Author's Note: This is the new and improved first chapter of 'More'! Admittedly, it's not very different, but the formatting has changed and we get to see a more graphic side to Buttercup's healing powers. :3 I'm so sorry I haven't updated in so long but this summer, you're looking at AT LEAST 6 chapters (hopefully). Keep reminding me to update with reviews, okay? :3
Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story line. Everything else belongs to whoever the hell created the PowerPuff girls. :3
Chapter One
Made for Each Other
Killing her and her sisters will make everything easier, right? It will make every little thing better.
For who? For him and his brothers of course. For his "fathers", he supposes. For every single villain in Townsville and everywhere else. Sure, he and his brothers aren't exactly villains anymore, but they've done shit. Deep, dark shit that nobody should ever hear and that they should never be forgiven for. Does he really want another strike on his already destroyed-beyond-repair record?
Maybe the headstrong girls will see some good in him and his brothers.
He could probably kill her right now and take complete control of the city despite what he and his brothers discussed. She's pinned right under him, almost the whole right side of her body shattered.
"Bet the X is fixing you really nice, doll," he twitches excitedly, tightening his grip on her broken wrist. The dull, erratic throbbing of her pulse tells him he has a few more minutes until she's completely healed, and he can't have that, now can he?
"Between now and the next, oh I dunno, seven minutes, I'll be able to do whatever the fuck I want to do with your body," he tells her, running his tongue along her cheek despite the blood and dust on her skin, "You won't be able to do a damn thing."
"You better kill me first," she forces out, and she winces as her body burns with every breath she takes. She looks right into his jade-green eyes, her own glazed-over emeralds darkening with accusation.
"Don't look at me like that," he growls, twitching again as he bends her already-broken wrist more, "It's like you expect me to murder you. Or torture you. I'm a lot of things, toots, but I'm afraid 'monster' isn't one of them."
"I fucking hate your eyes, though," he continues, twitching again, "And I hate your sisters' eyes. They're too much darker than ours. And we're the evil ones."
"Fuck you," she manages to spit out, "Fuck you and your brothers and everything you've done to us."
"I guess I'll have to live with it," he sighs, ignoring her and rolling his eyes, "We all will. We're made for each other, after all."
"What the fuck are you talking about?" she snaps, craning her head and angrily narrowing her eyes despite the ache it causes.
He answers her by pushing her deeper into the ground, keeping the right side of her body unhealed. "You curse too much."
"Stop that, you fucking asshole!" she orders, still too weak to shoot eyebeams.
"I was made for you, Buttercup," he says, twitching as he practically spits out her name, "And you? You were made for me."
"You're insane!" she yells, physically unable to do anything else, "You don't know shit."
"You don't believe me?" he questions, raising a jet-black eyebrow, "Oh, wait. Of course you don't. You're Buttercup. Headstrong, abrasive, infuriating Buttercup. It doesn't even matter if you believe it or not. That's the best part. You have no control. What's done is done."
He's got a smug smirk on his face and she wants nothing more than to spit in his face.
So she does.
He nonchalantly presses his knee into her stomach and she feels the need to vomit as he begins moving higher up on her body to give himself more leverage as he grabs a fistful of her hair to wipe the spit off.
"My brothers are probably giving your sisters a good talking' to," he says, getting off of her and dusting his clothes off, "And I'd say you've got enough X to finally heal yourself with."
Streaks of red and dark blue suddenly fly across the sky, landing right beside them.
The red Ruff lands silently, crossing his arms over his chest. He looks at his jade-eyed brother and the middle Puff in recognition but does nothing else.
"Damn, Butch," says the blue Ruff, in almost-disbelief, "If you were just gonna rough her up, you didn't have to take her outside city limits."
"We would've destroyed a bunch of buildings," grumbles the middle Ruff, as a blinding white light surrounds the ebony-haired girl while she heals herself, "You told me to avoid as much damage as possible."
He listens to her bones realign with sickening pops and cracks and tries to resist looking as her skin seams itself together again.
"Since when the hell do you three care about what you break and what you don't break?" she asks, scoffing as she spits blood out of her mouth, "You crumple buildings like paper."
"You didn't talk to her?" the garnet-eyed leader now asks his brother, eyes narrowing.
"I tried," defends the jade-eyed Ruff, holding his hands up in defeat, "The bitch doesn't listen."
"Is this some more of that stupid 'made-for-you' shit?" she asks, rolling her eyes as she stands up and dusts herself off, "Because if it is, I don't wanna hear it."
"Go home, toots," says Butch, shaking his head and rolling his eyes in annoyance, "We aren't following you this time."
And the RowdyRuff Boys fly into the sky, leaving nothing behind except streaks of red, dark blue and dark green.
The door slams shut as she walks into her living room, her sisters already home.
"He can't be trusted, Bubbles," comes the stern voice of the lead Puff, scolding the youngest sister for whatever reason, "You know what they've done."
"They aren't criminals anymore," the blonde defends, her sapphire-blue eyes almost desperate for her sister to believe, "Sure, they still cause a little bit of trouble, but it's nothing more than loitering or littering."
"Don't tell me Bloomers gave you a fucking 'made-for-you' speech," groans Buttercup, running a hand through her jet-black hair.
