It'd been nearly two days since the trial, and it was the day the Boys probation was to begin. I stood outside the doors of Townsville City Hall, checking off everything listed on my clipboard. I was the head of the camp counselors for this stay over summer group. A quaint little camp by the lake, about twenty miles outside the city limits, camp Mohawk was the children of Townsville's favorite summer camp.

I was dressed in the camp attire required, wearing the camp counselor's shirt in pink, thankfully the color for the girls this year, and some khakis shorts. They fit me nicely, if I do say so myself. The male counselors all looked me over as the passed, murmuring to each other about how this would be a good summer. As if they were really that lucky.

Going around, carefully checking each child and counselor off the list, I had narrowed it down to only one missing person. No surprise to see the name. "Dammit, where is Brick?" I muttered to myself.

"Looking for me?" a husky voice said behind me, nearly causing me to jump out of my skin.

I whirled around, damn near running into Brick in the process. Shit, I hadn't anticipated him being that close to me. Stumbling back a foot or so, I was quick to regain my poise and nodded. "Good, you're here. Just barely, but actually, on time for the first day. Excellent."

I couldn't help but look him over, taking notice of the khaki pants and jade green button down he wore. "I hate this uniform. It's fucking stupid. I hate green," he muttered.

Trying with all my might not to laugh, I couldn't stop a slight giggle that had slipped out. "I've noticed." Something was off with him though, something not quite right with his appearance. Then, it suddenly hit me. "Did you cut your hair?"

Brick ran his fingers through his now short, spiky red hair. It went from past his shoulder to a mere two inches overnight. "They made me cut it. Said these kids would be grabbing at it and it will piss me off. That's apparently against the rules for me."

I couldn't help watch him. This was a new look for him, something I'd never seen in the thirteen years I'd known him. The new do added something to Brick, a more adult feel to his appearance. But I never realized how dark his hair was. Rather than the dark auburn hair he had, it was a more cherry red color now. It made his expressions and everything about him darker, more intense. Though, it could be the pent up anger building inside him. But Brick did look handsome with the powerful feel he gave off.

"What are you staring at?" he asked curtly.

Snapping back into reality, I hadn't realized I'd been staring so intently. "Nothing."

"You were thinking about how sexy I am, weren't you?" he teased, though there was a certain arrogant undertone to his question.

"Was not!"

Brick crossed his arms, looming over me again as he practically pressed against me. "You are a bad liar, you know that?"

Glaring up at my stubborn counterpart, I pushed him back a little. He stumbled, smirking at my defensiveness. It was a sign of weakness to him and he loved being able to see me weak. Not that I was ever weak in his presence, but I digress. "Don't get fresh with me. I'm your parole officer. You piss me off. You spend three years in jail. So be good."

There was a trace of seriousness in my comment. However, for the most part, both he and I could see they were empty words. Nevertheless, it was enough to make him drop it. Holding his hands up in surrender, Brick nodded. "Fine, whatever you say, boss. What do you want me to do?"

I didn't look up from the clipboard, trying to find some excuse not to meet his eyes. "Take the bags from the kids and load them on the bus."

Without another word, Brick walked away, following the orders I had given him. I waited a moment, careful not to make an idiot of myself again. Collecting my thoughts, I finally forced myself to sneak a peek at him. He was snatching bags from the ground, an irritated look painted on his face as he worked, undoubtedly displeased about his community service assignment.

Brick looked up, meeting my eyes. I didn't look down though, pretending I was merely observing his effort. Seeming uninterested, he went back to work, carrying the six bags like they were nothing to the bus.

We all loaded into the bus a few minutes later. I took roll call and then settled myself for the half hour bus drive when I finished. The best way to withstand the agonizing bus rise? Music. I put in my earbuds and tried to ignore everyone. My job was done for half an hour. Now it was time for other members to do their part and babysit.

As the bus began its course to the camp, I stared out the window, letting the sound of classical music soothe and relax me. That is, until I felt the seat creak under me. "Hey, Pinky," Brick said.

Pausing the music on my iPod, I turned to glare at him. "Don't call me that, jailbird. What are you doing here?"

"Probation, remember?" Please, as if I'd forget. How could I forget the reason I was stuck with this guy?

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. His sarcasm would grow to be quite irritating, very fast. "You know what I mean. Why are you sitting next to me? Don't you have a five year old to go pick on?"

The scowl I'd just given him was quickly returned to me, though at a more intense level. "You think I want to be here at all? I'm on goddamn probation. I'm stuck with you. I'm not allowed to leave your side. I've got a fucking police bodyguard with me."

Jabbing his thumb at the window, I looked over and saw a blue sedan sitting behind the bus, a man in police uniform behind the wheel. I suppose it was smart. It was the only guarantee they had that he actually fulfilled all the requirements he was given. Didn't mean I liked that he was now forced to be the puppy dog I never wanted.

Sighing, deeply aggravated, I shoved my earbuds back into my ears. I then blasted my music, praying it would be loud enough to block out whenever Brick decided to gripe again. Thankfully, he was silent, having earbuds on as well and ignored me for nearly the entire time.

Brick's POV:

I sat beside my red-haired counterpart in silence, trying as hard as I could not to look at her. But, if I wanted to be honest, I found it quite challenging. I couldn't help but sneak a peek at her, looking over those milky legs she had crossed or how the shorts lifted a bit when she shifted, setting off dozens of sexual fantasies in my head that should have never been.

I don't know when it started, maybe the other day in the court room, when she just watched me as I stared her down, nearly ready to fight her. I had noticed something in her that day, the way she had a pretty decent smile. Okay, pretty decent smirk, but it was still nice to look at. The way she didn't back down when I practically loomed over her. Or the way she showed no fear of me. Blossom was a challenge to me. And did I love a good challenge.

