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split-n-splice · 4 years

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"Her reputation going sour was no secret." – a line of interest from Ch1 of The Devil Wears a Suit and Tie. ;3 Just throwin’ that out there. Also! A definite nod to the cupcakery here, because headcanon: those recipes were taken from Drakken’s cookbook. Also headcanon: Drakken likes baking, fite me. This makes sense to me since Ron likes baking, and since Drakken’s shown interest in recipes.

Edited by @gogofordrakgo ♥ (ohlawd thnx for putting up w/ me)

[Chapter Guide]

7. Enabler – 4

As his first day alone in more than two weeks wore on, Dr. Drakken became increasingly aware he was off his game.

He haphazardly wrapped up the order of power staves and shipped them off to free up his schedule. Even left with a surplus of free time on his hands, left in the total privacy of his lab with no one to hover and no distracting upgrades to personalized combat gear to win himself brownie points, he made very little headway on his drones.

He managed to get one robot up and running, so to speak, but commands that seemed so simple like stand and walk just didn’t compute. Yet the buggy self-aware machine managed to rise on its own accord and point to the unassembled duplicates strewn about in a thousand different pieces on his worktable. Worst of all, the bare-bones robot began chanting, “sisters, sisters, sisters,” incessantly until something Drakken said or did caused its head to snap his direction. Preservation activated and an artificial fight or flight drive tripped, unfortunately geared toward fight. The skeletal droid abruptly announced him a threat to the sisters and lurched into action. Lucky for him, there was still a plug to pull.

He could have used some assistance in disabling the mutinous drone, but he managed on his own, as he always had. He shut down the project for the day to tend to a swollen lip received in the collision of steel knuckles and his face.

Back in his quarters, he couldn’t help casting glances to the phone, itching to dial – to dial someone. Anyone. He knew exactly who he wanted to ring up and give an earful to, but he clenched his fists and stamped a foot and grunted to himself as he stalked away from the landline. He had a headache and didn’t need to deal with her attitude now anyway.

Solitude was still disheartening. If he had expected a call from the runaway that evening to update him of her progress or lack thereof, or even to say goodnight or make small talk or anything at all, then he was sorely disappointed.

Drakken knew she wouldn’t have approved – in fact he was certain she would have been furious with him if she’d known – but he’d taken the liberty of sending out henchmen to gather intel on the superhuman. Granted, he’d lost those resourceful fellows, who’d only just returned from the assignment with their haul a day before getting the axe.

As Drakken lugged the overflowing box out of the storage room the next day, he reasoned with himself that he deserved to know who he’d been harboring, especially if he planned to continue to do so. He’d been just a little too wary to touch the box before, lest she pop up behind him to catch him red handed.

He deposited it on his coffee table and locked the door to his quarters for good measure, just in case the woman returned and came barging in at an especially undesirable time.

An abundance of manila folders stuffed with news articles topped the box, and if the men hadn’t already been fired, Drakken might have tipped whoever was responsible for courteously ordering the articles by date, even if he’d nearly scattered them as he unthinkingly tossed them aside while rummaging. VHS and cassette tapes at the bottom of the box made up the other half of the heft. Infiltrating a Global Justice base to steal her official records had been asking too much of the henchman, but an excess of media coverage to expose her would have to be good enough.

With the Bebe bots a bust and a woman who wasn’t even present distracting him still, Drakken settled in to squander his day reading what the sacked henchmen had scrounged up. He could spend an entire week reviewing her hero streak, reading the articles and watching the news reports or listening to interviews on tape, but he elected to skim through the past the four years worth of clippings, pulling out a folder from the bottom of the stack to begin.

A few nights ago, at three in the morning, he had been woken by the girl slamming his “front” door and stalking to his kitchen, the green embers glittering over her skin burning off perspiration and nearly setting her pajamas ablaze. She forwent a glass and drank straight from the faucet before hanging over his sink to hold her head under the stream of water, cursing about a comet. She’d looked just a little too unstable for him to hazard questioning her then, and had returned to his room to let her raid his kitchen for a midnight snack in peace.

