A day full of ass-kicking was always long, and hard, but left Bubbles feeling satisfied. It was nice to fall into bed with sore muscles, full of happy exhaustion, and just not have to think. The feeling of accomplishment and the stink of sweat were the perfect combination.

In fact, she loved the blissful emptiness of those nights so much that she had taken to running, on those midweek days when their town was free of ne'er-do-wells and sea monsters. She would wake up early, pull on her tennis shoes, and take a long circuit around the city, making sure to cut through every possible park or garden. She loved the way it flexed her calves, and the rhythmic slap of her shoes against the pavement.

She had tried taking Buttercup along with her once, but her rougher twin hadn't gotten much from the experience.

"You mean, you don't even use superspeed?" Buttercup had asked, bewildered.

Bubbles flipped her hand dismissively.

"Of course not, it tears up the concrete and it goes against the whole point."

"Okay, but..why?"

Unable to explain, Bubbles had to practically drag her around the last few blocks. Buttercup groaned, periodically zooming ahead and falling back. So after that Bubbles mostly jogged alone. It didn't really do much to her physically, she was still built like a superhero and always would be, but she liked to think it did her good, whether or not her muscles were made of stuff too stern to be molded.

And this morning, like most mornings, she bounded her happy self through the front door around nine and said hello to her sister. Buttercup gave her a cheery hello back, leaning on the back two legs of the kitchen chair and lighting up a spliff.

"Hey there, Bubblegum. Anything going down outside this morning?"

Bubbles kicked off her tennis and sat in the opposite chair. She wrinkled her nose.

"Do you have to do that inside?" she asked defeatedly, already knowing what the answer would be.

As if on cue, Buttercup blew a practiced, skunky smoke ring across the table.

"Not like I can do it outside. One nasty picture in the tabloids and," Buttercup sucked on it deeply, "who knows."

Bubbles sighed, shoulders slumping.

"Yeah. But it's so pointless, you know? We can't even get high. It's dumb."

Buttercup shrugged and stabbed the joint out on a coaster. "So's your morning habit."

Bubbles had nothing to say to that, so she stole a triangle of her sister's toast like a petulant child and munched on it thoughtfully.

"It's so quiet around town. I hate it. Is that wrong? I mean, I shouldn't want banks to get robbed, or people to get hurt. I just..want something to do." Bubbles took a sad glance around at their apartment. It was lofty, and expensive, with a huge window through which to see the enormous emergency beacon that had replaced their blinkie-nose phone. But the two of them hadn't cared much to furnish it, so it was mostly empty, save for the 'stylish and chic' changes Blossom had insisted on making when she thought she was destined for decor design. Thankfully, after she had accepted the full ride to Citiesville University and stayed there to enthusiastically chase her various dreams, there were no more unexpected wallpaperings or gaudy modern art light fixtures.

The days passed mostly in silence. The girls would sit around, blow their monthly stipends from the city on ice cream and beer, and play cards. Bubbles wiled away the hours with exercise, while Buttercup spent more of her time exploring the seedy backstreets of Townsville, alternately beating up and gambling with the know-nothing thugs, crushing their dreams of being big-time gangsters before they even began.

On those nights she would come back with poker winnings and, on one notable occasion, a bloodied gold tooth, which Bubbles decided would be worth 50 chips in their own just-for-fun game.

But sometimes there were still disturbances, and the ladies hopped to action like there had never been down time. Slimy things still crawled from the deep and knocked down skyscrapers, there were still giant robots and, occasionally, old faces cropped up to wreak their usual havoc.

These tended to be the hardest, at least for Bubbles. Buttercup attacked old foes and new with the same unending relish, always with a smile. They even managed to be as efficient with two as they ever had with three, adapting their old attack patterns to compensate. But no matter how old Bubbles got, or how much she saw, there would always be things that triggered visceral childhood feelings.

At least one night a week, she would sleep feverishly, dreaming she could feel the tentacles of her stuffed octopus stretching and groping, speaking in the hideous falsetto she locked away in her memories, trying to control her. She would hurl the toy away from her, listen to it squeak as it hit the wall, and curl away from it, tossing and turning. Come morning, she would collect it, coo an apology to it softly, and tuck it back in bed, shuddering to herself and reminded herself that nothing could hurt her any more.

"No, I get it. There's nothing to do around this place when we're not fighting." Buttercup said. She considered for a moment, chewing her lip.

"We could tear down a gang or something. I think there's some punks starting trouble uptown." She raked her hand through her shaggy black hair. "You know, small-time shit. But never too early to put the fear of us into them, right?" She grinned.

Bubbles looked around at their messy kitchen, and thought about the one frozen pizza left in the fridge, and the long night she would spend eating it alone.

"Yeah, okay."

o.o.o.o.o