But I couldn't quite pinpoint an exact name for the feelings I had for my counterpart. She was my enemy, so I couldn't like her. I sure as hell didn't love her. But I did feel something, lust maybe. I couldn't help getting hard just thinking about the way that shirt hugged her body in all the right places. Or how she walked, her hips swaying slightly, a walk that screamed of confidence and self-respect.

I had to admit this to myself: I was lusting over Blossom. She was tall, slim, long legged, and curvy in every perfect way. She was too sexy for her own good. I couldn't deny that. Her long auburn curls framed her face too flawlessly. Gay men would go straight for her, that was a given. Of course, I'd never actually voice these thoughts. Not even in a million years.

But it wasn't the only thing I noticed of her. Sure, about eighty percent of what I felt for her was sexual desire. Another ten was hate, anger of how she was pure good. The evil side of me just loved torturing her. As it always had since we were five. But, the last ten percent . . . I don't know . . . could it be actual respected or cared for the girl? I rarely cared for anyone. Mostly my brothers, and even then . . . why would I suddenly care or respect for someone so . . . good? A Powerpuff girl, of all people.

When I thought she wasn't looking, I snuck a peek at her, grateful for the fact I had a height advantage over her and a perfect angle of her partially unbuttoned polo shirt. But even now, having a view of her that most men would kill for, I couldn't help notice the way she lip-sang to the music she played on her iPod or the way she tapped her fingers on her knee, keeping in perfect beat with the music playing. Some pop song. And I just watched, admiring how she was so calm, being able to hear her smooth, even heart beat like it was my own. Maybe it was the counterpart thing, I don't know. A connection we all had to our partner. But what if it wasn't? What could I be feeling then?

She shifted and for a second I feared she might catch me observing her. But Blossom merely looked down at her iPod, skipping to the next song, before returning her gaze to the passing trees out the window. I looked down, trying to catch a glimpse of the song that she listened to. The finger tapping had stopped, and she just breathed deeply, letting the song engulf her every thought. Blossom's hand shifted a bit, giving me a better view. I Hate Everything About You by Three Days Grace. I blinked, looking at the title again. I had seen it right. There was a comment listened for the song, Best song EVER! And a rating of five stars. This was her favorite song?

I stared down at my own iPod, looking at the song I had previously been listening to. The same title listed, five star rating, and a comment verbatim to hers. How was that possible?

This revelation was just too strange for even me. Considering my origins, not to mention how Townsville was, I was pretty used to strange. I was so focused on this that I nearly jumped out of my skin when Blossom nudged my arm, pulling me out of my thoughts. Meeting her eyes, I saw genuine worry in them. "Hey, Brick, you okay? You looked a little freaked."

It took me a moment to register what she had actually said. When the words finally clicked, I managed to nod. "Yes, I'm fine."

There was an obvious look on her face, one that said she didn't believe me. But she dropped it and slipped the ear bud back into her ear, enjoy the music again.

Staring forward, I tried processing the odds of her and I having the same favorite song with the same comment word-for-word. I came to the conclusion that it was not very likely. What did that mean for us?

"Us? Come on, Brick. You're you, and she's a Powerpuff Girl. There is no 'us'," I thought, frowning darkly at the back of the seat in front of me. As I thought about it, I realized I was being stupid. The voice in my head was right. There was nothing between Blossom and I. There never would be. It was a mere coincidence. A counterpart connection. Butch and Boomer had the same coincidences with their counterparts . . . right?

I felt uncomfortable the entire ride to camp. I couldn't shake the feeling of eyes watching me. Okay, I had the feeling of Brick watching me. But he hadn't. I was sure of it. He hated me too much to even glace my way more than a few seconds when I asked if he was alright, him having looked a little peaked.

Brick stuck close to me as we unloaded the bus, not looking too thrilled about it. Slowly but surely, the kids gathered their bags and then went to their designated cabins. And then we counselors were able to actually unpack for ourselves. I grabbed my duffel bag and backpack, staring down at my PDA as I called to Brick. "Hey! Jailbird, grab your stuff. I'll show you to the cabin."

I could practically feel his glare. "Yes, Miss Smart Ass."

Looking up to comment, he startled me by being right beside me again, bags in hand. Much to my chagrin, I actually jumped back, surprised. "Oh, um, good. Keep the cursing curved. These are kids all under the age of ten. Okay?"

Not seeming too pleased about it, based on the dramatic eye roll, he nodded. "Yes, sergeant. Let's get to the cabin. I'm tired as fuck."

"Again with the cursing?" He just stared, uncaring. "Fine, let's go. We all get two hours to sleep before activities begin. So get right to napping."

Brick followed behind me, keeping silent as we walked to the counselors' cabins. It wasn't a far walk from the lake where we met up. I couldn't help was get this fantasy in my head, of Brick sleep walking late at night . . . and accidentally walking into the lake. I wouldn't have been too disappointed if it happened. But I did feel bad for thinking it. Curse my good-natured, caring soul.

I tapped the door of his cabin. "Male counselors here. I'll be in the one next door."

Brick frowned, though I knew it was just dramatics. "What, don't you love me enough to bunk with me? What happened to painting each other's nails all night?"

I blinked in surprise. He actually remembered that comment? I barely remembered making that comment! Crossing my arms, a remarkable feat considering my hands were full, I leered at him. "Sorry, bub. You're not lucky enough to bunk with me. You got the longest straw." I rolled my eyes, watching as he started to smirk. "Guys can't bunk with girls. So, have fun sleeping with the guys! See you in two hours."

And I walked away, leaving him to sort through all he had to about rooming for himself.