So Dr. Drakken wasn’t altogether surprised when the earliest scant news coverage regarded a chip off a comet that had struck down in the suburbs of Go City. It had come so fast and so sudden that there had only been a couple blurry shots of the meteorite’s decent and recovery to accompany the articles. That it hadn’t left a bigger crater or caused fatalities was a mystery, but there was no mention of five quarantined adolescents caught up in the catastrophe either, so a cover-up wasn’t improbable.

Within the year, a trio of teenagers in uniform were garnering admiration of the general populace with their heroic feats. Front-page photos of a distantly familiar girl with her hair still short and boyish beside defeated villains bound up and posed with like trophies, frequently smiling smugly for the camera, should have been enough to make any villain in his right mind reconsider taking her in. Drakken wanted to believe he knew her better than that – that she wasn’t the vigilante she claimed she never wanted to be, and that there was no chance she might be on her way back to his lair with her teammates to hand his ass to him at any moment – but it wasn’t so easy.

Guiltily, he came realize that maybe she hadn’t been pulling his leg about her piloting capability after all when he found a clipping from last fall, featuring a photograph of a far more recognizable woman in uniform along with two young men like her in front of a jet as colorful as their suits, which had been generously donated to them by Global Justice. The Go Tower constructed in the bay a year earlier served as a monument and a base, and Dr. Drakken would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little envious that some superhuman youths had it all handed to them on a silver platter just for swearing an oath to use their gifts for good.

The set of gloves he’d fashioned paled in comparison to the extravagant gifts from Global Justice and Go City. Clearly, giving her things was no way to win her allegiance, because the girl’s hero career had been short-lived. She’d served little more than three years. If she’d only abided by their rules, she could have been living it up, yet she’d formally quit her team months ago.

As of this year, there was a marked change in the tone of the headers. There was less and less praise to be found, until there was next to none at all. If he’d been hoping to find reassurance she was genuinely a bad seed, he got it, though snooping made him feel worse with each article he skimmed over.

Nasty gossip sprung up like weeds. Disbelief and speculation aplenty could be found in clippings from newspapers and magazines as to why she’d abandoned her occupation as a beloved hero. The supply of libel following her resignation was endless. If he had to guess, serving under Global Justice had kept such publications suppressed before, but she’d lost that perk when she put her foot down on doing their bidding.

Blasting scandalous, one popular rumor circulated that she’d withdrawn because she was a typical case of irresponsible teen pregnancy, such negligence marking her unfit to be a role model any longer. That she was still occasionally seen in uniform despite her quitting should have proven she wasn’t expecting – but instead it inspired ridicule and controversy over endangerment and abortion. There was no wining on that front without a good lawyer, which he doubted the girl behind the mask could afford without Global Justice’s charity.

That lost traction when the former hero lashed out at a news reporter on live television. Written accounts played it off as if it had been unprovoked, but Dr. Drakken found a tape on the incident at the bottom of the box that proved otherwise. He was hesitant to hit play on the copy of the broadcast. The masked young woman trying to escape a bombardment of questions was hard to watch as she was confronted by the press with the matter of substance abuse, among other things, all because marijuana was said to be smelled on her clothes. Once detox was mentioned, the cornered superhuman – disheveled and fresh out of an unsanctioned battle – lost her cool and attacked the reporter outright. It was all caught on camera until she was swept away screaming profanities by her gorilla of a brother.

Less than a month later, paparazzi spotted her outside of her hero attire, a familiar ponytail and mismatched boots enough to give her away. It was bad enough she was recognized without her uniform and mask, but she was caught smoking with some punks on a school campus. The snapshot was fuzzy, and there was no way to distinguish what was probably only a cigarette from anything else, but nevertheless it brought an impending graduation into question.

It did not help when some wacked-out addict, an unreliable source if there ever was one, came forward claiming to have taught her the art of cooking meth. The junkie was later found battered and left on the steps of a rehab center. Her signature plasma burns left on the man sparked ever more gossip as to her changing demeanor and bad habits.

