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Chapter Text

The air in the ballroom of the Portland Marriott was a thick, suffocating fog of cheap perfume, terrible coffee, and palpable ambition. It was thick enough to nearly scare her off, but Kate found a sense of unusual bravery. She clutched her portfolio to her chest, a flimsy shield against the overwhelming sensory assault of her first-ever Pacific Northwest Children’s Literature Conference.

Everywhere she looked, people were networking. They moved in tight, smiling packs, exchanging business cards and laughing at jokes that weren’t funny. Kate felt small, lost in a sea of sharks as a freshwater minnow.

Still, she had an appointment with a representative from Puffin Publishing, one of the most respected houses for early childhood literature. This was it. Her chance.

She found their booth, a saccharine monstrosity of oversized cardboard cutouts of smiling bears and wise-looking owls. The man waiting for her, Mr. Miller, had hair so slick with product it looked like a solid, lacquered helmet. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.

“Miss Marsh,” he began, his voice as smooth and artificial as his hair.

“You have fifteen minutes. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Her hands trembled as she untied the black ribbons of her portfolio.

“Thank you so much for your time, Mr. Miller. My project is called Alice the Bunny Feels a Little Blue.”

She opened it to the first page, a gentle watercolor of a small, lop-eared bunny with drooping ears, sitting under a willow tree as cheerful, smiling sunbeams played around her.

“It’s a book for children aged three to five,” Kate explained, her voice quieter than she’d intended. “It’s about exploring emotions that aren’t always happy. Alice wakes up one day, and she’s just … sad. There’s no big reason for it. The book is about her friends trying to cheer her up with games and treats, but in the end, her mother just sits with her and tells her it’s okay to feel blue sometimes, and that the feeling will pass, like a cloud in the sky.”

Mr. Miller flipped through two more pages with a brisk, disinterested flick of his thumb. He stopped at the illustration of Alice crying, a single, perfect teardrop rendered in pale blue watercolor on her furry cheek. He sighed theatrically.

“Miss Marsh,” he said, closing the portfolio with a soft, final thud. “This is … lovely. The art has a certain charm.”

Kate’s heart gave a hopeful flutter. “Thank you.”

“However,” he continued, and the flutter died instantly. “The subject is entirely inappropriate for the demographic.”

Kate blinked. “I’m … I’m sorry?”

“Sadness? For no reason? In a picture book for three-year-olds?” He chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “My dear, children in that age group need aspirational content. They need bright colors, simple A-B-C conflicts, and happy resolutions. A bunny who is sad for no reason is, frankly, a downer. It’s depressing.”

“But that’s the point,” Kate insisted, finding a sliver of courage. “Children have complex feelings. They don’t always know why they feel sad or angry, and I think it’s important to validate that. To teach them it’s a normal part of being a person, and that they don’t have to force a smile.”

“You’re trying to sell a book, Miss Marsh, not a therapy session,” Miller countered, his smile tightening. “Our brand is built on joy, on whimsy. We sell happiness in thirty-two-page installments. This … this is adolescent angst dressed up in a bunny suit. Parents buy books to make their children happy, not to confront them with depression.”

“I don’t think children are always happy,” she mumbled, looking down at her scuffed shoes. 

“I think it’s just … being human.”

“They’re toddlers, Ms. Marsh. It is important for them to learn that sharing is good, not hitting. They don’t need to be learning about depression. It’s too mature. It’s simply not marketable.”

His tone was final, a gavel coming down on her dream. Kate felt the familiar sting of tears pricking at the corners of her eyes and fought them back fiercely. She would not cry in front of this man.

“He’s wrong, you know.”

The voice low and smoky, came from Kate’s left. She turned to see a woman leaning against the side of the booth, arms crossed over her chest.

She was tall and striking, in a black pinstripe blazer with an emerald green silk blouse. The way the light reflected the color off the woman’s pale skin almost made it seem like it had a faint green tint. The woman wore slacks that matched her blazer. Her long black hair cascaded well past her shoulders. The woman had sharp winged eyeliner and the most intense green eyes. Like emeralds set into white marble, with pupils made of obsidian. Kate fought the heat that was trying to rise to her cheeks as she analyzed the woman’s sharp, confident features. Kate’s eyes shifted; the woman's lips, painted a gothic black, held a faint mocking smile directed at Mr. Miller.

“Excuse me?” Miller said, puffing out his chest.

“This is a private consultation.”

“Looked more like a public execution from where I was standing,” the woman drawled, taking a slow sip of her coffee. She turned her green eyes to Kate, and for a second, her expression softened almost imperceptibly. 

“He’s wrong,” she repeated, more gently this time.

“Your idea is solid.”

Miller scoffed. “And who are you? An editor from a rival house trying to poach talent?”

The woman’s smile sharpened. “Hardly. Let’s just say I’m a conference attendee with a vested interest in not seeing ideas shot down by marketing suits. My name is Sheila, Sheila Go.”

She didn’t offer a hand, she gestured to her name tag hanging around her neck. Beyond that Sheila just stood there looking at the man as if he were a cockroach.

“Well, Sheila,” Miller said, dripping condescension. 

“As I was explaining to the young lady, introducing concepts like depression to preschoolers is developmentally inappropriate.”

Sheila raised an eyebrow. 

“Is it? Or is it just inconvenient for adults who don’t want to have an actual conversation with their kids? You’re operating under a fallacy that’s plagued early childhood education for decades: the belief that children are simple. They’re not. They’re new.”

She pushed herself off the booth wall and took a step forward. Her movements were fluid, almost predatory, and Mr. Miller took an involuntary step back.

“Children are young, but they’re not stupid,” Sheila continued, her voice gaining a sharp edge.

 “They experience the full spectrum of human emotion; they just lack the vocabulary and the emotional framework to process it. Sometimes they feel a profound sadness, as well as jealousy, frustration, and grief. They’re still people with real issues. Issues that people like you,” she gestured vaguely at Miller.

 “would rather ignore because it’s easier to sell them a plush toy and a story about a smiling choo-choo train.”

Kate starred, mesmerized. Sheila was articulating everything Kate wanted to say, but could never find the words or the courage to say herself.

“What a book like hers does,” Sheila went on, nodding towards Kate’s portfolio, 

“is give them a tool. It gives them a name for the nameless feeling. It tells them they aren’t broken or wrong for feeling it. This teaches emotional literacy. Frankly, it’s a concept that’s far more valuable and, yes, developmentally appropriate than another goddamn story about a duck who can’t find his favorite hat.”

Mr. Miller’s face had gone from smug to blotchy red. He was sputtering, searching for a rebuttal that wouldn’t come.

“This is… this is highly unprofessional…”

“So is dismissing a creator’s valid premise because it doesn’t fit into your pre-packaged box of ‘marketable whimsy’,” Sheila retorted.

 “You asked for my opinion. There it is. Now, if you’ll excuse me, the coffee here is terrible, and I need to find something to wash the taste out of my mouth.”

She gave Miller a final, withering look that seemed to shrink him by a few inches, then turned to Kate. 

“You coming?”

It wasn’t really a question. Kate, still reeling, could only nod. She gathered her portfolio, gave a stammering,

 “Th-thank you for your time,” to the stunned Mr. Miller, and hurried after the tall, dark-haired woman who was already striding away through the crowd.

Sheila moved through the throng with effortless grace, people seeming to part for her instinctively. Kate had to practically jog to keep up. Sheila didn’t stop until they’d exited the main ballroom and found a quiet alcove near a set of glass doors that looked out onto a small, manicured garden.

She leaned against the wall, taking another sip of her coffee and grimacing. “Definitely terrible.” She tossed the cup into a nearby recycling bin.

“I—um—thank you,” Kate said, her voice barely a whisper. She felt dizzy, a strange mix of residual humiliation from the meeting and overwhelming gratitude for the rescue. 

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know,” Sheila said simply, her green eyes appraising Kate from head to toe.

 “But I can’t stand blowhards who use jargon to mask their not knowing what they’re talking about. ‘Developmentally inappropriate’,” she snorted.

“He was … very dismissive.” A small, surprised laugh escaped Kate’s lips. 

“He was an idiot,” Sheila corrected her bluntly. 

“Let me see the book.”

It was a command, not a request. Hesitantly, Kate opened her portfolio again. This time, her hands were steady. She laid it open on a low, nearby table.

Sheila leaned over it, her posture focused and intense. She didn’t just flick through the pages. She studied each one. Her long, elegant fingers traced the edge of an illustration, her sharp eyes taking in the composition, the color palette, the subtle expressions on the bunnies’ faces.

Kate held her breath. This woman’s opinion, for some reason, suddenly felt more important than that of any publisher.

“You’re good,” Sheila said after a long, silent minute. Her voice was devoid of platitudes; it was a simple statement of fact. 

“Your line work is clean. You have a strong sense of emotional atmosphere. This one here…” She pointed to a panel where Alice the bunny is looking at her own sad reflection in a puddle. 

“The distortion in the water, the muted blues and grays—you’re conveying a complex internal state visually. That takes a good eye.” Tears pricked Kate’s eyes again, but this time they were tears of relief and validation. 

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick. 

“That … that means a lot.”

“Don’t thank me for stating the obvious,” Sheila said, though her tone was a fraction softer. She straightened up.

“Miller’s an idiot, but he’s not entirely wrong about one thing: it’s a tough sell. Not because it’s an idea, but because it challenges a comfortable, lazy status quo. The industry is risk averse.”

“So … what should I do?” Kate asked, feeling a familiar wave of hopelessness.

 “Should I just give up on it?”

“Hell, no,” Sheila snapped and Kate flinched.

 “Don’t you dare. Giving up is what they want. It makes their lives easier. No, you need to find a different publisher. A smaller, independent one, maybe. Someone who isn’t afraid of books with a spine. Or you self-publish. Your art is strong enough to build a following on its own.”

She spoke with unnerving certainty, as if she were outlining a battle plan. For the first time, Kate felt a flicker of genuine hope. This stranger, this sharp-edged, sarcastic woman named Sheila, believed in her.

“I’m going to Blackwell College in the fall,” Kate offered, wanting to fill the silence, to keep the conversation going. “I'm in the fine arts program. I was hoping to have a book contract before then. As a sign that I’m on the right path.”

“You don’t need a contract from someone like Miller to tell you you’re on the right path,” Sheila countered.

 “Your path is right there.” She tapped the portfolio. 

“The work tells you. The only sign you need is the one that comes from inside.” She paused, a strange self-deprecating smirk playing on her lips. 

“Wow, listen to me. I sound like a daytime talk show host.” Sheila said, feigning dismay.

“No, it’s… advice. Thank you. Really.” Kate giggled.

She looked at the woman properly, trying to piece her together. She was so different from anyone Kate had ever met. Her confidence wasn’t loud or boastful; it was a quiet certainty that radiated from her.  It was intimidating, but also made Kate want to figure out how she did it.

“So,” Kate started,

 “What about you? Are you a writer? An illustrator?”

“Something like that. I’m mostly here because my… new employer strongly suggested I reintegrate into civilian life by pursuing old hobbies.” Sheila’s smirk returned, a little more guarded this time. 

 The way she said ‘new employer’ felt, heavy in a way that Kate couldn't fully grasp. Not yet at least 

“I actually have a degree in child and adolescent development. I took a—detour— for another line of work briefly.”

“Really?” Kate’s eyes widened.

“So you actually know all that stuff you were telling Mr. Miller.”

“Of course I do,” Sheila said, a flash of pride in her voice. 

“You think I just make that stuff up? I wrote my thesis on the effects of vigilantism on the developing mind. I may only be twenty six but, I know my shit.” Sheila caught herself.

“Unfortunately I got caught up in other ventures.” Sheila remarked almost snarling to herself.

Kate studied the woman more—she wanted to learn more about her. An idea, a terrifying idea, formed in Kate’s mind. They stood in a comfortable silence for a moment, the distant murmur of the conference a dull buzz behind them. The afternoon sun slanted through the glass doors, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air between them.

“Hey, um … Sheila?” Kate began, her heart pounding against her ribs.

“Yeah?”

“I know this is really forward, and you’ve already been so incredibly kind, but … would you… maybe be willing to look at the rest of my manuscript? The text, I mean. And maybe … get coffee again sometime?”

She braced herself for rejection, for a cool, dismissive laugh. She’d overstepped. This confident and beautiful woman would have no interest in hanging out with a nervous, nineteen-year-old art student.

Sheila was quiet for a long moment, her green eyes unreadable. Kate could see a flicker of something in them; surprise, maybe hesitation. A slow smile spread across Sheila’s face. It was the first genuine, non-mocking smile Kate had seen from her, and it transformed her features, making her that much more captivating.

“Why not?” She said, her voice dropping back into that low, smoky register.

“You seem less annoying than most people.”

“Oh—Great!” Kate said dryly, but relief washed over her.

“Alright, give me your number. I’ll text you.”

Kate fumbled for her own phone, her fingers clumsy with excitement as she recited her number. She watched as Sheila typed it in under the contact name “Cinnabun” 

“Cinnabun,” Kate questioned, and Sheila grinned widely at her.

