Remember me

Halfway there, Shego's determination began to waver. Her mind filled with excuses—each more convincing than the last—as to why showing up unannounced was a terrible idea. By the time she reached the Possible household, she was entirely convinced that the impulse had been a mistake. Without a second thought, she turned the bike around and began the ride back.

Or so she thought.

Torn between two impulses—go back and try to see Kim, or accept that Kim wanted nothing to do with her and resign herself to living in quiet misery—she didn't realize she wasn't actually heading home. She was just riding aimlessly, lost in a tangle of conflicting thoughts.

Frustrated and disoriented, she finally pulled over and looked around to get her bearings. She was close to the city center. With a sigh of resignation, she decided to wander the streets, letting the shop windows distract her.

She had barely walked ten minutes when she came across a flower shop—half florist, half nursery—with a display window filled with cacti. She stopped abruptly, transfixed. Without noticing, she stood there in silence, memories flooding her senses. A melancholic smile ghosted across her lips.

Shego had never cared for flowers or plants. Truthfully, neither had Kim—though she did enjoy a bouquet every now and then in romantic contexts. That's why Shego had made a habit of giving her flowers on special occasions. But cacti... cacti had become their favorite. For a while, they had been Kim's favorite too.

It all started when, in a rare moment of tenderness, Kim compared her to a cactus. She'd said it wasn't just the green that reminded her of Shego, but the spines—visible defenses, designed to protect a fragile heart within. At first, Shego hadn't appreciated the metaphor. But over time, as Kim gently dismantled her walls, it began to resonate. Then one day, Kim gave her a small cactus (one she still kept) and, with a look full of conviction, said:

"Do you know what else you have in common with a cactus? They're strong. They survive in harsh conditions. They can go without water for weeks. And you... you're strong too. You're brave. You've survived things no one ever should. You're incredible, Shego. And that's just one of the reasons why I love you."

It was the first time Kim had told her she loved her. One of the happiest days of Shego's life. From that moment on, the cactus became a quiet but powerful symbol of Kim's love for her.

—Sweetheart, is there a flower you're interested in? —asked an elderly voice from the doorway of the shop—. You've been staring at my window for a while.

—Oh... I'm sorry, I was just... —Shego left the sentence hanging as she hurried to wipe away tears she hadn't realized she'd shed—. Actually, yes. I'd like that cactus —she said, her voice trembling slightly as she pointed to the one that had triggered the cascade of memories.

With the cactus in hand, she returned to her motorcycle. After making sure it was safely secured, she started the engine and headed once again toward the Possible household—this time with a quiet but firm resolve. She was going to try to talk to Kim.

To her surprise, it was Kim who opened the door.

They didn't speak at first. As usual, Kim's eyes scanned her with a mixture of suspicion and something that hovered dangerously close to hatred. But for the first time in a long while, that didn't matter to Shego. Her heart flipped at the sight of her, and a nervous warmth bloomed in her chest.

When Kim noticed Shego standing there silently, hands hidden behind her back, she exhaled sharply in frustration. Without a word, she began to close the door.

—Wait —Shego said at last, quickly placing her foot between the door and the frame.

—What do you want? —Kim snapped—. My parents aren't home, and the twins aren't either. You have no reason to be here.

—I came to see you.

—Well, I don't want to see you.

—I know... —Shego admitted, her voice barely above a whisper—. But I wanted to give you this.

She pulled from behind her back the small cactus in its modest pot. It was simple, vibrant—seeming to hold the weight of everything she hadn't yet said.

—A cactus?

—Yeah. I know you like them...

The words hung in the air, laced with an uncertainty Shego couldn't quite mask. Truth be told, she didn't know if Kim still liked cacti. In the version of the past Kim remembered, they hadn't meant much. Their meaning had grown later... in the space they once shared. In the time when Kim helped her understand that even something covered in thorns could carry gentleness inside.

—How do you know cacti are my favorite? —Kim asked reflexively, more out of habit than curiosity.

But that question, so casual on the surface, ignited something in Shego. A flicker of hope. Could it be that fragments of her Kimmie were still buried somewhere within her?