On the hero scene, Shego had been golden – but after quitting, the press wasted no time in tarnishing her reputation. Her worsening temper and foul mouth didn’t help the backlash. Her name had been drug through the mud over the past six months, with only a few gems of praise from faithful groupies to be found among the stack of slander.

Dr. Drakken wouldn’t be surprised if it was all true, even the conspiracy theories mixed in about her being from another planet.

"This is why I don't like the hero scene. Everyone knows everything," she’d told him the night he’d found her wandering down a highway in the dark. He hadn’t had much to lose that night when he went with a gut feeling and sprung the proposition on the downtrodden young woman, but whether or not it was the right decision remained to be seen.

Given the stress of the media hounding her every move, both on and off duty, and the family turmoil he’d witnessed from a distance, Dr. Drakken had to bottle his pity for how discontent the runaway must have been to actually jump in a car with an utter stranger and just go.

Before the guilt of prying could get to him too badly, he called it quits and stuffed everything back into the box, double-checking the VCR to be sure he didn’t forget anything she might find later. She’d made it explicitly clear she didn’t want him digging into her past. Even if the box contained publicly available media – for the most part – going through it left a bad taste in his mouth, as if he’d been reading her diary.

Despite the evidence he had that she was indeed a bad apple with a slim chance of returning to her old life, it still felt unwise to put everything on the line for an ex-hero that could easily thwart his plans from the inside. Drakken sat back and shut his eyes, straining to take her words to heart no matter how difficult it was to do so.

“Trust her,” he snorted. “Trust her to what? Bring her brothers to my doorstep?”

But then, he supposed she could have done that already. If she’d wanted to stop him before he could become a major threat, she could have cornered him back in Go City, when she had her team close by to back her up. And even once she was in the lair, she’d had ample time to call in the hounds, and plenty of opportunity to hack into his computers to uncover any master plans, yet she hadn’t busted him yet.

Drakken slumped with his head thrown back over the spine of the couch, stewing a short while on how trustworthy this new partner of his really was, before tuning in to Go City broadcasts to watch the news. She’d only been gone about thirty hours, but he still waited with the bleak expectation to hear some breaking news announcement of her return to the metropolis, anticipating it to be a reason to rejoice. None came, but it still served to worry him.

Leaving the television on, he gave it just a little longer as his stomach drew him toward his kitchen. He’d never had breakfast. He wasn’t even sure if he’d had dinner yesterday. The phone drew his eye though, and he forcibly looked away from it and to the fridge as he took inventory. It was getting a tad late to start on any lab projects, and he could still taste a sore reminder of yesterday’s mishap on his lip.

A check through his cookbook and he found himself gravitating back toward the phone once again. He grudgingly made a call, although it wasn’t the number his fingers itched to dial, and greeted his mother with a weary, “Hello,” and waited for the next half hour for the woman’s exuberance to die down enough to get a word in edgewise.

“That one?” chirped his mother. “Honey, are you feeling alright?”

Drakken blinked and sucked on his split lip. “Relatively speaking,” he slipped. He fished out his notebook and spread it open, eager to get the call over with. “Um. The market will be closing soon,” he lied. “So can I get that recipe?”

“Only if you call me later to tell me how they turn out,” the woman haggled haughtily.

“I’ve made devil’s food before, mother,” he sighed, drumming his pen on the pad. He noticed the pages of memos on the recent gloves and flipped to a fresh page with a small snort.

“Not with my recipe, you haven’t,” chided the woman, and proceeded to let him in on the family secrets in detail. Word for word, he copied down the recipe she knew by heart, running the instructions and ingredients by her once before thanking his mother and heading out the door.

By midnight, a sweet tooth had been satisfied, but sitting alone at the counter with a warm devil’s food muffin drizzled with chocolate ganache just brought his awareness to a weird sort of cavity he wasn’t unfamiliar with but had been successful in ignoring for years – until now, apparently.