“You’re like an adorable little bunny, a true cinnamon roll personality—thus Cinnabun,” the woman explained, holding a hand up like it was obvious, the absurdity of it all making Kate giggle.

“I’ll find a place with decent coffee. My treat. Consider it a consultation fee,” Sheila said, slipping her phone away. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Kate said.

“I know,” Sheila cut her off, but there was no heat in it.

“I want to. Now, I’m going to go find some actual food. Conference centers are a black hole of culinary despair.”

She gave Kate a last nod, a gesture that was both a dismissal and a promise. Then, she turned and walked away, melting back into the conference crowd as easily as she had emerged from it, leaving Kate standing in the quiet alcove, her portfolio in her hands and a strange, exhilarating new possibility humming in her chest.

Chapter Text

Two days later, Kate stood outside a small building so minimalist she didn’t recognize it as a coffee shop. It had a few small signs that said Less and More. There was a small outside sitting area, with no inside store. It was the kind of place Kate normally would have walked past. Kate didn’t end up waiting long for Sheila to show up. 

Today, Sheila wore a forest green turtleneck and blue jeans, with black block heel boots. An outfit that was simple and yet managed to look more stylish than anything Kate owned.

“Katie, you made it.” Sheila greeted, her voice a gentle low rasp that managed to cut through the noise of the city and the espresso machines. Her eyes seemed to analyze Kate, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths before settling into her default mode of wry amusement.

“You made it. I was beginning to think I might have scared you off,” Sheila said, as if it were in regular occurrence for her. Kate didn’t blame them—there was something about the woman that was so intimidating. Like staring at a statue of a Greek goddess.

“I almost was,” Kate admitted, her cheeks warming, looking away not seeing the smirk on Sheila’s face.

“You made it, and that’s what matters,” Sheila said with a soft smile that quickly retreated from her face.

They both went up to the counter and ordered. Sheila had tried to pay for Kate’s order, but Kate had politely and with surprising firmness insisted she pay for herself. A small hum escaped Sheila’s lips as she relented to Kate. Kate ended up ordering a mocha latte, and Sheila ended up getting a chai latte. They sat down at one of the nearby tables after they got their orders. The sounds of the bustling city slowly faded out as they ended up in their own little world.

Sheila went through the manuscript page by page, her feedback a laser-precise tool. She praised what worked with blunt sincerity and critiqued what didn’t with incisive intelligence that was never personal or cruel. She talked about the importance of rhythmic, repetitive phrases, the subtle psychological impact of certain words over others, and the way the story could be a springboard for parent-child conversations.

“The core emotional arc is strong,” Sheila began, and Kate felt a wave of relief.

“Your prose is gentle and lyrical, a good match for the illustrations. You’ve successfully avoided the biggest pitfall of writing for this age group: you don’t talk down to them. Your language is simple, but the concepts aren’t.”

She turned to the first page, tapping a paragraph with the tip of her pen. “Your opening is perfect. ‘Alice the bunny woke up, and the sunshine did not feel sunny.’ That’s it. No convoluted reason, no inciting incident. It’s a state of being. Any kid who has ever felt that way will recognize it instantly. It’s honest.”

“Thank you,” Kate said.

“However,” Sheila continued, and Kate’s posture straightened.

“It’s not perfect. There are places where you’re telling, not showing. And you’re pulling your punches.” She flipped to a page in the middle. 

“Here. Where her friend, Barnaby the Bear, tries to cheer her up by offering her his favorite honey cakes. Alice says, ‘No thank you, I’m not hungry.’ It’s polite, but it’s emotionally flat. What does that rejection feel like for Alice? Does the smell of the sweet cakes make her feel even worse? Does she feel guilty for turning down her friend’s kindness? You can convey that in simple terms. Something like: ‘The honey cakes smelled sweet and warm, but Alice’s tummy felt like a little grey rock. She shook her head. “ I’m sorry, Barnaby,” she whispered.’”

Kate’s eyes widened as she scribbled the note down on a napkin. It was brilliant. It was such a slight change, but it added a whole extra layer of emotional depth.

“You see?” Sheila said, seeming to sense Kate’s realization. 

“You’re dealing with attachment theory here, whether you know it or not. The mother figure at the end, providing a secure base for Alice to experience her negative emotions without judgment—that’s the whole ball game. That’s what makes the story work. But the interactions leading up to it need to reinforce Alice’s internal state. Every ‘no, thank you’ should cost her something. It isolates her further, which makes the mother’s eventual acceptance that much more powerful.”

Kate felt like she was in a masterclass. Sheila’s knowledge was vast and practical, rooted in a genuine understanding of a child’s mind. There was a passion in her voice when she spoke about the subject, a fire that briefly burned away her cool, sarcastic exterior. Kate found herself completely captivated.

“This is amazing,” Kate said, looking at her napkin now covered in notes. 

“You should be an editor. Or a teacher.”

Sheila took a moment to lean back in her chair.

“I was one—a teacher for a bit—but let’s say I’m not the most patient person when it comes to incompetent school administration.” 

For Kate, what Sheila said tracked. Sheila had this air of—not indifference—but of expectation. Like she expected everyone around her to meet an impossible standard. How she even came close was something Kate didn’t understand. 

With the manuscript thoroughly dissected, a comfortable quiet settled between them. Sheila returned the manuscript, and now they were just two people in a coffee shop.

“So, Blackwell, huh—pretty fancy. How is it there?” Sheila asked, breaking the silence.

“It’s good, stressful. The year hasn’t started yet, and I’m already expected to have a rough portfolio.” Kate said before sighing.

“I’m worried I’m not good enough.”

Sheila frowned, looking at Kate as if she were dissecting something under a microscope. Kate moved back in her chair subconsciously. Sheila seemed to find what she was looking for because her expression softened.

 “You’re good enough.” Sheila said her words, putting steel back into Kate’s spine.

“worse comes to worst, fake it ‘til you make it; you’d be surprised how far that can take you.” Sheila shrugged.

“So, what was your college experience like? When you were getting your degree?” Kate asked, taking a sip of her coffee. Sheila’s expression tightened for a fraction of a second before smoothing over. 

“It was … chaotic. The coursework was the simple part. The challenge was managing my brothers.”

“Oh, you have brothers?”

“Three of them,” Sheila said, and for the first time, Kate heard a note of genuine, weary exasperation in her voice. 

Are they…?” trailed off, gently probing for more.

“A handful? A menace? A walking, talking argument for solitary living? Yes,” Sheila finished for her. A faint, almost fond smile touched her lips. 

“They were absolutely convinced they were going to be the world’s greatest heroes one day, that they were destined to save the world.” She rolled her eyes, but the gesture lacked its usual venom. 

“It was exhausting. I was the only one with a practical bone in my body. Someone had to study and manage all the family affairs.”

“It sounds like you had to grow up fast,” Kate said just above a whisper.

The smile vanished from Sheila’s face, replaced by a cool neutrality that felt like a suddenly lowered curtain. “Our parents died when I was a teenager,” she said, her voice flat. “There was a … freak accident. Something that came out of nowhere. We were on our own after that.”

“Oh, Sheila … I’m so sorry,” Kate said, her heart aching with a sudden, deep empathy. She didn’t offer platitudes or pry for details. 

The simple, honest sympathy seemed to catch Sheila off guard. She must’ve been used to people getting awkward, or morbidly curious, or offering useless clichés. 

“It was a long time ago,” Sheila said, breaking eye contact to look out the window.

“We managed. You do what you have to do.”

Kate thought of her own loving, if overprotective, father and her sisters, and a wave of gratitude washed over her. She couldn’t imagine navigating that age on her own, let alone while trying to wrangle three ambitious brothers.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence again, sipping their drinks, with the unspoken weight of Sheila’s revelation hanging in the air. Kate expected the meeting to wind down now. She’d gotten more than she could have ever hoped for. An expert critique, encouragement, and a brief, startling glimpse into the life of this fascinating woman. 

    “So,” Sheila said suddenly, her voice pulling Kate’s attention back. 

She had a strange, almost calculating look on her face, as if she were solving a complex equation in her head. 

“I’m still stuck in this town until Friday, and I saw a flyer for this band that seemed kind of interesting.”

She leaned forward slightly, her green eyes locking onto Kate’s. 

“Any interest in going with me? Think of it as payment for saving me from having to ask my boss for something to do.”

Kate’s mind went blank for a second. A concert? Sheila wanted to see her again? The excuse was so transparently a pretext, a way for her to frame a kind invitation as a self-serving act. It was a very Sheila-like way of asking someone to hang out, and it made Kate’s heart do a little flip.

“I … yes,” Kate said, a huge, brilliant smile breaking across her face. “I’d love that.”

The genuine, unhesitating enthusiasm of Kate’s response seemed to please Sheila. The tension in her shoulders eased.

“Good,” Sheila said, smiling back at Kate.

“It’s a date, then.” Kate said before panicking. Why did she phrase it like that?

 “Not a date date,” she added quickly. 

“A ‘two-people meeting up for a concert….” Kate finished. 

She didn’t mean to phrase it like that—why did she phrase it like that at all? Now, Sheila might not want to hang out with her again. Homosexuals are an abomination according to her mother, the Bible—God. She didn’t want Sheila to think she was an abomination. Especially not one trying to lead her to hell.

“I’ll text you the place.” Sheila said, a smirk tugging at her lips. Kate didn’t know whether to crumble under the intensity of Sheila’s gaze or become lost in—no bad thoughts, no sins allowed—Kate corrected herself mentally.

Chapter Text

A sharp kick sent Shego flying into the padded wall with a grunt. The global justice training facility soon became bathed in green light as Shego lit her plasma. The heat burned through the odor left by the cleaning chemicals. Shego lunged towards Kim with everything she had—but Kim had gotten quicker and could counter the volley of strikes.

“Getting slow, Shego,” Kim quipped, her voice breathless but steady.

She countered using the wall of the room to help her flip effortlessly over Shego before engaging her with a series of fast strikes that Shego met blow for blow.

“Please, Princess,” Shego retorted, a familiar sneer playing on her lips. She lunged, her movements a fluid, predatory blur. A green-glowing fist sliced through the air where Kim’s head had been a nanosecond before.

“I’m just giving you a chance to catch up. Wouldn’t want to bruise your ego on camera.” Shego added.

Their sparring sessions had become a strange, semi-regular fixture in Shego’s post-pardon life. She needed something to do—an outlet for her aggression and excess plasma energy. Since villainy was out of the question, Dr. Director graciously allowed her to be a part of the newly formed special mission’s division. It was all a bureaucratic mess, but it allowed her to stay sharp. She was pretty sure she was also the only one who could keep up with the other newest recruit, Kim Possible.

They circled each other, a familiar rhythm of feint and parry. Kim was a chaotic mix of cheerleading, gymnastics and the collection of kung fu she had acquired over the years. Shego was a trained military-style combatant mixed with traditional kung fu. Add in her overwhelming power from the comet, and she was Kim’s perfect counter. Still, how Kim wasn’t some kind of metahuman was beyond her. The former teen hero was one of two people on Earth who could fight Shego without the latter needing to hold back much. They were two opposing forces who knew each other’s rhythms so intimately that their fights looked less like combat and more like a violent form of communication.

“You’re distracted,” Kim noted easily, deflecting a sweeping kick aimed at her legs. 

 “Thinking about your evil plans for the weekend?”

“My only plan is to find entertainment that isn’t government-issued.” Shego shot back, pressing her attack. 

“A truly villainous scheme, I know.”

She had Kim on the defensive, forcing her back toward the wall with a relentless barrage of glowing energy strikes. Kim blocked and dodged, her expression focused, searching for an opening. Shego grinned, a flash of her old, wicked self. This was what she was good at. This was simple. Overwhelming force, a clear objective. She raised a hand, power crackling around her fingers, ready for a final, decisive blast that would end the session.

And then, the tone of an old Nokia phone echoed through the spacious gym. What else could she say? Shego was a sucker for nostalgia. Still, the sound was so jarringly mundane, so utterly out of place in the high-stakes atmosphere of their spar, that both women froze mid-motion. Shego’s glowing hand faltered, the green energy fizzling out like a damp firework. She blinked, the predatory focus dissolving into something else entirely. Confusion. Then, dawning horror.

“Oh, crap,” she muttered, lowering her hand and glancing at the gym bag she’d tossed by the entrance.

Kim seized the opportunity, of course. A swift leg sweep sent Shego off-balance. Before Shego could recover, Kim had her in a submission hold, an arm twisted behind her back, not painful, but with inescapable leverage. It was a checkmate.

“I win,” Kim said, her voice a little too cheerful right by Shego’s ear. 

“Yeah, yeah, get off me, possibly,” Shego grumbled, not even bothering to struggle. Her mind was elsewhere, already calculating time zones and travel speeds. The alarm. She’d set an alarm.

Kim released her and stepped back, crossing her arms. A playfully curious look replaced her combat focus.