—If you'd like, I can tell you how I know... —Shego offered softly—. I just need you to let me in.

—No. I don't want to talk to you.

Kim tried to close the door again, but Shego didn't move.

—Alright —she said gently—. But at least take the cactus.

—I don't want your cactus.

—Okay... I'll leave it here, in case you change your mind.

She took a step back and placed the pot carefully on the doorstep. Kim didn't respond, but neither did she close the door immediately.

—Goodnight, Princess —Shego murmured, a sad smile tugging at her lips.

It was then that Kim shut the door with a definitive thud.

Shego couldn't help but smile. That stubbornness—so infuriating—was also part of what she loved most about her. Even in rejection, Kim was fiercely, unapologetically herself.

That night, Shego returned to her apartment, cloaked in silence and shadow. But something inside her had reignited—a calm, unwavering resolve to keep trying. To earn her place once more in Kim's heart.

-

Three weeks had passed since Shego had given the cactus to Kim. In the end, she had accepted it—Ann confirmed it the next day when Shego stopped by for a visit. That day, she hadn't been well received. Nor the next. Still, she kept trying to speak with Kim every day that week, to no avail.

The following week, she scaled back her visits: only three attempts. On the first, she brought another peace offering—a limited-edition Pandaroo she knew for certain Kim didn't yet have. She summoned her courage and went to her room to deliver it in person. For a fleeting second, she saw it—a flash of joy on Kim's face. But the expression vanished almost instantly, buried beneath suspicion and irritation. Kim refused to take the plush toy and slammed the attic hatch shut on Shego's nose. Later, when Shego returned, Ann confirmed that Kim had kept it. That small revelation drew a quiet smile from the former villain's lips and renewed her resolve to keep trying.

The week after that, eager as she was to keep reaching out, Shego could only manage one visit. She believed she'd uncovered an important clue in the footage from the day of the accident and was fully immersed in preparing to pursue it. Her only attempt to see Kim came that weekend, at night.

Unannounced, she headed straight for Kim's window—just as she'd done so many times in the past. Her guitar was slung across her back—the same one she'd used in the hospital to compose a song for her. Once perched in the tree outside Kim's room, she began to play, singing softly the new melody she had written, hoping the music would speak what her words no longer could.

She saw the moment Kim recognized her and stormed toward the window, visibly annoyed. She threw it open and shouted at her to leave. Then, in a flash of anger, hurled the first thing within reach—the computer mouse—and repeated, with biting finality, that she never wanted to see her again. She slammed the window so hard Shego feared the glass might shatter.

The encounter doused her spirits like a bucket of ice water. It was Thursday now, and since that night, she hadn't so much as approached the Possible residence.

—Maybe I really should just leave her alone,— she murmured, addressing the cactus she was gently watering at that moment. —I don't want to give up... but maybe the right thing is to give her space.

She was still caught in that emotional crossroads when the sound of her phone snapped her out of her thoughts. A message lit up the screen.

"Your order is ready."

"I'll be there in thirty minutes."

Perhaps that was the answer she'd been searching for. Everything was in place to follow the lead she'd uncovered—one that required her to leave Middleton for a while.
She sighed, uneasy about the idea of distancing herself from Kim right now, yet at the same time, oddly relieved. This step would bring her closer, however marginally, to discovering who was behind all of this... and to ensuring Kim's safety once and for all.
Shego tidied her apartment, double-checked her gear with meticulous care, then made her way to Wade's house.

—Sheryl, come in. Wade's expecting you in his room.
—Thanks, Mrs. Load.

This was only the second time Shego had visited Wade's home—both times out of necessity, never by choice.