He decided he’d have to tell his mother about the muffins tomorrow. It was late, and if he dared pick up the phone now, he might dial the wrong number accidentally on purpose.

The third day alone wasn’t any more productive than the last, but at least he didn’t spend it holed up in his quarters gorging on muffins. True, he’d slept through his alarm, but he gave himself the excuse that it was Sunday, and he’d spent the latter half of his night lying wide awake staring at his ceiling in a vain effort to get some shut eye.

He could tell himself all he wanted that fresh air would do him some good, but it was a lie. Testing out a back-burner product on new targets the henchmen had been tasked to whip up did little to improve his mood. The vaporizing rifle prototype did its job fine, obliterating the targets, though the sight was off and it really needed work to fix an issue of kickback that just about dislocated his shoulder.

Other than taking down a couple memos to be sure he did that, he didn’t make any progress to speak of on his projects. The random destruction of dummies and henchmen fearing they’d be the next targets did little to inspire him and get his head back in the game.

He knew exactly who to blame for it, too. Little ol’ her was a troublesome woman. Though he wasn’t sure if he was worried for her wellbeing – maybe a little, but maybe not – he was certainly stressed enough worrying about the potential consequences letting her go could have. The thorn in his side wasn’t even here and she had him more distracted and frazzled than ever.

Drakken shoved the elaborate rifle into the hands of the henchman on standby and ordered him to return the contraption to the closet, but the henchman didn’t march off immediately, and instead asked something as daringly out of line and ludicrous as, “Rough breakup?” Which sent Drakken reeling as if he’d been cut, and he vehemently ordered the goon to get a move on if he didn’t want to be booted along with the rest.

He ate another damn muffin for lunch, knowing damn well the sweet confection wouldn’t improve his bitter mood.

When the phone rang, he was all too quick to dive for it. Answering was a mistake, and he struggled with the balance of taking bites of savory chocolate and holding a conversation with his nosy mother. She accused him of being upset and went through a list of every likely reason why, and he denied every possibility. If the nagging didn’t alleviate the loneliness somewhat, he would have hung up.

“It’s a girl, isn’t it?” his mother finally guessed, and Drakken had to bite his tongue and hold the phone out lest she hear his weary groan. No matter how wildly far off the mark she was, it was an inevitable question she always fired off at some point – only this time, maybe for the first time in history, she was actually right. Sort of. But he sure wasn’t going to admit that.

“No, mother,” he droned. “It’s just been a rough week,” he assured her for the umpteenth time. It really hadn’t been. Slaving over unique gloves had actually been quite rewarding, the worst part of the week being the part where his car got hijacked and he was left worrying if the new recruit would be friend or foe when she came back, if she came back at all.

After the phone call, he eyed the plate of delectable muffins sitting out on the counter, and decided it best to stow the remaining half dozen of them in the refrigerator out of sight before he could make himself sick.

The next day, Drakken was drilling it into his own head that he didn’t miss having anyone to hover, breathe down his neck, or criticize him as he tinkered with the fine inner workings of a robot brain. If he could only get the droids up and running like half-operational human beings, the Bebes would theoretically fill the human need for company. And even if they didn’t, he still had three organic subordinates – the henchmen – to fall back on. He didn’t need a snarky girl leaning on him and giving him sass trying to get his goat.

His lip was curled at the very thought of someone breaching his personal bubble uninvited when suddenly his subject booted up. It took him a second of staring back at the robot before the Bebe blinked mechanically and he leapt back. What really scared the bejeebers out of him was the fact the android hadn’t even been plugged in to a power source. Before she could fully start up, he reached into the Bebe’s cranium to pull out the CPU to put her to sleep for a nice long while until he was ready to deal with self-aware robots sporting hyperactive preservation drives again. The other two dormant severed heads received the same treatment just to be on the safe side.

His heart was still thudding from the first surprise when he received another unwelcomed jolt.