 “What was that? Don’t tell me you have a hot date.”

 “What? No! Don’t be ridiculous.” The words hit Shego like a physical blow. A hot flush crept up her neck, a visceral, infuriating reaction she couldn’t control.

“Really?” Kim’s eyebrow arched. 

“Because you just let me win because your phone played a little jingle. That’s a first. So, who is he? Or she? Anyone I know?”

“It’s not a date!” Shego snapped, her voice sharper than she intended. She strode over to her bag, snatching the phone and silencing the alarm with a vicious swipe of her thumb. She refused to look at Kim, focusing instead on shoving her water bottle and towel into the bag with unnecessary force. 

“It’s just … a meeting. With a friend.”

She didn’t have many friends. She had allies of convenience, professional contacts, and enemies. That was the list. But ‘friend’ was the only word that seemed to fit when she thought of Kate. However poorly the word fit, but it was the only word Shego was willing to use to describe Kate.

“A friend,” Kim repeated slowly, savoring the word. The teasing glint in her eyes was maddening. 

“Does this friend have a name?”

Shego zipped her bag with a furious tug. Why was this so difficult? Why did Kim Possible, of all people, have to be the one she was around when her phone went off—anyone else and she could threaten them with a plasma enema and be done with it.

“It’s none of your business,” she growled.

“So it is a date,” Kim concluded with a triumphant grin.

“It’s not a date!” Shego spun around to face her, her hands clenched at her sides. The denial was so vehement, so panicked, it surprised even herself.

“I’m going to a concert with someone. A civilian. She’s … an artist. She’s been stressed—I figure she could use the opportunity to let loose.” The last words came out softer, less defensive.

Kim’s grin softened, the teasing edge replaced by genuine curiosity.

 “An artist? Wow. Okay. That’s … unexpected.”

“Whatever,” Shego muttered. She just wanted this conversation to be over.

“No, wait.” Kim’s voice was gentle. The look on Kim’s face was one she’d rarely seen directed at her. It was understanding and completely devoid of judgment.

“What is it about her?” Kim asked, her tone serious now. 

“This artist friend of yours.”

Shego hesitated, but for some reason, she answered it honestly.

“She treats me like a person,” Shego said, the words low and clipped. 

“Not … this.” She gestured vaguely at herself, at the faint residual glow on her hands, at the invisible but ever-present mantle of her past. 

“Despite me being…well, me…to her, I’m just Sheila,” Shego said. 

“Really, the old Ms. Go alias?” Kim said, remembering the last time Shego used the name Sheila Go was when Electronique reversed her brain with the attitudinator.

“Yeah,” Shego sighed, packing up her gear.

“To her, I’m just a woman with a degree in child development who gave her some advice on her manuscript. She doesn’t look at me and run in terror because I’m a supervillain.”

“Former,” Kim interjected.

“She doesn’t see me as a tool, a project. She just sees … me.” Even for Shego, it was odd. She figured with the whole cross-wearing Christian thing—Kate would try to convert and redeem her. But Shego never saw that in her eyes. The woman was just so earnest with everything she did that it caught her off guard. People were never like that. Not around her.

The silence that followed was profound. Kim’s expression was unreadable for a moment, and Shego braced herself for a platitude or worse, pity. Instead, Kim smiled a small, genuine smile. 

“I’m glad,” she said softly.

“I’m really glad you have someone like that.” Shego blinked, taken aback.

“You are?”

“Of course,” Kim said. 

“Everyone needs a Ron.”

“A … what?” Shego said, almost laughing.

“You mean I need a clumsy, buffoonish sidekick who’s obsessed with cheap Mexican food?”

“No,” Kim laughed, shaking her head.

“I mean, you need someone who doesn’t care about all the bullshit. Someone who reminds you that underneath the commando gear and the saving of the world, you’re still just Kim. Or in your case, just…” Kim hesitated knowing that Shego's real name—even if it made her giggle at the irony—was a closely guarded secret. Only Shego's family, Dr. Director and her knew. In short only family and friends. That was something crazy to think about—they were actually good friends now. Not that Shego will ever say it out loud.

“Shego.” Kim said before sighing with a grin and looking off in the distance.

“Ron … I don’t know where I’d be without him. He grounds me. Sounds like your artist friend … she grounds you.”

Shego had no response to that—the observation was too astute, too close to a truth she hadn’t even fully admitted to herself. Kate’s quiet earnestness. Her passion for her little watercolor bunnies—it was all an anchor to a world Shego had only ever observed from a distance—When she was trying to take it over.

“Whatever, Princess,” Shego grumbled, the gruffness a reflex, a shield thrown up against the unexpected sincerity. “I’ve got to go. Some of us have … concerts… to get to.” She slung her bag over her shoulder and stalked towards the exit without a backward glance.

“Have fun on your not-a-date, Shego!” Kim called after her.

“Bite me, Possible!” she yelled back, letting the automatic doors hiss shut behind her.

Chapter Text

The address Sheila had texted Kate led her to a part of Portland she had never been to, an industrial neighborhood mostly filled with old warehouses. The building itself was a  a two-story behemoth of old, red brick, swallowed by a sprawl of ivy. A simple, weathered wooden sign hung above the heavy double doors, the words ‘Robinson Park Bar’ carved into it.

Kate’s heart hammered against her ribs, a nervous, fluttery rhythm. Why this place? After their quiet, coffee—rendezvous— a punk rock venue seemed like a bit of a left turn. She felt out of place seeing people in ripped jeans and leather jackets surrounding her with studded belts. She’d spent an hour agonizing over what to wear, finally settling on a compromise: dark blue jeans, her most comfortable sneakers, a simple white blouse, and a black shawl for warmth. Her silver cross pendant the only sense of security, of familiarity in an ocean of the bizarre.

She looked up at the message board next to the entrance, a chaotic collage of flyers and band posters. in the center, was the one she was looking for. The poster was a riot of color, red white and the various colors of the band members.

FLANGER MOOSE

The name was rendered in a jagged, electric-orange font. Below it were the four members. One was a woman with impossibly long, magenta pigtails styled into two perfect, spinning drills; the poster identified her as Teto Kasane. Next to her was Solaria, a moody-looking brunette whose hair, layered underneath the ‘normal’ hair was a brilliant, fiery gradient of orange and yellow, like a captured sunset. Then there was Eleanor Forte, a woman with soft, almost ethereal features and a cascade of pure, snow-white hair that seemed to defy gravity. And finally, on the far right, was a figure in a black hoodie, their face completely obscured by the oversized, grinning head of a cartoon moose. Kate was in awe of the poster staring like a bunny hypnotized by a carrot.

The girl’s eyebrow arched. “Really,” she said, her voice slow, drawing out the word.  It was less a question and more an accusation. Between the sneer on her face and the look in her eyes the message was clear. It was one of pure, unadulterated disgust.

“Everything alright here,  Joss?” A new voice, a deep, gravelly bass, joined the conversation. A mountain of a man, his arms and neck a solid tapestry of intricate tattoos, stepped out from the doorway. He wasn't overtly threatening, but his sheer size was intimidating, and his gaze was just as skeptical as the girl’s, but with a softer edge of concern and confusion as his eyebrows knit.

Kate’s stomach twisted into a knot of pure anxiety. She was in the wrong place. This was a terrible mistake. She looked like a lamb who had wandered into a wolf den, and the wolves were starting to circle.

“Katie, you made it!”

The voice was a familiar, smoky alto, a lifeline thrown into a sea of her own social terror. Kate spun around, and her heart gave a painful, relieved lurch. Sheila was walking up the street, a confident, easy stride that owned the pavement. She was dressed in black combat boots, dark jeans, and a simple black t-shirt under a leather jacket with a harlequin pattern of green and black. The outfit was a perfect distillation of everything she was—unbridled confidence, dangerous, and unapologetically Sheila. The sight of her was the most beautiful thing Kate had ever seen.

An almost dizzying amount of relief washed over her. Before she even thought about it, she closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around Sheila’s waist in a tight, desperate hug. For a split second, she felt Sheila’s body tense in surprise, and then, wonderfully, strong arms wrapped around her own shoulders, pulling her into a warm, firm embrace that smelled of leather, a soft musk, oud, with an underpinning of jasmine.

“Whoa there Cinnabun," Sheila murmured into her hair, her voice laced with amusement.

“Miss me that much?”

“You have no idea,” Kate whispered into her jacket before realizing what she said. She pulled away from the hug her face burning smiling ear to ear.

“What’s going on here?” Sheila asked, her gaze shifting to the punk girl and the tattooed man, who were watching the exchange with baffled expressions. The girl, Joss, pointed a black-nailed finger at Kate.

“I was just telling her she doesn’t exactly look like she belongs here.” Her eyes raked over Kate’s simple, modest outfit.

“No offense, but she fits in better at Sunday school.”

“And this is a punk show,” Joss said, as if explaining something to a child.

“It’s not for… you know. Her.”

"And what does that say?” Sheila pointed to a sign hung above the door. The sign read as follows,

ZERO FUCKING TOLERANCE  for bigotry, racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, transphobia.

No drugs

No alcohol for minors

No nazi or KKK

No Fascists

Sheila then glared at  Joss until Joss looked at the sign and then back to Sheila. Sheila’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. It was the same smile Kate had seen her give the publisher at the conference, the smile that promised evisceration.

“Funny,” Sheila began, her voice a low, conversational purr.

“You do know Jesus was the OG punk, right?”

Joss stared at her, completely dumbfounded. While the bouncer sighed and rolled his eyes, shaking his head at the girl. Sheila leaned against the brick wall and crossing her arms, looking at Joss with a smirk.

“First you would think our little Jesus of Suburbia would know her own namesake a bit better.” Sheila said inspecting her nails as if she was bored.

“His core message was a complete rejection of materialism and a radical embrace of love and forgiveness that was a direct threat to the Roman Empire’s power structure.” Sheila started but narrowing her eyes on Joss—or Jesus of suburbia which Kate guessed the long form of the nickname Joss went by.

“He fought corrupt establishment, said it was nearly impossible for the rich to get into heaven. Jesus  flipped and destroyed  tables of corrupt merchants. If that’s not a punk move, I don’t know what is.” Joss looked like she wanted to speak up but Sheila kept going.

“He deliberately hung out with the most marginalized people in his society—prostitutes, social rejects, lepers and to top it all off? He was executed by the state for sedition. He was, by every objective measure, a political radical who was murdered for his beliefs. So you tell me,” she finished, her gaze pinning Joss to the spot,

“how exactly does the one person here who actually follows his teachings not belong at here?”

The silence that followed was absolute. Joss just stared, her mouth slightly agape, completely and utterly outmatched. Sheila looked at Kate with a smug smile that looked like a proud kitten bringing its first kill to its mama.

The bouncer let out a low whistle.

“Damn,”

“How did you know all that?” Joss tried to cut in,

“Theology minor,” Sheila said with a shrug before adding,

“I don’t now what’s up with you today, but we both know you’re better than this Jesus of suburbia. Talk to someone. Please.” Sheila said, her voice softer and laced with concern. Kate wondered if this was someplace Sheila visited often.

As Sheila guided  Kate through the door, the bouncer letting them through with a nod to Sheila.

As they entered, Kate looked around. There was a small bar on the left wall and the front third looked like it had seating with small tables. However the middle third was an open area where people began to gather. The final area was taken up by the stage. Mics, amps and a drum set with multi colored lights over head. Kate looked at the walls, and they weren’t painted, but covered in a collage of band posters and graffiti. Above the stage for all to see was a massive replica of the sign Sheila made Joss read.

The place smelled of cigarettes, beer and body odor. Yet the energy in the place was soaked in excitement for the band to take the stage. The sound of small conversations and cheers echoing through out. It was infectious.

“And how do you know this place?” Kate asked.

Sheila’s expression flickered, becoming guarded for a moment. “I, uh… bou–” she started to say, then caught herself, a strange stutter.

“–found it. When I was about sixteen. It was a good place to get away. I needed a space to myself after getting dragged to endless family meetings by our lawyers. They were trying to stop some greedy relatives from usurping—It was just a lot of family drama.”

The explanation, as vague and redacted as it was, felt true. Kate just nodded, accepting the piece of Sheila’s past she had been offered. Sheila ushered Kate to the back of the standing area. Not long after the lights went down, and the crowd roared. Flanger Moose took the stage.

Chapter Text

Teto, the magenta-haired singer, was a chaotic blur of energy, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Solaria, the bassist, was an island of cool, her sunset-colored hair a stark contrast to her all-black outfit. Eleanor, the guitarist, was an ethereal presence, her white hair almost glowing in the dim light. And behind the drum kit, the moose-headed mascot.

All three women began clapping in a rhythmic pattern. This was not the place Kate had been expecting to be grateful for her violin training, but none the less she was when she figured out the rhythm the girls were clapping. Quarter note, eighth note, quarter note, eighth note followed by two quarter notes. The tempo was a fast one eighty BPM.