"Watch your language," snaps Blossom, eyes narrowing disapprovingly at her sister as she wraps her hand around the rosary hanging between her breasts after making the sign of the cross, "Our father, who art in heaven…"
"And it's Boomer, for your information!" adds Bubbles, almost screeching.
"I don't give a damn what his name is," spits the green Puff, wrinkling her face in disgust, "He's a piece of shit, just like his brothers!"
"I just said to watch your language!" growls Blossom, clenching her fists, "… Give us this day, our daily bread…"
"You don't get it, do you?" yells Buttercup, losing her temper, "We don't have souls! 'God' doesn't care about us!"
The blonde puff gasps, eyes going wide as she stares at the middle sister in shock before snapping to the leader. The black-haired girl's eyes widen as she realizes what she just said and then looks ashamed of herself.
"That language will not be tolerated here," says the red Puff, her ruby-colored eyes closing as she grips the rosary tighter, "Either you stop, or you get out of this house… But deliver us from evil. Amen."
"I'm sorry, okay Bloss?" sighs the emerald-eyed sister, feeling guilty and not willing to fight at the moment, "Butch just said some shi—I mean, stuff that made me mad."
"I think we can all agree that the RowdyRuff Boys made us quite upset today," responds the auburn-haired leader, nodding, "Brick proposed a truce today."
"A what?" asks the blonde Puff, jaw dropping.
"A truce," the ruby-eyed girl repeats, "Every villain in Townsville is strangely willing to cooperate. Even HIM."
"In exchange for what?" asks Buttercup, clenching her fists, "If we don't have to fight, what will we do? What if it's a trap?"
Blossom looks at her sisters, first Bubbles, and then Buttercup. She contemplates several scenarios, some ending well and other ending terribly.
"I don't know".
She floats in front of his window, silently contemplating whether or not to knock. She sees her counterpart lying on his navy blue bed, staring at the ceiling.
They proposed a truce, didn't they? It's safe for her to be there. It should be, at least.
Of course it's safe for me, she says, reassuring herself, They wouldn't do anything because of the truce.
She takes a deep, shaky breath before tapping on the window with her knuckles.
Her male double opens the window, his topaz-blue eyes widening in shock as he stares at her.
"Stop staring," she mumbles, shyly looking at the floor below her floating form.
"Sorry," he replies quickly, averting his gaze, "How do you know where I live?"
"Your house is kinda the only one connected to Mojo Jojo's lair," she says, still avoiding his eyes and face.
"Oh," he says, feeling dumb, "What's up?"
She sighs. "You all proposed a truce to stop us from fighting and gave us each speeches on being made for each other," she says, shaking her head as she tries to convince herself to believe it, "What's the catch, Boomer? What are we supposed to do?"
He says nothing to her but retreats into his room, beckoning her to follow. She flies in gracefully and lands on his plush carpet, looking around.
His room is relatively clean, save for a shirt or pair of boxers here and there, both of which she ignores, and canvases, paints, and other drawing materials in a corner. The walls are a nice, calming azure blue, but what catches her attention is his ceiling.
Painted onto it is a flawless cityscape of Townsville at night, its lights at their brightest and the sky resting above it at its darkest.
"Like it?" he asks her, bemused by her expression of wonder, "It took me weeks to finish."
"You did that?" she asks, sapphire eyes wide in shock.
"No need to act too surprised," he says, rolling his eyes, "But yeah, I did. I personally prefer abstract, or pop art, but I couldn't resist something like that."
"It's beautiful," she breathes, walking up to him, "Much better than any of my sketches."
"You really shouldn't be this close to me," he says, voice dropping as he moves his hand to stroke her platinum blonde hair, "This is my territory. I can hurt you more here."
"Are you going to?" she asks, closing her eyes and shivering as she unconsciously moves towards him.
He moves his hand away from her hair but doesn't step any farther away from her. "You should go home."
"But you haven't answered my question yet," she pouts.
"Once we start what we're about to do, we can't turn back, Bubbles," he tells her seriously, looking into her eyes for the first time that night, "I mean it. To stop would be worse than to keep going."
She wants to ask exactly what he's talking about when she catches him eying her body.
"Why that?" she asks, finally catching on.
"You were made to take my hits," he responds, running a hand through his dirty blonde hair, "I was made to take yours. Fighting neutralized our powers. You know our power builds up. You know we need to get rid of the excess power before it blows up. Training simulations will only last so long. Now that we're not fighting each other, we need something else."
"But this?" she asks, desperately confused, "I was raised abstinent."
"This is the only thing we can do with as much… physical effort, as fighting," he says, unable to find a better word, "If I really wanted you, I would've waited for you to come to me. This is just something we have to do. We can break humans, Bubbles. We can rip them to shreds by accident. But I can only hurt you as much as you can hurt me."
She tries to think of something, anything, but finds that she can't. His words are too real. They make too much sense. It's not very fair.
"I'm not asking you to love me. I'm not even asking you to like me, or want me. We have to do this. If there was a different way-"
She cuts him off and takes his face in her hands instead, crushing her lips onto his in an attempt to blur her mind from thinking about how dirty she feels because she doesn't love him as she reminds herself that this is her duty to the city.
"Don't stop."