—Thirty minutes exactly. Impressive,— the young genius greeted as he opened the door.
—What's so impressive about being on time?— Shego shot back dryly. —Give me my device.
—Alright, straight to business then,— Wade replied, shrugging as he turned to retrieve the gadget from his desk. —How are things with Kim?— he asked, handing it to her.
—Fine.
—Ah. That bad, huh?
—What are you talking about? She's fine.
—You know I wasn't referring to her health.
—I don't know what else you could possibly mean,— Shego replied curtly, shutting the conversation down with a finality that Wade didn't find surprising.
Shego was a completely different person with Kim and the Possibles. But with everyone else, her walls remained firmly in place.
—The Kimmunicator is set up just as you asked,— Wade said, switching to a more technical tone. —It has all the original functions, plus a few enhancements tailored for you. For example, you don't have to worry about heat—this one's plasma-resistant. It also has a self-destruct function, triggered by a glow-based signal. Communications are secure: it only connects to me, and only when you allow it. It can't be traced. Not even by me. And it's fully camouflaged to blend with your suit.
—The new one?
—Yeah.
—Let's see it.

The young man, now noticeably taller and leaner, walked over to his closet. After entering a code, a hidden compartment opened. He pulled out a completely black suit, accented only by details at the collar and cuffs in Shego's signature electric green.

—This one's also designed to work seamlessly with your plasma. It absorbs impact energy and redirects it to your movements. It has a regenerative layer, too—resistant to minor cuts and capable of self-repair. That feature's limited, though.
—Excellent. Everything sounds good. But what I care about most is Kim. With the suit and the communicator... can I pass for her? Once activated, will it confuse any signal tracking her?
—Correct. Once you activate it, the system I built—alongside the one the twins set up—will generate a decoy signal. Anyone trying to track Kim will be redirected to you.
—Perfect. That's all I need.— Shego rose, the new suit and communicator in hand.
—When are you leaving? What's your first stop?
—Classified.
—Come on, Shego. You can trust me. I could help.
—No.
—Ouch.
—That's not what I meant. The fewer people involved, the safer Kim will be. And everyone else, too.
—Shego, no one else is involved. Just you.
—Exactly.

Wade let out a resigned sigh.

—Alright. Do it your way. But please... ask for help if you need it.
—Goodbye, Wade. And thank you—for everything.

Without another word, Shego left the room, then the house. Moments later, she was on her way back to her apartment, ready for whatever would come next.

As soon as she arrived, Shego began packing the essentials into a backpack. She didn't know exactly how long she would be gone, but she estimated at least a month. Even so, she packed only what was strictly necessary for a mission; everything else she planned to buy—and discard—along the way. Finishing took less time than she'd expected. She was ready. She could leave right then, if she wanted to... but she didn't.

She knew Kim wouldn't miss her, but she would undoubtedly miss being near Kim. More than anything, leaving without making things right left a persistent knot in her chest.

She picked up her backpack, then her cactus. She walked to the door, stopped before it, and stared at it for several long minutes—as if its surface might hold all the answers to the universe. Finally, her shoulders slumped in resignation. She placed the cactus gently on the small table by the entrance, left the backpack on the floor, and made her way to the piano. Sitting down, she began to play. The melodies had no direction, no purpose beyond soothing her mind. But inevitably, her thoughts drifted—as they always did—to Kim.

She had done everything in her power to ensure Kim's safety, even in her absence. And since the moment Kim had opened her eyes, Shego had tried again and again to reach her. She knew she had given her best. And yet, she couldn't shake the anxiety that gnawed at her insides. Was she forgetting something? Could she still do more? She didn't know.

Slowly, the aimless notes began to shift. The improvisations gave way to familiar melodies—pieces she had once written for Kim. Without meaning to, she started playing each one, one after the other, letting the music flood her with memories: laughter, touches, shared silences. All of it now felt so far away.

Then suddenly, she stopped. A spark of an idea struck with such force that she jumped to her feet, knocking the piano bench over in the process. Without picking it up, she rushed into her studio, grabbed a pencil and some paper, and began to write with the kind of determination born of last hopes.

She spent the entire night and morning working nonstop. When she finally finished, a quiet calm had settled over her.

She went to the door, picked up her backpack and cactus, and this time, left without looking back. She climbed aboard her hovercraft—camouflaged on the building's rooftop—and flew toward the Possible residence.

The midday sun was high and bright, but Shego didn't mind. On the contrary, she welcomed the warmth on her pale skin—a small comfort before what would likely be another painful goodbye. Upon arriving, she parked the hovercraft in the backyard and climbed up to Kim's window. She knew no one else would be home at this hour. And she also knew that Kim rarely left her room since coming back from the hospital.