“IF YOU’RE A LOST CAUSE, THEN CLAP YOUR HANDS!” Solaria screamed through the mic as they clapped the rhythm and the crowed echoed with their own claps.

It wasn’t long before the guitar kicked in and the energy was infectious. Kate, who had never been to a concert that wasn’t a church-sponsored Christian music, was completely swept away. The music was loud,  it was raw, but it was also… joyous. It was the sound of a hundred people who didn't fit in anywhere else, finding a place where they belonged. When the song ended, Teto took center stage chanting,

“Eat the rich, Eat the rich,” as the crowd  chanted back. Then a thunderous set of well timed tom hits and a guitar chords singled the next song as Teto sung,

“Come on down to Billionaire Buffet…” The song quickly turned into a very literal meaning of the phrase. The chorus starting,

“Eat the rich! Eat the rich! Itadakimasu, bitch! Skewer then roast them on a spit Let's all agree not to snitch”

The goofy yet, morbid energy kept rolling as Teto began  a song about an energy drink called brain implosion energy. The next song was an apparently a cover, by a group called sundial.  Kate pointed to a group of people dancing to Sheila. Sheila grinned at her and said,

“Mosh pit,” She said before pulling Kate to the group.

“Remember if someone falls pick them up!” Sheila said,

It was terrifying for a second. A sea of colliding bodies, of flailing arms and stomping feet. But then she saw that no one was fighting. It was a dance, a shared, physical release of a frantic, joyful energy. And Sheila was there, a solid, protective presence at her back, her body shielding Kate from the most chaotic impacts, her arm a steadying anchor around her waist, a wide, exhilarating grin on her face. And Kate, caught between the protective embrace of the woman she was falling for and the cathartic chaos of the music, felt a sense of freedom so profound it was almost dizzying. She let go, laughing as she was jostled and spun in the heart of the storm.

After the song ended, the pace shifted. The frantic energy receded, replaced by something more bitter, more personal. Solaria stepped up to the mic, her expression now a defiant snarl.

“This one’s for anyone who’s ever been told they’re not good enough,” she spat, and Eleanor ripped into a new, grinding guitar riff.

“Your words are sandpaper in my ears,” Solaria sung the rest of the band kicked in,

“Everything you want, everything you fear… It’s not my problem, I’m not compensation for your wasted years!” The lyrics started to tickle at something in Kate’s brain.

The thought of her mother, of the constant, grinding pressure to be perfect, to be a reflection of her mother’s own piety. The weight of her family’s expectations, a weight she had carried for eighteen years, suddenly had a name. It was sandpaper.

“Face the fact that I’m not you! What the hell you gonna do?” The words were a validation of a rebellion Kate had never been brave enough to voice.

The bridge however hit her on another level, it screamed to her stabbing at something Kate hadn’t realized she wanted to say for far too long.

“Face the fact that I’m not you, mold me, shape me, ‘til I’m perfect! Trust me, it’s not fucking worth it! Disappointed? I don’t care! Got no head space left to spare! For your drama or your sass! Your beliefs can kiss my ass!”

It was a sentiment she had never, ever allowed herself to even think, let alone feel. It was a vicarious, exhilarating release, a scream she had been holding in for her entire life, finally given voice by this band she was watching. By the person who brought her here, by sheila.

After the song ended, she was breathless. Her mind reeling from the catharsis. Sheila pulled her out of the pit after taking her away from the pit.

Sheila, noticing the strange, intense look on her face, leaned in close, her voice filled with a genuine concern,

“Are you okay Katie?”

“Yeah, that song was just…” Kate started still not having the words to describe things yet.

“I get it.” Sheila said her tone soft, her eyes hardened with understanding and smile that reassured Kate.

Kate returned the smile as the band launched into their next song. The tempo slowed, just a fraction. The angry, grinding guitars softened, replaced by a chord progression that was still raw, but held a new, aching, almost beautiful melancholy. The crowd around them seemed to sway, a collective, somber movement.

“Why am I so afraid… Just to turn a single page…” The voice didn’t come from anyone Kate could see until she saw Moose leaning into a mic sining through the mascot head. Kate wanted to almost laugh at the ridiculousness to ask how they sung with that thing on—but the lyrics resonated with her being too much to even begin to do so.

Eleanor Forte, the soft-featured guitarist with the snow-white hair, stepped up to the microphone, her own voice, when she began to sing, a stark, clear contrast to Teto’s furious scream. It was a voice that struck right at the very center of Kate’s heart.

“They say everyone has a secret… And I don’t know how much longer… I can keep it to myself… Wish I could be somebody else…” The words were a perfect distillation of her own inner turmoil.

She felt like a collection of secrets. They ways she didn’t ascribe to her mother’s brand of faith. The way she would never admit outlaid, but detested her parent’s brand of religion. That it was antithetical to what she believed was the message of Jesus Christ. Her own sinful feelings for the woman standing right next to her. She wanted to ignore them, to suppress them, to be good the good little miss perfect her parents wanted. Until she didn’t. They felt alien in the world she came from—one she didn’t realize until recently—she wanted to escape from. All drawn out of her by the gravitational existence that was, no is Sheila.

“Soon it’ll all be plain to see… Would you run and hide… If you ever saw my other me…” The question was so direct, so painfully relevant, it was like the singer had reached into Kate’s own soul and pulled out her deepest, most paralyzing fear. Who was her ‘other me’.

Kate thought the fast songs had been relentless, but no—for her it was the slow song, the next song bringing her to tears as Sheila held her, wrapping her arms around her from behind.

“Was the day I opened my eyes The day your dreams came true Or was it the day they died?” The song was slow but had a steady beat as  Eleanor sang all on her own. Kate sunk deeper into Sheila’s embrace.

“If you can hear me I’ll be okay, And I hope that it matters to you in some way I never meant to let you down.”

Yeah, she had to be crying as Sheila’s grip tightened around her. Despite the chaotic environment that looked more like a den of sin—she had never felt so safe.

“if you’re not coming with me—Then I guess c’est la vie. But I cannot deny the horizon, Looks kinda lonely.” Yeah, lonely that was the future she resigned herself to—however if the universe was answering her resignation she noticed the next song starting. The tempo kicked back up, the guitars roared back to life, and the music was no longer mournful, but defiant and overwhelmingly hopeful as Solaria took the mic,

“Drifting alone, no path before me… Emptiness as far as I see… There must be more…” Yet, again it felt as if the universe as if it were taking directly with her. She could hear Sheila whispering  the last parts of the chorus,

“You’re not alone, this is your home! You’re not alone, this is your home!”

Kate looked around the dark, sweaty, crowded room, at the sea of misfits and outcasts, all of them shouting the lyrics together, a unified, defiant choir. And she looked at Sheila, who was now watching her with a small, knowing, and deeply gentle smile. And in that moment, in this strange, loud, and intimidating place, Kate felt a shocking, overwhelming sense of belonging. She was not alone. This, right here, felt more like home than her own house had in years.

The concert continued, and with each song, Kate felt like she was being deconstructed and rebuilt, one chord at a time. The next song was Teto’s again, the music cynical and world-weary, but with a stubborn, flickering ember of hope at its core. And as she listened, Kate’s focus shifted from herself to the woman beside her.

“All my ambition is stuck inside my throat again… Got nowhere else to go but the gutters in my head…”

“I don’t wanna be… A slave to apathy… But goddamn it’s just so addictive… (I’m running out of fucks to give)…”

The lines were so perfectly, quintessentially Sheila. The hard, sarcastic, cynical shell she presented to the world was a suit of armor. A defense mechanism against a world that had clearly, in some way, deeply disappointed her.

“Even still I dream… But it bleeds my self-esteem… So they lie still in the corner… Stop and take one last breath… And just maybe, just maybe… I’ll set it motion… Tomorrow…”

And that was the key. That was the secret. Kate saw it with a sudden, piercing clarity. Beneath the leather jacket, behind the razor-sharp wit and the cool, intimidating confidence, Sheila was a dreamer. She was just as stuck, just as frustrated, and just as stubbornly hopeful for a better “tomorrow” as anyone else in this room. It was a moment of profound, breathtaking empathy, of seeing the real, vulnerable person she was so quickly, terrifyingly, falling…in friendship with—yes, that’s what this was—has to be, a beautiful friendship. One that made her heart race so fast that she thought it could be heart attack.

The song ended, and the band put down their instruments for a moment. Teto and Solaria stepped forward, sharing a microphone.

“Alright,” Solaria began, her voice a low, cool drawl. “Remember one thing. Regardless of who’s in power…”

“The people you elect, the people I elect,” Teto chimed in, her voice a high-energy counterpoint.

“You have the fucking power,” Solaria stated, her voice hardening.

“We’re the fucking leaders!” Teto screamed, and the crowd roared its approval.

“Don’t let these bastards dictate your life, or…”

“…try to tell ya what to do, ALRIGHT!?” they shouted in unison.

With a final cheer, they launched into their last song.

“Hey, Mr. Dump, Stop fucking everything up!”  It was short, fast, and brutally to the point. A pop-punk protest anthem that had the entire room bouncing, a unified force of furious, joyful energy. Sheila was grinning,  along with the less-profane lyrics, completely and utterly in her element.

“Hey, Mr. Dump Let me be perfectly blunt” Kate watched, a smile on her own face, as Teto, with a final, mischievous grin, sang the last line leading into the chorus, and then stepped back from the microphone.

“Frankly, everybody thinks you’re a—” The music cut out for a single, perfect beat. And in that beat, the entire room, a single, unified, deafening voice, screamed the final word.

“CUNT!”

Kate flinched, the sheer, violent vulgarity of the word a bridge too far for her. It was a stark reminder that while she had found a strange and wonderful connection here tonight, she was still herself. The song crashed to an end, the lights came up, and the show was over. The crowd was a sweaty, happy, exhausted mess. Sheila turned to her, her face flushed with exhilaration, her green eyes brighter than Kate had ever seen them. The ringing in their ears was a dull roar, but it couldn't drown out the wide, happy grin on Sheila’s face.

“So,” she yelled, her voice filled with a pure, uncomplicated joy.

“What did you think, Cinnabun?” Kate looked at the incredible, impossible woman in front of her, her own mind a whirlwind of a hundred conflicting, powerful, and wonderful emotions, and she didn't know where to even begin.

Chapter Text

“What did you think, Cinnabun?” She watched Kate’s face, trying to read the reaction. Her smile and slight blush, while she began to catch her breath.

“It was… a lot,” Kate managed to reply a small smile tugging at her own lips.

“ the swearing… I’m not used to that at all. But… I understood it. I really did. The anger… it felt… honest. Real. Like the band was saying all the things you’re not supposed to say out loud.” Shego felt Kate’s mind working, processing.

“Some of those songs… it was like they were singing right at me.”

“Told you they were good,” was all she said, but she didn’t remove her hand from Kate’s back as they spilled out of the hot, crowded venue and into the cool, crisp night air.

They found a spot to lean against the vine-covered brick wall, a small island of relative quiet as the throng of people dispersed around them. The ringing in their ears was starting to subside.

“I’m really glad you brought me,” Kate said, looking up at her, her blue eyes shining in the dim, hazy glow of the streetlamps.

“I never would have come to a place like this on my own. I never would have known…” She trailed off, searching for the right words. Shego thought the way she scrunched her face was adorable.

“It’s okay to so go crazy sometimes?” Shego said.

She wanted to say something like, “tell authority to go fuck themselves?” But she decided that was beyond Kate’s temperament.

“Yeah,” Kate breathed, her voice full of a quiet wonder.

“Something like that.” She finished as Shego smiled marveling at how angelic she looked under the streetlights—everything was going perfectly.

“What’s something, sweet like you doing in a place like this.” the moment was shattered by a voice dripping with cheap smokes and predatory confidence.

Shego didn’t move from where she stood, but her senses began to scan the man. He had a decently confident posture, short hair, smile that was a bit too wide. What the real key was is clothes. Everything looked too new, new pristine. His leather jacket still stinky, his studded bracelet had no stress in the leather. His jeans were distressed, but in that fake way that rich people used to imitate the working class. But his boots  looked like just came out of the box, that wasn’t what concerned her. They had a mix of red and white in ladder lacing. His clothes screamed poser, but his shoes screamed ignorance. At least she hoped that was the case.

“You look a little too sweet and clean for a grimy place like this. Get lost on your way to church?” He said.

Shego felt Kate stiffen beside her. She take an instinctive, small step closer to Shego. Good, Kate had survival instincts, however buried.

“Um, no. I’m here with my friend,” Kate said, her voice a polite, nervous murmur.

“We were just about to leave.”

“Oh, don’t rush off,” the man said, taking a step closer, deliberately invading her space. Mistake number one, Shego thought, her eyes narrowing. He was crowding his target, Kate, and it was making the girl very uncomfortable.  Kate tried to shrink closer to Shego.

“Your friend can wait. A pretty thing like you shouldn’t be so shy. What’s your name?” He reached out, his grimy fingers brushing against the sleeve of Kate’s shawl.

