Remember me

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shego didn’t answer, so Ann did.

—Yes, that’s her real name.

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

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

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

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

—I don’t want her here.

—Kimmie...

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

—Kimmie, at least listen to her...

—I don’t want her here.

Shego lowered her head and walked toward the door.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shego paused for a moment, not turning around.

—You know why.

—No, I don’t.

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

—Because I love you, Kim.

Kim’s gaze turned icy.

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

Shego sighed and walked out without answering.

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—Yeah. A song for you.

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

And then, Shego began to sing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In the end, curiosity won the battle.

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

But Shego already knew.

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

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

The door creaked open, slowly.

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

Shego kept singing, never looking at her.

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

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

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

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

—Yes, Kimmie?

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

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

Shego shrugged, utterly nonchalant.

—Yeah. Among other languages. Are you surprised?

Kim hesitated for only a second.

—No. I just wanted to know.

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

—Did you like your song?

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

—I didn’t understand a word.

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

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

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

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

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

—This is your real world, Kimmie.

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

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

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

From her bed, Kim listened.

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

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

A chill ran down her spine.

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

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

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

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

And she had no idea what to think about it.

A small part of her felt… pity.

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

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