with Miss Go all those years ago.
The thought of her time with the villainess, back when her mind had been set askew and the wicked nature of villainy had been oh so carefully locked away, brought a veil of darkness over the hero’s features. Kim rolled her bottom lip between her teeth without knowing, sharing a touch of vulnerability with the world-class thief that, were Shego paying attention, would have stopped her dead in her tracks.
It had been three years. Three long, arduous years wondering where the reclaimed hero had disappeared to after repelling the Lowardian invasion—after Eric —and while Dr. Drakken appeared to be perfectly happy with his newfound, albeit stilted path on the straight and narrow, a large part of Kim suspected heroism wasn’t nearly enough to keep Shego fulfilled. With near-limitless potential, stronger than almost anything on their shared Earth and with a brilliant mind to match, there was only so much the world could offer to satisfy such a ravenous appetite that always demanded more, more, more -
“Staring, Kimmie.” Shego chided.
“Sorry…”
Another pregnant pause overcomes both women. Only then do those fiery verdant orbs realize that much of the room has emptied around them, and there is a stifling quiet that blankets the stiff air. Shego scans the exhibit, noting a few sparsely littered groups that still occupy the chamber, utterly clueless to the charged energy emanating from the pair on the second floor.
Slightly glazed pupils drink in the way black fabric glistens in the dying candlelight, sparing thought to little else beyond the curve of Shego’s defined jaw in the low, amber glow. Her skin radiates in this setting—a charming contrast to the glistening black lipstick adorning her full lips, parted but a fraction in the middle to expose the pearly white beneath. In her current state, mind a slurry of alcohol and unrestrained fascination, Kim is completely enthralled by her nemesis’s appearance, unblinking as she takes in the brilliant radiance standing so close, yet so far away. 'Beautiful.'
Eyes snap onto the redhead, and it’s then that Kim realizes her simple thought was no thought at all, and a sharp heat blooms in her belly at the way Shego’s pinpoint pupils blow outwards, thinning her vibrant irises to a razor’s edge. Near black and wide with shock, the thief’s gaze doesn’t miss how Kim stares, affixed to somewhere low on the villainess’ face, and she swallows thickly at the notion that it would be so easy, so simple just to lean forth and-
“Kimmie-” A breathless whisper, swirling with a strange emotion that neither of them can quite place. The heroine’s reverie is broken, shattered glass at the slight quiver in the low, heady voice that pierces through vodka-slicked senses. Pinkened skin flexes at Kim’s throat, struggling to choke down an empty gulp of air before watching the rogue across from her shove off the rounded railing with renewed vigor. Shego coughs lamely as she straightens to full height, fixing a stony expression to her gently flushed features. “Party’s over, Princess.” Two steps, then three as black-soled shoes tick against hardwood and away from their spot against the ivory banister. “And I can’t wait to get out of these god-forsaken heels.” Spring-loaded and ready to bolt, it takes every ounce of willpower in Shego’s superpowered body to come to a halt, peering expectantly at the young woman left in her wake.
Kim doesn’t move, and Shego desperately tries to convince herself she doesn’t see the disappointment in copper-speckled irises. The thief doesn’t allow herself the opportunity to feel anything in response, turning away so just the barest sliver of a sage temple can be seen through the locks of shiny onyx that hide her blank, almost unfeeling expression. Almost.
“I’ll see ya around.”
Once more, Shego doesn’t stick around for a response—not from her traitorous mind, not from the redhead, not from anybody —turning tail and doing what she does best: she escapes. Kim doesn’t say a word as the green-skinned felon makes her getaway, watching with a cacophony of conflicting emotions as long, steady strides carry Shego down the massive staircase, through what few people remained, past the exit, and into the dead of night.
Something deep aches within the heroine, a certain longing she hasn’t felt since Miss Go last stood on her doorstep, and a part of Kim can’t help but feel a sense of mourning gripping her heart like a vice as her greatest adversary, and only true equal, slips from her fingers. Though heavy with discontent, and oh so terribly alone, Kim can still smell the faintest hint of perfume on the air, and she doesn’t try to stop the prolonged inhale that swells in her lungs and coats her senses in jasmine-cedarwood; all that remains to indicate Shego had even been there in the first place is the empty, crystalline glass resting upon chilled marble, glistening, black lip stains dotting the otherwise pristine rim.
As for the world-class thief, her hands wrench the flight controls as she burns white-hot streaks through the night sky; the hovercraft shrieks with zeal as she pushes her thrusters to the limit and tears through the stars in a green-black blur to an undetermined destination. She’s halfway across the Atlantic when the image of an emerald necklace dares pop into her mind’s eye, and worse still, Shego simply couldn’t care less, psyche utterly devoured by thoughts of crimson, and pink, and ‘beautiful’.