Mistake number two. He had initiated physical contact. Shego hadn’t moved a muscle, but the entire atmosphere around her had gone from relaxed to arctic. Her smile had vanished. Her eyes, fixed on the man’s hand where it touched Kate’s arm. A cold, quiet rage began to build in her chest, it was unfamiliar. But still, it surged in her chest all the same. Her plasma threatening to rush to the surface.

“Come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that. Just want to talk. Maybe buy you a real drink, show you a real party…” He said leaning down and closer to Kate.

Shego put her arm around Kate and turned around. She whistled to the bouncer and gestured to Kate. The bouncer nodded. That was the nice thing about this place, this scene, people kept each other safe. She leans closer to Kate,

“Wait here I’ll be right back.” Shego whispered her breath brushing against Kates ear. She could wait to enjoy the cute little blush that was starting to rise up her neck later. She then turned around and slung a casual arm around the man’s shoulders, her fingers digging into the pressure point just above his clavicle with a precise, calculated pressure that sent a jolt of surprising pain through his system. His eyes widened in shock.

“Hey, pal,” she said, her voice a cheerful, inviting purr.

“What the hell, lady? Get your hands off me.” his small, predatory brain struggling to process what was happening.

“Let’s have a little chat,” Shego cooed, her smile never wavering, her grip like a vise. She began to steer him away from Kate and towards the dark, narrow alley that separated the venue from the neighboring warehouse. He tried to struggle, but he would have a easier time trying to lift the Empire State Building or fuck an elephant with his microscopic…anyway she digressed.

The moment they were out of sight, the friendly facade dropped. She shoved him hard against the brick wall, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He gasped, his eyes wide with terror in the gloom.

“The only thing we’re talking about you pathetic cockroach is that you don’t touch what is mine.” Shego said is sweet singsongy way that felt very Ms. Go.

She looked at him shaking in terror. Actually sharing in terror—she’d never say it to Kate, but she took masocistic glee in the way his eyes went from anger to near tears begging her to be gentle.

And for this moment, she was gentle, she knew Kate would notice if she drew this out too long. She simply tapped a finger to the man’s head and with a quick flash of green he fell to the earth like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She rarely used this ability, but for moments that required subtlety or quiet efficiency this was perfect. She had probably on used it one other time in the last four or five years.

She emerged from the darkness, the green glow gone as if it had never been there. She was humming the melody to “billionaire buffet” under her breath.

“Alright, cupKate ready to….” she said, as if she were returning from the restroom, but paused to think. That was too close to one of the nicknames she used for Kimmie. Cinnabunn works, Katie works, but she was never one to settle on just two nicknames.

“Kate-Kat, you ready?” She self corrected.

“Huh?” Kate said and she almost wanted to coo at the way her face scrunched, she was getting in to deep. Shego thought, the pit growing in her stomach. She’ll ignore that for now.

“Like the Candy, Kit-Kat, because you’re so sweet.” Shego said nonchalantly.

Kate laughed and they made their way to the car. The drive back to Kate’s neighborhood was quiet. Shego drove with a practiced ease, her mind replaying the night. The concert had been a success. The nuisance had been neutralized. But as they pulled up in front of Kate’s dark, sleeping suburban house, a new, far more complicated tension filled the car.

The moment stretched, timeless. The space between them was a live wire, crackling with a potent, terrifying energy.  Shego looked at Kate, gaze flicker down to her lips uncontrollably until she caught herself. Kate must have noticed, because she was blushing. Still neither of them did a thing. Her body screamed at her to close that distance, But she couldn’t, It was too much. She knew that this would only be a friendship. Her life, even on pardon, was not accommodating to anything beyond friendship. Then, Kate leaned across the console, and Shego’s heart seized, thinking the girl would take the choice away from her. But she just wrapped her arms around Shego’s neck, a hug that was hesitant but still filled with warm affection.

“I had… I had a really good time tonight, Sheila,” Kate said.

“Me too,” Shego said, forcing her voice to stay even.

‘Hey…Maybe…we could, go hang out again, I don’t have Many friends so…it would be nice to…grab dinner maybe?” Kate stammered looking down playing with her hands unable to meet Shego’s gaze.

She didn’t see the soft smile on Shego’s face, or the slight blush that she would never admit happened. Shego did however compose herself quickly and used her hand to apply gentle pressure  guiding Kate to look at her in the eyes. Shego leaned slightly closer and with a soft smile said,

“Sure, I’d—I’ll text you the details.”

Shego dropped her hand and leaned back.  She watched Kate walk up the path and disappear inside the house. She waited until the porch light clicked off, a silent sentinel in the dark. Then, she put the car in gear and pulled away, her calm, controlled facade holding until she was blocks away, out of the quiet, sleeping neighborhood.

She drove to the secure, private parking garage of the airstrip. She pulled into her designated spot, the powerful engine of the Mustang dying with a low rumble. She was safe. She was alone.

With a low groan of pure, unadulterated frustration, she leaned forward and banged her forehead against the cool, leather-wrapped steering wheel.

“Why,” she groaned to the empty, silent garage, her voice a low, miserable thing.

“Why does she have to be so… so goddamn cute?”

Then she stopped and realized something. What she said to that man in the alley.

“…what is mine.” Why did she say that, why would she say that—it had to be—she could have sworn she said “my friend”, but replaying in her head. She knew what she said.

“Fuck!” She said with a final thud, her head hitting the steering wheel again. This friendship was going to be harder than she thought.

Chapter Text

“I’ll hold my breath and take the dive, There's no way to know if we'll survive. But the thrill alone makes me feel alive,” Kate sang as she played the guitar lead on her violin while dancing.

It had been a few days since the concert with Sheila, and she had been listening to Flanger Moose on repeat. It just so happened that today they released a new song this morning called Dive. It didn’t take her long to learn the basic parts; from there, it was all over. Just like their other songs, the music struck Kate right in her heart. Since her parents were gone for the morning, she could take a moment or two to get lost in the music.

“The deeper we go, the more I see that we just might be meant to be, but my reckless wish could mean travesty. “

A punk show was the last place she expected to see a violin on stage. It opened her up to so many new possibilities for the instrument alone. Like that, Sheila had been opening her mind to so many possibilities. From her manuscript to her music tastes. Sheila made it so easy to drown in her presence. Kate had a small smile as she thought of the woman not caring this moment about her traitorous thoughts.

“Caught inside your warm embrace in the heart of a hurricane I can feel the air escaping, and it's driving me insane” She sang as song slowed for the verse, she was so absorbed she didn’t hear her sister Lynn knocking on the door.

“Hey Kate, can you help me with some—Kate, are you gay?” Her fifteen-year-old sister, Lynn, said, standing in the now open doorway. Kate jumped out of her own skin, almost dropping her violin.

“Lynn, what are you doing—why would you think that?” Kate shouted in shock, her sister pointed to the artwork for the song that was playing on YouTube. An image of Solaria and Eleanor Forte holding both hands together under water as they stared into each other’s hungry eyes.

“That and the lyrics that I’ve heard start to finish coming from your room about twelve times now are pretty romantic.” Lynn said, had Kate really listened to the song twelve times now?

“This isn’t a song about romance; they’re just friends, bandmates overcoming adversity!” Kate said face red as a tomato.

“Are they roommates too?” Lynn said with a raised eyebrow.

“What, I don’t think so?” Kate replied. Lynn laughed, shaking her head, muttering something about not getting the joke.

“What do you want, Lynn?” Kate said tersely while turning off the song.

“Well, I wanted your debit card so I could sign up for this Kim Possible meet and greet contest, but now I wanna know how you also found yourself exploring Narnia.” Lynn said with a confident but soft smile.

"Why do you need my debit card to enter a contest?" Kate said, hoping to divert the conversation. Lynn frowned.

"It's for charity, but seriously, after keeping my you know what secret for how many years, you don't tell me about this?" Lynn said.

"There's nothing to tell you. With a new fff … friend, I saw a concert of this band with a new friend, and I’ve been listening since,” Kate replies, trying to keep a straight face.

" New friend?" Her sister grinned at her.

"When did you meet this new friend? What’s her name?" Lynn said, leaning into the question, closing the distance.

"What do you mean...how do you know they are a she?"

"So who was the pretty lady who drove you home at midnight a few days ago?” Lynn asked, Kate's eyes went wide with panic. Did her sister see her with Sheila?

"What...what do you mean, you're usually asleep...how could you tell it was a woman?!" Kate sputtered. Her sister was never up that late unless she got absorbed in her TV shows, but then she should have been too absorbed to notice her late arrival.

"The windshield was clear." Lynn dead panned.

"That was just two friends going to a concert!" Kate replies.

"And the fact you stared at her forever before settling on a hug for some reason? Lynn said, but continued.

“Like seriously, I thought you were going to kiss her, but then again if Mom had seen, so I guess I get it,” Lynn said, shrugging.

“It’s not like that—we met at the conference and she offered to help with my book.” Kate tried to sound as confident as possible, but the look on her sister’s face said she wasn’t buying it.

“So…a Kim Possible meet and greet?” Kate said, Lynn sighed as she relented.

“Yeah, an expenses paid visit to Middleton and meet Kim with a group of people.” Lynn said beginning to vibrate with excitement.

“She’s never done a meet and greet before, who knows if she’ll do it again.” Lynn added her smile taking up the remaining space on her face.

Kate sighed and went to her purse to get her card. She pulled it out and started walking towards Lynn’s room. At least the subject had changed. They got to her sister’s room, that was covered in Kim possible posters.  She went to her sister’s computer and let Lynn enter the card information. The entry fee was only ten dollars so she figured why not—Lynn hugged her and was in the middle of thanking her when her phone got a text notification. She pulled out her phone a text from sheila asking if she had a moment to talk. Kate smile,

“So her name is Sheila.” Lynn asked,

“Yeah,” Kate said unconsciously while texting Sheila a yes. 

Kate should have expected that Sheila was going to call her. But she didn’t, and now Sheila was calling. Lynn ripped the phone out of her hand and put it on speaker. Kate wanted to scream, because of course Lynn had to answer before Kate was ready. She glared at her sister who gave her a wide grin.

“Hey Kat-Kat.”

“Hi Sheila.” Kate said.

“How you been?” Sheila asked.

“Good, been listening to that band you introduced me to, hear the new song they released.” Kate said trying to ignore the grin from her sister.

“…and what did you…think about it?” Sheila said, unusually hesitant. Kate frowned then her eyes flicked up to her sister whose grin got even wider somehow.

“It’s good, been playing it on repeat.” Kate answered honestly.

“Oh, good anyhow I have the details for restaurant, you free later tonight?” Sheila asked sounding more like herself.

“I am.” Kate said.

“Good I’ll send them over. See you then Cinnabun.” Sheila said hanging up as Kate blushed at the nickname. Not a moment later she got the address and instructions to dress, nice but not formal. Kate breathed a sigh of relief. Except when she saw the look on her sister’s face.

“Not a word.” Kate said,

Lynn looked at her head tilted pondering something. Whatever it was couldn’t be good.

“You mean about you have a date tonight?”

“It’s not a date we’re just friends, she’s been helping me with my manuscript.” Kate argued,

“That’s why she asked you what you thought of such a romantic song.” Lynn smirked.

“Another word and I’ll personally send an email to Kimpossible.com telling them to pick you because you have a massive crush on her and have since you were thirteen!” While she wasn’t the type to normally make a threat, Lynn always found a way of getting under her skin. Thankfully her sisters now red face means she won this bout.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Lynn said as Kate held her head high leaving the room. Although Kate did wonder why two of her parent’s three children suffered under the same temptation. As much fun as it was to argue with her sister, she didn’t want her and Lynn to be sent to bible reform camp. That was something she couldn’t do—not again and she wouldn’t let Lynn go through it. She would die first before that happened. Still she had a friend to meet up with and needed to get ready, even if dinner was over eight hours away. She didn’t want Sheila to think she was a slob.

“Have fun with your “friend” tonight Kat-Kat!” Lynn called out to her with a teasing lilt.

Clearly before getting ready, she had an email to write.

Chapter Text

Kate had arrived at Mucca Osteria ten minutes early, a product of her own anxiety. She wore her nicest dress, a simple navy-blue A-line that she usually saved for church on Easter. The outside of the restaurant was massive glass windows that doubled as the outer walls. Inside, the building was made of exposed brick. The tables all had crystal glasses and white tablecloths. Very modern, very chic. The sound of clanking glasses and hushed conversation all added to the white noise that was beginning to make the sinking feeling in her stomach. Then, Sheila arrived.

Sheila was wearing a dark forest green cocktail dress with black heels. Her makeup was subtle but flawless, and her dark hair was pulled back in a way that highlighted the elegant line of her jaw and her piercing green eyes. 

Kate’s breath caught in her throat. She felt a blush creep from her neck all the way to the roots of her hair. She opened her mouth to say hello, but the only sound that came out was a faint, embarrassing squeak.

The waiter guided them to their table, and Sheila pulled Kate’s chair out for her. 

“Kate,” Sheila said, her voice a low, gentle murmur as she slid into the chair opposite Kate.