She couldn't see her—not with the sun's glare on the glass—but she was certain Kim could see her.

She knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.

Finally, Kim opened the window with visible annoyance, her brow furrowed and lips pressed into a thin line of impatience.

—When are you going to understand that I don't want to see you?

—Maybe soon,— Shego replied, her voice low but steady, as if every word were a stone she had to push uphill.

The answer threw Kim off. She blinked, caught between fury and disbelief. —Another cactus? Seriously?

—This one isn't for you.

—So now you're just handing out cacti to anyone?— Sarcasm clung to every syllable.

—Don't get jealous, cupcake. You are the only one I ever give cacti to,— Shego said with a faint smile, trying to hide the tenderness laced beneath the nickname.

—Jealous!? What?! I'm not—ugh!— Kim clenched her fists, her face flushed with an emotion she refused to name.

—Relax, princess. I just wanted to talk.

—For the thousandth time, I don't want to talk to you.

—Please,— Shego pleaded, and her voice no longer held the confidence of a former villain, but the fragile cadence of someone on the verge of breaking. —Let me tell you my side. Let me explain why I keep showing up. Just listen. And if afterward you still want me gone—I'll go. I promise.

—Shego, I don't want to hear it. It's pointless. I won't believe anything you say. I don't want to. I don't care.

Shego lowered her gaze, swallowing the pain like crushed glass. When she looked back up, her smile was dim. —I figured you'd say that,— she murmured. Then, slowly, she slipped off her backpack and pulled out a small bundle of letters tied with a modest ribbon. —If you don't want to listen, I understand. But please, take these. Everything I need you to know is in them. Read them in your own time. I won't come looking for you again, Kim. Not for a long while. Maybe never. I'll only return if you come for me first. Please... read them. That's all I ask.

She extended the bundle toward her. Kim said nothing. She just stared at it. The air between them was still, frozen in tension.

Shego didn't push. She waited, with the taut patience of someone standing before their final judgment.

Kim's expression wavered—surprise, suspicion, and a flicker of curiosity that tried not to rise. But Shego saw it: the war behind those green eyes.

Kim slowly raised her gaze. For the first time since waking, she really looked at Shego. And something shifted. As though she were searching—desperately—for a lie that would justify holding onto her anger. But there was none. Only vulnerability. Sincerity. And a love so raw and intact, it was almost unbearable.

Without a word, Kim took the letters. Her eyes dropped briefly to Shego's lips—pale, bare of their usual black lipstick, trembling with everything she wasn't saying.

She stared longer than she intended. When that melancholy smile tilted ever so slightly into the lopsided grin she remembered, Kim's heart betrayed her with a stutter. A flush crept up her neck.

Flustered, she looked up—only to be caught in Shego's gaze again. Those green eyes burned with a tenderness that unraveled her, pulling her past the resentment.

Shego, caught in her princess's eyes, lifted a hand reverently. Her fingers brushed Kim's cheek—so lightly, it could have been a memory.

Kim flinched, taking a step back.

It wasn't rejection. Though she'd never admit it, that touch had shaken her. Shego's bare hand, ungloved, felt unfamiliar... and yet oddly known. Like a melody she'd forgotten but still knew by heart.

The moment fractured.

Shego understood. She couldn't linger. She watched the confusion in Kim's eyes fade, replaced once again by the armor of anger.

—I've taken your letters. Now, please leave.

Shego nodded. Her lips quivered, wanting to say more. —Yeah... Kim...

She wanted to say "I love you." But the words choked her. Too heavy. Too risky.

—Goodbye, Kim,— she whispered, her voice laden with everything left unsaid.

And then she dropped from the window, cradling the cactus in her arms like it was something precious she couldn't afford to break. She didn't even think about protecting herself. As always, it was easier to care for something that represented Kim... than to try to save herself from what she was feeling.

Then, entering briefly through the back door, she headed to the kitchen, grabbed a sticky note, and scribbled a message:

Please take care of it.
I don't know when I'll be back.
—S.G.

She stuck the note onto the pot and walked out toward her hovercraft—her heart once again in pieces, and her eyes brimming with tears.