The room flashed red and a bone-rattling siren buzzed to announce a threat. Either someone had sounded the alarm, something had been tripped, or something malfunctioned. Whatever the case, he was in too much of a foul mood to be pleased by the uncharacteristically swift response of two of his henchmen cutting through the lab with their staves ready.

False alarms were more common than not at this point. There must have been one at least once a month for the past year since establishing his Nevada lair.

Dr. Drakken cast aside his tools and replaced his goggles with his eyeglasses, ready to storm out after the goons to find out what the hullaballoo was all about. It was probably just another unfortunate raccoon stuck in the fence.

Before he could take three steps from his work station, a henchman’s voice crackling over the intercom made him jump once more. “Dr. Drakken, sir, you’re needed outside,” came the urgent summon, and Drakken heard a thunderous snarl booming before the intercom clicked off.

It certainly didn’t sound like snared wildlife.

The insistent siren alone induced a dreadfully unwanted adrenaline rush, urging him to hurry and shut the alarm off at the lab desk. Even without the blaring system that had left his ears ringing, he swore he could still feel a rumble under his feet, and cast a nervous glance upwards at the stalactites holding steady before he exited the lab.

He all but ran down to the garage. The second he opened the door and stomped out from the foyer, he heard the rumble of a jet engine dying down to a whine, and if he didn’t associate the sound with military, he might not be so concerned of the trouble that could be brewing.

The thought that he should have brought a weapon with him was fleeting.

Before he could make it outside to search the sky for the source of the rumble, his jaw dropped.

He wasn’t anticipating a jet to come rolling out of the dark and into the half-lit hangar, the wingspan barely making it through the broad garage door. The flashy new sky beast sported multicolored streaks and bolts, and as it came to a stop in the middle of the scrap-filled warehouse, it dawned on Drakken exactly where it had come from. He’d seen that jet before in a photograph just the other day.

As his men rushed in after the aircraft in the hot wake of the engines, their electrified rods raised in defense, Drakken stormed toward it, his livid glare locked on the single figure onboard.

The top popped and rose with a hiss to reveal the pilot, whose hands were held up in peace for a moment to give the henchmen pause before the intruder pulled off the helmet and mask. The aloof subordinate stood up in the cockpit, shook out her hair, and shot an outrageously smug smirk to Dr. Drakken.

++X++

Shego slid down from the body of the aircraft and didn’t have a chance to appreciate solid ground or even utter a greeting before Dr. Drakken reached her, and she could only stare in a surprised stupor as he raised a hand at her.

Next she was wide-eyed in shock and reaching up for the sting across her cheek. It hadn’t hurt, but it didn’t change the fact he’d slapped her. She was taken aback for a moment. “What was that?” she blurted, turning a sneer back to him. “You hit like a baby!” Honestly, her baby brothers had whopped her worse than that.

And what was that he’d said about the next man to lay a hand on her?

She could get him back later, she decided, because she was pleased to be back regardless of his indiscernible sputtering and tantrum. Though she couldn’t pretend to understand what had his panties in a twist. She’d kept her word, hadn’t she?

What she could do was chortle when the fuming man made a grab for her before he could calm down enough to think twice. It was hard to hold him at fault when he was a villain and had likely conditioned himself to act out, assuming he wasn’t already violent by nature, but she wouldn’t hesitate to teach him not to take out that temper on her if he pushed his luck any further.

Curious if he would however, she let him catch her roughly by the arm. But Drakken faltered once he had her – it was clear he hadn’t expected it to be that easy, or maybe some sense caught up to him – and his moment of surprise made it easy for her to pull her arm away.

Catching him off guard, she slipped behind his back. Her hands snuck up his suit jacket to find the back pockets of his trousers, making him jump. His yelp wasn’t particularly masculine.

“Yoink,” she chirped, making off with his wallet as the startled man swung around.

Shego impishly remained two steps ahead of Dr. Drakken in pursuit of her, purely for the sake of egging him on although he was clearly riled up enough. She stole a gander at his driver’s license as she shuffled backwards. “Andrew?” she snorted. He sputtered something with a note of embarrassment and lunged for it. She jumped back, plucked a twenty from the wallet, and finally surrendered it.