Kate finally found her voice, but her voice was still a little shaky. “You … you look amazing.”

“You clean up pretty good yourself,” Sheila replied with just a small amount of the snark she had grown accustomed to.

The dinner that followed was the most natural, engaging conversation Kate had ever had. Sheila asked about Kate’s family. 

“I have my parents, my sister Lynn and our youngest Mary,” Kate said.

“And what are they like?” Sheila asked, taking a sip of her wine.

“My parents are … well…they are what they are, but Lynn and I are close.” Kate said,

Sheila gave her a soft smile  and took a bite of her gnocchi. She set her fork down and leaned into her words. “That’s good. What’s she like?” 

“A brat is what she is…” Kate said, remembering the teasing she got from her sister. 

The upside was that Sheila was clearly amused by her response if the melodious giggle the older woman gave was any sign. Which she really hoped was, because she didn’t think Sheila could make such a cute noise. Not that sheila wasn’t cute, she definitely was…in a platonic sense, obviously…but usually gorgeous, breathtaking, beautiful, or enrapturing were the primary adjectives she would use…in the platonic…Kate sighed, she really got her stuff together. She couldn’t, shouldn’t…

“Everything okay?” Sheila asked, looking at her head slightly tilted. 

“Yeah…” Kate started then made a sheepish smile, “Just remembering how she practically blackmailed me today.” 

“How so?”

“She … In short, she convinced me to lend her my debit card to sign up for a Kim Possible meet and greet contest.” Kate said, and Sheila froze.

“Oh, she’s a fan?” Sheila said, her voice more hesitant than before—almost as if expecting something.

“Yeah, a massive one, posters all over her room.” Kate rolled her eyes before adding, “Lynn’s actually had a massive crush on her since she was thirteen.” Kate said, shaking her head, “Personally…” 

The words hung in anticipation, Sheila not having moved a muscle. “I don’t get it personally, sure she’s saved the world. But it’s not like she’s all that and a bag of chips.” 

Kate’s eyes widened in shock when Sheila broke out into laughter, ending in a snort that again, was more adorable than Kate would ever be willing to admit. The rest of their conversation went smoothly they talked about her hometown, and her artistic influences. She listened with an unnerving intensity, her green eyes focused and attentive, making Kate feel as though her opinions on the paper weights for watercolor were the most fascinating subject in the world.

Kate, in turn, found herself talking more than she usually did, her initial nervousness melting away under Sheila’s focused attention. That was until she talked about Blackwell, about the specific classes she was eager for—and then they got to photography. 

“Apparently, they got a new guest professor this year.” Kate said, 

“Yeah, I saw that on the website. Who did they pick?” Sheila asked.

“You went on their website?” 

“When you mentioned you were going there, I got curious.” Sheila shrugged and Kate nodded.

“They got someone named Mark Jefferson to teach it.” Kate continued.

Sheila’s fork dropped, the clang echoing through the ambient hum of the restaurant. “I see…”

“Have you heard of him?” Kate asked, 

“I have...” 

“Do you not like his work?” Kate asked. 

“Have you seen his work?” Sheila said a bit more clipped than she intended, making Kate shrink. “Sorry…” Sheila apologized. 

She reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. Kate frowned. This couldn’t be good. “Sorry, this is just something I want to make sure you have the context of what I am explaining. I’m not trying to be rude. I just want you to understand … where I’m coming from.” Sheila said more flustered than Kate had ever seen her. 

“Tell me, Kate, what do you think about this—does an artist’s work reflect the world around them or simply their worldview?” Sheila asked, and Kate had to take a moment to think about the question.

For her—her art was always a reflection of either herself or what she wanted to see in the world. It was less about just being the reflecting world around her or her worldview but more about her—

“It would be more about their relationship with the world, wouldn’t it?” Kate said.

“Exactly.” Sheila smiled, making Kate feel a bit lighter. Sheila continued, “and to an extent, would you believe at some level art is a reflection of self?”

“Yes.” Kate nodded.

“One of the key features in art is the concept of power, no?” Sheila said.

“Yes, commonly studied by Banksy, Barbara Kruger, or Simone Leigh,” Kate added.

“Exactly, now I want you to look at something.” Shiela set her phone on the table as it projected a holographic six-inch screen between them. The tech it self must have been its own art form because she could have sworn something like that was only possible in science fiction. “These are the works of Mark Jefferson,” Sheila said, tapping the hologram a few times and pulling up a file. 

“You just have these on hand?” Kate asked.

“I do a form of government contracting, so I could have a lot on hand if I really wanted to, and he’s famous in some…unfortunate circles I’ve had the displeasure of coming across.” Sheila said as the photos expanded across the scene. Sheila clicked on one, and it enlarged to fill the screen.

The first picture was looking over the shoulder of a police officer down at a young woman cowering before him. It was in gray scale with the shadow of the man beginning to cover the woman. Sheila the swapped to the next photo.

Normally a photo like this would make her blush, but something was off…about it. The way the side profile of the man holding the…young woman’s chin in what should have been a romantic gesture preparing for a kiss felt more predatory as the camera was looking up at him on a diagonal, the man’s eyes seeming hungry while the woman’s just nearly in view were wide…almost terrified. The next few photos were like this—

“Notice anything?” Sheila asked. 

“They’re all young women, all viewed either from a place of weakness before a greater force or from the view of a greater force.” Sheila nodded and swiped to a different photo. 

“Tell me what you think of this photo.” Sheila said,

The photo in question being of a little girl holding a small stuffed rabbit in a war zone, the destroyed concrete wall spray painted with angel wings. It could have been a statement about innocence in war—but then she noticed something. The shot wasn’t straight on, it was subtle, but there was a slight downward angle looking at the girl.

Her eyes being the clear point of focus as the surrounding edges blurred slightly, it was a brilliant use of depth of field. You could say it was focused on the girl’s innocence—in whatever conflict they were in— but yet the photographer, Mark Jefferson’s shadow could be seen layered over the image. It made the whole thing seem almost voyeuristic. Like instead of highlighting the horror, it was fetishizing it. 

“I don’t think I like this one…” Kate said. 

“Tell me, Kate,” Sheila said, keeping her voice very gentle, “what would you say the relationship of power and the photographer of these photos is versus someone like Banksy?” 

Kate gulped, a pit setting in her stomach, and while she was nervous, the gentle hand sheila reached out and held hers with—while rubbing her thumb gently over the back of Kate’s hand in a soothing motion kept her feeling safe and at ease. Kept her able to answer,

“Banksy challenges the socioeconomic power dynamic between people and the governed. Banksy is anonymous. Leaving the art to be the focus, to show the subversion. He gives agency to both the art and the people while directly calling out the powerful.” Kate said.

“Good,” Sheila nodded.

“But this  — this is gross, like the photographer wants to be the one in power. Like they crave lording that power over the subject and in this last shot. There’s no anonymity, his shadow is like a massive signature of him lurking over this girl, instead of focusing on something profound like innocence in war, which is what at first glance I thought this was about—it just…if it wasn’t a little girl as the subject I’d say it was almost sexualizing innocence in war, but that can’t be the case right?” Kate said in one breath, having to take a few breaths before adding, “And they’re letting this man teach students?” 

“Universities tend to get a bit of leeway, the idea being to challenge a student’s mind and perspective, but that’s not why I wanted to show this to you. I wanted you to understand why I’m going to ask what I’m going to ask,” Sheila said, her voice sounding not like her normal confident self, but more wavering and unsure.

“Promise me you will never be alone in a room with him. If anything happens that even makes you slightly uncomfortable happens tell me. Please come to me with anything, Kate…I’d like to think we’re…at least….friends and I just…please promise you’ll come to me?” Sheila’s voice was soft, her eyebrows knit. Her tone was almost like a whine, a desperate pleading that felt so out of place on the woman, and yet so much protectiveness, reverence and care was put into the words Kate’s heart did a flip as she struggled a moment to reply.

“I’ll try,” Kate said. 

Sheila flashed a brief frown, but it was replaced with a soft, reassuring smile. “That’s all I ask,” Sheila said, putting her phone away. 

The dinner went back to something more normal, but the experience helped her feel safer, confident and a bit bolder.

“So what is it you actually do? You said you were a government contractor?”

“Something like that,” Sheila said. “I’m a freelance problem solver. I do risk assessment, hostile acquisitions, internal security reviews. That sort of thing.” Sheila said, and Kate nodded along. 

“It involves a lot of travel. I was in Paris last month. Saw the Mona Lisa.” She made a face. “It’s smaller than you’d think.”

Kate’s expression grew wistful. “I’ve never seen any of them in person. I mean, outside of books.” She looked down at her plate, a slight flush of embarrassment on her cheeks. “Actually… I’ve never really been to a proper art museum at all.”

She said it as if it were a shameful confession. “We had a small community gallery back home, but it was mostly local landscape painters. My parents… they’re wonderful people, but a trip to the city to look at paintings wasn’t really their idea of a fun Saturday.”

Sheila stopped eating. 

“We should fix that,” Sheila said, her tone decisive.

Kate looked up. “What?”

“The Portland Art Museum,” Sheila stated, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. 

“It has a surprisingly robust collection of European art, and a fantastic Native American wing. I’ll take you.” She saw the hesitation begin to form on Kate’s face and cut it off. “Next week. Before you get swamped with orientation and classes. What day are you free?”

Kate was floored. The offer was so generous. “Oh, Sheila, you don’t have to do that. You’ve already done so much. This dinner… it must be so expensive. I’d feel—”

“Don’t,” Sheila said, her voice firm but not unkind. She put down her fork and met Kate’s eyes, her expression uncharacteristically serious.

 “First of all, let’s be clear about something. Money is not an issue. My previous career was… lucrative. I have more of it than I could ever possibly know what to do with. So don’t ever feel bad about me spending it.”

She paused, and the next words seemed to cost her a bit more. They came out quieter, a little more carefully. “And second… I want to. I’d like to think we’ve established I like spending time with you, Kate.”

“I… I like spending time with you, too,” Kate whispered, her smile so bright and genuine it was almost difficult to look at directly. “Okay. Yes. I’d love to go to the museum with you.”

Chapter Text

🧁-Kate: Hey! Super random, but my sister won the contest so my family is  going to be in Middleton tomorrow for the weekend. She's so excited! Maybe we'll see you around town? :)

Shego stared at the message, her blood turning to ice. The meet and greet. Tomorrow. Kate. Her family. Her little sister.

“Oh, no,” she whispered  before her voice grew to something just short of a scream “No, no, no, no, no.”

Global Justice, in its infinite wisdom, had decided once a quarter, they would stage a public “attack.” Because the PR would be good. This time she was crashing the Kim Possible charity meet-and-greet in a park in downtown Middleton. The plan was simple: Shego would crash the event mid-speech, deliver some witty, threatening banter, engage in a flashy but ultimately harmless fight with Kim, get theatrically “defeated,” and then fly off into the afternoon sky. Easy. Simple. A decent way to waste an afternoon.

When Kate told her about her sister entering the contest, she didn’t think her sister would win. But now that the text came in—she was in full-blown panic spiral. Kate would be there. She would be in the crowd, watching. She would see “Sheila,” descend from the sky with glowing green hands and try to vaporize the world’s most beloved teen hero. Work and personal were supposed to be separate damnit!

She texted Kate back,

“Oh, cool I’m not sure if I’ll be home this weekend due to work, I’ll keep you updated.” Then she waited as the three dots indicating Kate was typing back cycled at the bottom of her screen.

🧁-Kate:Oh…Ok, just keep me updated, if you are in we could maybe…meet up, I’m sure I could sneak away.

Shego smirked before replying, “Sneak away huh, one punk show and you’re already rebelling?” She really was a good influence, ha take that Hego!

🧁-Kate: Ha Ha very funny, if you want I’m sure I could convince them to meet you too :-P

Shego pursed her lips, that was the last thing she wanted. It was already bad enough she was friends with a civilian. Something in her gut told her that Kate’s parents wouldn’t approve of their nineteen year old college student daughter being friends with a known former super villain. She let out a scream into the void, throwing herself back into the couch. She starred at the ceiling for a minute trying to decide what to type back. After a few more moments she sat back up straight and typed,

“While I’m sure they would love that....Most people tend to try to avoid me, so I’ll spare them the effort of having to do it to my face.”

Kate started to type, then stopped for a moment, then the three dots started typing again.

🧁-Kate: I’m sure my family would like you as much as I would, anyway our plane is boarding, text you after we land k.

She highly doubted that, but texted back, “Okay talk to you after you land. I’ll keep you updated on the work situation”

Shego quickly pulled up Kim’s contact  to update her on the fact there was no way in a snowball’s chance in hell she was going to do that event now. She didn’t…couldn’t let Kate see her like that…There was a difference between knowing someone is a supervillain and seeing them be one. No she wanted, at least for now to keep things as they were…She put a hand on her the center of there chest trying to soothe the small ache that had started forming. Last thing she needed was to need to see a cardiologist. Though if this feeling persisted her hand would be forced. She hit the dial button,

“Hey Shego.” Kim answered.

“Hey, about the event tomorrow.”

“What about the event tomorrow?” Kim said.

“I can’t do it.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it; What are you talking about? Shego, we've been planning this for a month.”  Kim said her voice rising in protest.

“Something’s come up. It’s a personal matter. I’m unavailable.” Shego said.

“A personal matter?” Kim asked, her tone shifting from confused to suspicious. “What could possibly be more important than your love of publicly trying to vaporize me? What’s going on, Shego?”

“It’s none of your business, Possible,” Shego stonewalled, her jaw tight. She couldn't explain. Explaining meant telling Kim that Kate would be there.

“Is this about that writer you’re seeing” Kim asked, “Did she ask you to go apple picking or something?”

There were so many things wrong with what was just said. First apple picking, seriously. It was still summer for a good few months so the apples wouldn’t even be ready yet, and there was no soul on this world that could convince her to go do something as mundane and hallmark as apple picking. Then the image of Kate almost falling off a ladder, her face scrunched as she insisted on trying to grab some inanely perfect—no, that wasn’t the point. No one could convince her and Second off.

The way Kimmie said “seeing” was an absolute no. No, no , no, not at all. She did not like what the annoying pollyanna was implying. Not one bit. She and Kate were not…what that term implicated.

“First off Pumpkin, we’re not seeing each other, get that thought out of your mind.”  Shego growled.

“Shego it’s okay to have a—”

“My ‘social life’ is not up for discussion,” Shego bit out, the words like ice.

“I’m just not feeling well, sick, you know?” Shego said calmer.

“Fine,” Kim said, exasperated, sighing be adding. “Look. I don’t know what is going on with you,”

“Nothing, just sick princess, ate some bad food, should be good by the debrief tomorrow..”

“Okay, just rest up, I’ll see if I can have Drakken with some henchman do the job or something.” Kim said before hanging up the phone.

Shego breathed a sigh of relief. At least that crisis was over. She went to the kitchen to grab a quick snack. A few moments later a charcuterie board with a glass of pinot noir was set on her coffee table and turned on the perfect guilty pleasure tv show. The black list. She really loved Reddington as a character, he made a lot of sense to her. Reminded her of her…mom…well it didn’t matter, no point in reminiscing about a dead woman that died when their house was struck by that fucking god dammed fucking comet. She’d visit the cemetery next April like she did every year anyway. Shego closed her eyes and took a stabilizing breath wiping some stray tears before pushing the play button on her remote.

About four episodes later, she got a message from Kate.

🧁-Kate:Ugh, you won't believe this. Our flight out of Portland got delayed on the tarmac for hours and we just landed now. We're going to miss the whole meet and greet. My sister Lynn is totally devastated.

That’s right the meet and greet only supposed to be a forty five minute event. It was well passed over by now. She felt like shit; the guilt crawling its way from her stomach and out her mouth threading to bring her little snack with it. She opened up her phone and made a call,

“Hey Kim I need a favor.”

Chapter Text

Kate’s family had arrived at the hotel exhausted. The air of disappointment between them was like a cloying smoke that hung the heaviest around Lynn. Kate, desperate to do anything else, opened her phone and saw Sheila had replied to her latest message.

Sheila-: I’m sorry that happened. I’m out of town for work, but is there anything I can do?

Kate: Maybe talk on the phone later?

Sheila-: Yeah, I can do that- just lmk

Kate: Okay, will do. We just got to the hotel tho

Sheila-: Just promise me one thing 

Kate: sure what?

Sheila- never use the phrase “will do” again tyvm

Kate: Why?

Sheila-: One of my coworkers is named Will Du, and he is a total ass lol

Kate: Got it, hey g2g, my dad is getting our room keys

Sheila-: TTYL Cinnabun

Kate smiled at Sheila’s last message and put her phone away. Richard Marsh walked up to the receptionist at the front desk. 

“Two rooms under Richard Marsh,” he said, and the receptionist clacked away at her computer for a few moments then frowned. “Is everything okay?” He asked.

“Yes, sir, just give me a moment.” She said in an unsteady tone that wasn’t exactly reassuring. After calling the manager, who took a moment to arrive, she gave him a brief smile. “Please wait a moment; it appears your room isn’t quite ready yet.” The receptionist said.

Richard hummed briefly in frustration and said, “Uh, miss, I believe we had scheduled two rooms.” 

This is where the manager stepped in. “sorry sir. You’ve actually been upgraded.”

“Upgraded?” Richard asked. 

“Richard, what’s going on?” His wife Sharon asked. Richard turned to her and said.

“I’m not sure.” Richard then turned to the hotel manager and asked, “What do you mean, upgraded?”

“We got a call, and your room was upgraded. There’s not much more I am at liberty to say, but just give me one moment to see if they have the room ready.” The manager explained before dialing the desk phone, “Hi is the room ready yet? The Marsh family has arrived.” He waited a moment. “Okay, good. I’ll bring them right now.” 

He stepped around the desk and with a smile said, “It appears your room is ready. If you would just follow me.” He said. 

Richard motioned for his family to follow. The manager led them all to a separate elevator that was a bit more out of the way. You wouldn’t know it even existed if you were not shown where to go. The manager held the door for them at the elevator, and once they all entered, Kate noticed the elevator only had three buttons. As they stood in silence, Kate could feel her ears beginning to pop from the air pressure change. Desperate for a distraction, she asked, “What room did we get upgraded to exactly?”

“One of our three penthouse suites. You will also have access to our private VIP lounge via this elevator. It has a space for both kids and adults to relax as well as private access to our bar and restaurant’s VIP sections.” The manager informed them. Richard gave an impressed whistle. “The penthouse suite has a master and three additional rooms, a kitchenette, two private baths and a living room.” He informed them as the elevator opened, and he led them to a door on the far left side of the hall they entered. 

When the manager opened the door, they saw Kim Possible herself, standing there with a warm smile. Richard’s jaw dropped. His daughter’s subsequent shriek of pure, unadulterated joy was the only thing that convinced him he wasn’t hallucinating.

 However, a turning feeling in Kate’s gut made a very specific set of questions rise like bile. “Kim Possible… I… we just don’t understand.  While this is incredibly kind of you, why are you doing all this? just for us?”

“Who cares? It’s Kim Possible. She like really here!” Lynn interjected vibrating with excitement, but Kim’s bright, heroic smile faltered for a fraction of a second. A flicker of panic flashed in her eyes.

“Oh! That!” she said, her voice a little too loud, a little too high. She let out a short, nervous laugh. “Right! The ‘why’! It’s actually a really funny story! Well, not funny ‘haha,’ but more like, ‘what a strange and totally plausible coincidence’ funny!” Kim sputtered out.

“Uh huh...” Kate said.

“See, there was this… this donor! A person! A very generous person, who gives money. Anonymously! Super, super anonymous, you would not believe how much we do not know who this person is! It’s a complete mystery!” Kim continued to ramble, turning as red as her hair. Kate thought the poor woman—who looked surprisingly young, about her age if she was honest—was going to run out of breath. However, that didn’t seem to be the case.

“Anyway!” Kim pressed on, talking faster now. “This donor, who again, is a total enigma, just happened to be at the Portland airport yesterday—which is a place people are, so that’s normal—and they have very good hearing, I guess, and they overheard your daughter, who is so sweet, by the way, just a total gem! Being sad about missing the event and, uh, apparently, called us! On the phone! And they said, ‘Hey, Kim Possible! You need to make that kid’s day!’ Which is a little weird and demanding for an anonymous person, but they were giving a lot of money, so we thought, okay! So here we are!” She finished her rambling, breathless explanation with a huge, terrified, and completely unconvincing smile.

To Kate, the story was so bizarre, so full of holes, and delivered with the panicked energy of a student who hadn’t done the reading, that it was almost impossible to believe. However, in the end, it didn’t matter. She sighed at the same time Kim did, 

“Well… whoever this mysterious person is… please tell them they have our eternal gratitude.” Her father interjected.

The hour that followed was a blur of childhood dreams come true. Kim was perfect. She was engaging and endlessly patient with the star-struck, chattering sixteen-year-old. She signed everything Lynn put in front of her. There were several times when Kate honestly thought Lynn was going to slip and admit her crush right there in front of everyone. To her own relief, Lynn managed to avoid the accidental coming out. 

Later that night, Kate called Sheila from a nearby stairwell at the hotel, 

“You will not believe what happened today!”

“What?” Sheila asked.

“It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen, Sheila,” Kate gushed. “Lynn was so happy, she was practically vibrating.”

She heard Sheila moving around, closing a door, likely to get more privacy since she was out on some kind of work trip. 

“That’s a crazy story. Glad it all worked out.” Sheila said. 

“It was, though…” Kate’s voice trailed off, a note of thoughtful confusion entering her tone. “…it was a little strange.”

“Strange how?” Sheila’s voice was slow, deliberate and searching for something.

“When I asked her why she did it, she got all weird and flustered. She told a really rambling, nonsensical story about an anonymous donor who overheard us at the airport. It just… it felt like she was making it up on the spot. A really bad lie. It was weird.” Kate said.

She heard Sheila let out a small scream as there was a banging sound. Kate heard Sheila mutter something away from the phone. 

“Probably just a weird day for her,” Sheila  said quickly, her voice a little too tight. “She apparently had a fight with a villain that crashed the meet and greet.” 

Kate hummed a moment, and then responded, “Who crashed it? Who was it? That one lady she always fights what was her name again…Lyn would remember…Oh, right, Shego I think?” She asked out of genuine curiosity.

She heard Sheila almost shouting, “What—wasn’t even there—it was Drakken how could—mistake—for—the idiot—is blue!” The call was breaking up, so Kate moved to a different area. 

“Sorry the call broke up a bit. I didn’t see it; we were on the plane still, remember?” Kate replied, 

“Right, sorry.”  Sheila said, her voice softer and wavering with guilt. 

“No worries; how did you find out about that?” 

“…Uh, any time pri—possible fights someone its global news Katekat.” Sheila said that, as the nickname gave Kate butterflies, she hadn’t quite decided if they were good or bad. 

“So…we still on for the museum?” Kate said in a singsong tone.  She frowned afterwards. She didn’t know why she said it like that—she did, but no, she was just excited for the trip….and to spend time with Sheila. Which was totally normal—to be excited to spend time with your friends. Kate paced back and forth trying to get rid of some of the nervous energy she had growing in her stomach and…other places. She closed her eyes and bit her tounge. She would not allow herself to risk such sinful thoughts developing.

“Obviously...” Sheila said a bit faster than Kate had expected, not giving her time to recover so she blurted,

“Good, also don’t eat beforehand I want to buy you lunch,”

“Yea we can grab lunch,” Sheila said amicably. 

“No, I am buying you lunch.” Kate said in a unusually firm tone. She didn’t know what it was about Sheila but she always felt more confident around her. Even through the phone her body seemed to relax with the sound of the other woman’s voice, even if her heart raced a thousand miles an our. She’d never been able to be this firm and direct with anyone. She sighed internally, silently wondering what about her made her feel so much confident.

“Why, I can—”Sheila started to say, but Kate cut her off.

“No, you got the tickets and paid for dinner, the least I can do is—” 

“You know you don’t have to—” Sheila said, but Kate cut her off again

“But I want to.”

“It’s not a…It doesn’t have to be even, I don’t care if—” Sheila started to say but Kate calmly interjected, 

“I want to because your…my fr…iend and I want to.” Kate said with a finality that had Sheila relenting. They talked for a bit longer before Kate had to go.

“See you next Saturday; can’t wait.” Kate said. 

Chapter Text

“You are such a shit liar, Kim!” Shego said, crossing her arms, glaring at her former rival turned coworker and begrudging friend. 

“Why did I even have to lie Shego, it’s not like—how did you even know about Lynn missing the meet and greet in the first place?” Kim practically shouted. 

“That’s not important. I told you to keep me out of it! How does a professional spy—how are you such a shit liar?” Shego said, beginning to pace the room.

Kim was about to reply when Betty came in, and the both took their seats. Betty turned on the monitor and pulled up the information for the mission briefing.  She began to debrief on some generic mission that they had to do something along the lines of infiltrate some North Korean development for some kind of bullshit weapon Shego couldn’t even begin to care less about—It was hardly a mission worth their time or skill. Shego only began to really pay attention once the 

“The timeline is critical,” Dr. Director concluded, her tone leaving no room for negotiation. “The intelligence suggests they are planning their first full-scale launch test within the next ten days. We need that data before then. You and Kim will leave in forty-eight hours. The mission is estimated to take one week, including infiltration and exfiltration. Questions?”

Kim was already nodding, her mind clearly running through checklists and strategies. “I’ll start prepping our gear packs. Standard insertion kit?”

“Correct,” Dr. Director affirmed.

Shego, however, was silent. Her mind was a flurry of calculations that had nothing to do with mission parameters. Forty-eight hours. That was Thursday. A one-week mission. That would take her through to the following Thursday. The museum trip with Kate was this Saturday. Four days from now. A burning, sharp refusal formed in her chest. No. Absolutely not.