Drakken roughly snatched his wallet back from her outstretched hand, still practically shaking in his tantrum, a funny shade of purple creeping over his face. The indignant doctor barked her name furiously and lurched toward her again, but she leapt back out of reach for good measure.

“Missed me, missed me,” she sang childishly, skipping back and smiling wryly at the hotheaded man.

He wasn’t calming down, none too pleased to be played with. Before she could knock it off on her own accord, Dr. Drakken gnashed his teeth and finally exploded something coherent, “SEIZE HER!”

To which Shego cocked a brow, and before she knew it, she was being restrained and shoved to her knees by a pair of henchmen, her arms twisted and secured behind her back. She knew she could still get the better of them, but she chose not to fight it as she watched suspiciously, once again curious to see just what Dr. Drakken thought he was going to do. She was done playing now though. Did he really think she would accept being slapped and manhandled, just like that? With him glaring as harshly as he was, she had half a mind to spit plasma at him when he stalked up to her.

The mad scientist opened his mouth and raised a finger to lay into her verbally when she sighed heavily and relaxed against the henchmen’s clutches. “Okay,” she began. “So I lost your car, but I got the jet, didn’t I?”

Drakken’s purple-faced humiliation and anger ebbed as he threw a glance back, and his rigid shoulders slumped. She could see his temper cooling he studied the aircraft parked in his garage. She’d stayed true to her word, but it seemed like he was only just now registering that she had in fact brought him a jet.

“Where did you get it?” he quizzed suspiciously as he turned back to eyeball her. Just about anyone else would have received plasma to the face for eyeing her body, but Shego had the funny feeling he was looking less at her figure and more at her pristine new uniform she’d stolen from the Go Tower – although the nature of his stare made it only slightly less unnerving.

“Just something from home,” she said flippantly, fixing a wry smile on her face.

“You stole tech from Global Justice,” he uttered.

“Not really, I mean – it was a gift,” she grumbled, casting her eyes down. That didn’t change the fact that big brother monitored its usage.

Drakken must have realized that, because his eyes shot wide in dismay an instant before the anger from moments ago boiled back to the surface. “They can track it here!” he gasped in alarm as he whirled on the threat in his lair.

Shego, on the other hand, lacked the same fear. The fact she remained unbothered seemed to enough to distress him.

“Cool the engines, Dr. D,” she called nonchalantly before he could fret over how to get a beacon out of his lair. “I squashed a few bugs, snipped a few wires. Give me some credit. I’m not just another stupid thug here.” He looked back to her as she nodded back to the henchmen holding her to make a point, but it hardly calmed him.

She tried to add a smile and a cheery on top, “Oh, and – it can hover. It’s a hover jet. Far out, right?” She was really quite proud of herself, and couldn’t help beaming as she patiently waited to be commended. An order for her release would be nice, at least.

Dr. Drakken stepped back from her and ran a hand down his face. He held it over his mouth and stifled a whine, and Shego noticed he looked almost pained as he glanced back to the stolen mass of technology. “Release her,” he grunted to his men with a dismissive wave, and stalked away to go inspect the aircraft. As Shego crept up carefully behind him, she heard him muttering incredulously to himself, “I can use this. I can really use this.”

“So, uh,” she started, and he flashed a glower back at her over his shoulder. She smiled sheepishly. “Does this make up for taking off and losing your car?” She decided, maybe, he didn’t need to know yet that she’s driven it off a pier and sank it in the ocean in the heat of the moment whilst fleeing the police earlier. She hoped there hadn’t been anything important in it.

Dr. Drakken surveyed her, his brow creased and his expression that of indecision as he considered the loss of his car in return for the multi-million-dollar aircraft. He settled for giving Shego’s shoulder a ginger pat. “I think I’ll keep you,” he said finally.

#The Company You Keep fic #drakgo

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