“I can’t make it,” Shego said, her voice flat. As silence descended on the room.  

“Excuse me?” Dr. Director’s voice was dangerously quiet. Her single eye narrowed into a dangerous slit.

“You heard me,” Shego said, crossing her arms again, a defensive posture. “I’m unavailable. I have plans. Send pumpkin with one of your other trained monkeys.”

“This isn’t a social invitation, Shego,” Betty snapped, her voice cracking like a whip. “It’s a matter of global security!”

“A crackpot general from what amounts to a third-world nation with a shiny new rocket barely qualifies. The world will still be here in a week. I, however, have a prior engagement. It’s important.” Shego said, her own temper beginning to flare. 

“Important?” Betty took a step closer to the table, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. “More important than preventing a rogue state from acquiring first-strike capability?”

“It’s personal,” Shego bit out, hating how defensive she sounded. Hating that she was having this conversation at all. She could feel Kim’s eyes on her.

“Personal business is not the concern of this organization,” Betty stated coldly. 

Shego narrowed her eyes back at Dr. Director and snapped back, “You don’t own me, Director. My time is my own, and I have plans this Saturday.”

Betty’s whole body tensed; her expression hardened from anger into deep suspicion.

“What is it, Shego?” she said, her voice low and dangerous. “What  personal business could supersede a mission of this magnitude?”

Shego sat back and her chair and grumbled while crossing her arms. “I though my contract said something about a work life balance I didn’t realize taking a beautiful woman to a museum was any concern to global security” Not realizing she had spoken a bit too loudly, she was about to fire off her actual response but stopped dead when she saw the wide-eyed expressions of both I’m and Betty.Her blood ran cold. She could feel the heat rising in her face, a mortifying, uncontrollable blush. She had just handed her enemies all the ammunition they needed. Kim’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline, her mouth falling open slightly. Dr. Director’s head tilted, her single eye boring into Shego with an expression of pure, unadulterated disbelief.

“A museum?” Dr. Director repeated, her voice dangerously soft. “A… beautiful woman?” She took a step forward, her voice rising with incredulity. “Let me be clear. You are jeopardizing international stability… for a date?”

“It’s not a date!” Shego said as her voice cracked. The blush on her cheeks deepened to a deep dark forest green. “It’s not! It’s a… a pre-arranged cultural enrichment opportunity! With a friend!!” The excuse was so transparently pathetic that even Shego cringed as she said it.

“Dr. Director,” Kim said, her voice calm and steady, drawing the Director’s focus. “May I suggest a compromise?”

“This is not a negotiation, Ms Possible,” Betty growled, though her attention was now split.

“With all due respect, Director, it might have to be,” Kim countered smoothly. She was in her element now, mediating a crisis. “The intelligence about the launch window is an estimate. Ten days. A delay of our departure by, say, a few days, would not push us past that window. It would still give us ample time.”

“The risks–”

“The risks of sending a compromised team in are greater,” Kim cut her off, her tone respectful but firm. “Shego is clearly… distracted. Going in with this level of internal conflict is a recipe for disaster. We need to be a hundred percent focused. Both of us.”

She glanced at Shego, whose furious, embarrassed glare could have melted steel. 

Betty waited a moment, and then finally sighed, saying, “This is the first time she has asked for any kind of personal consideration. Whatever this… opportunity… is, it’s clearly significant to her. A happy, stable asset is a reliable asset.”

“Fine,” Betty conceded, the word clipped. “The mission is postponed. Deployment is moved to 0600 this Sunday. That gives you your Saturday, Shego.

“Dismissed,” Dr. Director snapped, turning her back on them and reactivating the hologram, the matter already closed in her mind.

Kim and Shego walked out of the briefing room in tense, awkward silence. The heavy door hissed shut behind them, sealing them in the quiet, sterile corridor. Shego stared straight ahead, her jaw tight, her entire posture radiating humiliation and anger. She just wanted to get to her jet and fly away.

Kim walked beside her for a few paces before speaking, her voice carefully neutral. “So. A cultural enrichment opportunity, huh?”

Shego shot her a venomous glare. “Not one word, Possible.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Kim said, holding up her hands in a gesture of peace, though the corner of her mouth was twitching. They reached a junction in the hallway. Kim stopped, leaning against the wall, forcing Shego to stop as well.

“It’s the woman you’ve been seeing, isn’t it?” Kim asked softly. “The one you told me about.”

Shego’s gaze flickered to the floor. “We’re not seeing each other the way you’re implying, but yes.” 

A genuine, warm smile spread across Kim’s face. “Hey. For what it’s worth… I’m really happy for you.”

Shego’s head snapped up, her expression a mixture of confusion and defensiveness. “There’s nothing to be happy about. I told you, it’s not like that. We’re just… people who have conversations sometimes. It’s not a big deal.”

“Shego, you just went head-to-head with Dr. Director and delayed a mission to clear your schedule. It’s a little of a big deal,” Kim countered gently. “You don’t have to admit it to me, but you don’t have to lie, either. It’s okay to have someone.”

“There’s no one to have,” Shego scowled, the denial a reflex, a suit of armor she couldn’t seem to take off. “We’re just friends.”

“Okay,” Kim said, nodding, her smile not wavering. She knew she wasn’t going to win this argument. “Okay, ‘just friends.’ So what’s your ‘just-a-friend’s’ name? You never actually said.”

The question caught Shego off guard. She had guarded that one last piece of information so closely.

She let out a frustrated sigh, the sound echoing in the empty hall. “Kate,” she grumbled, the name barely a whisper, a concession spoken through gritted teeth.

Kim’s smile widened. “Kate,” she repeated, as if testing the name. Then the annoying little redhead’s eyes widened.

“ Like the sister of that kid, who missed the meet and greet?” Kim said with a shit-eating grin that Shego was tempted to kick down Kimmie’s throat.

“Well,” Kim said, turning to head down the corridor. “That certainly explains a lot, actually.” Kim said as she began to walk. Once Kim reached the door, she shot Shego a final, sparkling wink over her shoulder and said, “Have fun on your not-a-date… with Kate.” Before she disappeared behind the door that closed after her. Kim’s cheerful footsteps echoed away.

Shego was left alone in the silent, sterile hallway. She was fuming. She was mortified. And underneath it all, a strange, unfamiliar warmth was spreading through her chest. The mission was postponed. Her Saturday was safe. She leaned her head back against the cool steel wall and closed her eyes. A small, involuntary smile touched her lips before she scowled it away. It was without a doubt the stupidest and best thing she had done all year.

Chapter Text

“Keep running, Lynn!” Kate yelled as she and her sister ran from the man who tried to rob them. They had just been finishing up their Friday at the Portland library because Lynn had a summer project for an AP course she was going to be taking. On their way back to the bus station, a creepy guy in a trench coat pulled a knife on them and demanded money. Kate kicked him in the groin, and they were off to the races.

“Where are we, Kate?” Lynn screamed.

Kate looked back, still seeing the man running after them. “Don’t care, keep running and hope God puts us in a good spot!” she screamed while running and starting to look around. And as if her prayers were answered, she felt the area seemed familiar. She ducked and pulled Lynn through an alley and took a hard left. She kept running, hearing her sister cry in pain from how hard she was pulling her arm, but she kept running until the burning in her legs threatened to turn them to complete jelly. They both stopped breathing hard. 

“Woah there, is everything okay?” A familiar gritty feminine voice said. Kate looked up to see the girl from the punk show. All decked out in her attire, dark makeup and sporting some new eyebrow piercings. They looked good on the girl. She looked around and saw the vine-covered brick building and the sign above the door that said Robinson Park. God really came through this time.

“Joss?” Kate said, still gasping for air. 

“Got it in one, church girl, but why are you—” Joss said but looked up when a voice screamed out, 

“Get back here, you little bitch.” 

She saw Joss’s eyes widen, but she remained calm and whistled a very distinct tone. It wasn’t long before the bouncer from before and about five other fairly tough-looking tattooed guys covered in leather or denim jackets, spikes and combat boots came rushing out. Joss pointed out the man running after Kate and her sister. That was all they needed to run off towards the man. Joss then dragged her and Lynn into the club. 

 Joss sat them at the bar and waved over the bartender. 

“Are you two alright? What happened?” Joss said, actual concern in her voice.

“We were getting home from the library when that fucking prick decided to try to rob us!” Lynn said, 

“Lynn!” Kate chided. 

“What it’s true! Also, Katie was a total badass. She kicked that fucker in the balls and, well, you saw the results.” Lynn said vibrating and Kate was about to admonish her sister again but Joss got ahead of her.

“Fuckin A, nice going, Church girl!” Joss held up a hand for her, which Kate reluctantly high fives, but then Joss’s face fell slightly. “Also, I wanted to apologize about earlier; I wasn’t in a good place that day,” Joss said, her tone genuinely apologetic. 

“It’s okay; you don’t have to worry.” Kate said with a soft smile.

“It’s not, it’s just—” 

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to…” Kate said, but Joss held up a hand.

“No, you deserve to know why I was such a bitch,” Joss said and continued her story. “I…my dad found out I was gay when he caught me looking at some lesbian porn. He tried to send to a Bible reform camp that same day, so I ran away; I ran here…” Joss’s voice fell to a near whisper as she finished her story. 

Kate reached out to her gently and replied, “I’m sorry that happened; nobody deserves that.” The steel in her voice was unusual, but in her mind Kate remembered some of the summer camps her own parents sent her too—she looked at Lynn, her conviction to never let her sister go through the same experience began to overlap with her concern for the surprisingly young girl in front of her.  Not that she was getting a good look at her, but she looked to be about Lynn’s age. 

“Thanks,” Joss said. 

“Kate, where are we? Who is this?” Lynn cut in now that she had caught her breath and had time to process everything.

Joss smiled and spread her arms out wide. “This is Robinson Park!” She declared and swept her arm, showing all the sights. The bar, the tables, the stage and the concert floor. “A home away from home, a refuge for the abandoned, the place where punching a nazi’s teeth in not only ay but encouraged!” Joss said, before taking a dramatic bow in front of Lynn, “and I, my fair lady, am Jesus of Suburbia—or Jos for short.” She said with a toothy grin that had Lynn giggling. 

Lynn turned to Kate and asked, “How did you find this place?” 

“This is where the concert Sheila took me to was,” Kate said, and then Joss smiled.

“And she’s been coming at least once a week since,” Joss said, but paused and tilted her head. “though I haven’t gotten a chance to actually talk with her since she basically never leaves the pit!” Joss added.

“The pit?” Lynn asked. 

“The mosh pit.” Joss rolled her eyes but smiled, “though how she manages to do it in those skirts is something I will both never know, but somehow always be impressed by.” 

Lynn blinked for a moment, looked at Kate, rubbed her eyes and looked at her sister again. “I think you just destroyed my entire worldview.” Lynn said.

That was when the bartender came and asked them what they wanted to drink. Well, what Lynn wanted to drink, because Joss got an IBC Root Beer and Kate a Killebrew root beer.

“Just water I don’t have—” Lynn started to say, but Kate cut her off and put a non-alcoholic drink menu in front of her.

“I have a tab, don’t worry.” Kate said, as Lynn looked at Kate, who nodded reassuringly. Lynn started to look over the different options.

“By the way, Church Girl, geese we really need to get you a shorter name. I’d say CG, but we already have one of those…Anyway, next weekend, Firewalk is doing a show. Think you’ll be coming?” Joss asked, 

“Assuming I  don’t have anything else going on, sure.” Kate replied with a naturalness that unnerved her sister, who ordered a cherry ginger beer.

They ended up talking for a bit, and Kate and, surprisingly, Lynn were able to get Joss’s phone number. Though Joss seemed fairly flirty with Lynn. Kate smiled, knowing she’s finally have a bit better leverage over her than a celebrity crush.  Their conversation was interrupted when Kate’s phone rang. 

“Hi, Mom,” Kate said.

“Hi honey, we just wanted to check in—I know you were at the library, but we wanted to see if you two were planning on being home for dinner tonight.” Her mom said, 

“Oh, sorry I forgot to text you. We were on our way, but I ran into a friend, and we started talking. Right now we’re actually about to see a small concert if that’s okay.” Kate asked, though leaving out the fact they were robbed at knifepoint seemed like a logical thing to do. She wasn’t lying…not really. 

“Okay, honey, but remember your sister does have an 11:30 curfew.” Her mom mentioned, 

“Do you think you could make it twelve thirty just for tonight, just in case the bus is late?” Kate asked. 

“Since it’s still summer, that will be fine just for tonight, but be safe, okay, Katie?”

“We will, mom..” Kate said, knowing that this bar, with these people, was almost as safe as when she was with Sheila.

“Okay, sounds good honey, love you and give my love to Lynn,” her mom said, 

“I will love you too, Mom,” Kate said as they both hung up the phone. Kate then looked at Joss and asked, “So who’s playing tonight?”

Both Joss and Lynn whooped with excitement.