A/N: More sentence-style fics. Again, all set before chapter 1 unless marked with an asterisk (*), in Bubbles' POV unless otherwise noted. Again, special thanks to Kodra22, and Yenagirl for beta-reading. As a reminder, Mr Krachett is Bubbles' rather antagonistic second grade teacher. Ice Cream flavors courtesy Ben and Jerry's.
Wings (Song Lyrics From "Live and Let Die," by Wings {Yes, I know. Totally cheating.})
When you were young and your heart was an open book/You used to say live and let live/…/But if this ever changin' world in which we live in/ Makes you give in and cry/ Say live and let die…
Bubbles knows what they say about her when they think she can't hear (and too many don't get that when they say her name, she always hears): unstable, cold-blooded, killer, mentally ill, broken. And they mean it. When she was six, she would have agreed with them, and sometimes she's even happy she can't see herself in a mirror anymore, afraid of what she would find. But after she fights off the latest beast Him sends to kill them all, they sing her praises and thank her for protecting them and love her and she hears that they mean that, too. She doesn't know how to make those fit together, not really, but knows it has to mean what she's doing is right. She figures maybe real heroes don't always get to feel clean. She hopes.
The battle stalls for a few precious seconds, and Bubbles faces down the dragons that have already torn through Townsville Zoo, a mother and her bloodthirsty little hatchlings. She listens to Mr. Kirk's fifth grade class whimpering and crying and praying in the reptile house behind her, and can't help thinking none of them will ever agree to go on a field trip again. Good. Not safe in this town. She turns her ears back to the dragons, listens to their blood flow until she has figured out exactly where their spines meet their skulls, and clenches her fists. When she was six, she would have tried to save the hatchlings, or forced Blossom or Buttercup to deal with what she couldn't help think of as babies. Still thinks of as babies. Now, she's more concerned that they're far more unpredictable and destructive than their mother, and she's already set fire to half of Townsville Park.
When Bubbles lunges forward in a blue streak, the hatchlings die first.
What does it matter to ya / When ya got a job to do / Ya got to do it well / You got to give the other fella hell…
Cold (Dr Bethany Rhodes {Original Character})
Doctor Bethany Rhodes considers herself a brave person; a strong backbone is practically required to live in Townsville, and out of medical school she doesn't want to go anywhere else. The city has one of the finest trauma centers in the country (probably because it's crawling with supervillians, criminals, and monsters, but she has always thought her way around that little detail). Then she meets Sam, and even if hellbeasts try to devour the city every other week, she never imagines being anywhere else. When little Jackie comes into their lives, the world is perfect.
Then Him--and really, what the hell had she been thinking, having a family in a real honest-to-God demon's playground--decides to … to … well, she isn't going to pretend to understand what's going on. She just knows he took John Utonium, Buttercup, and Blossom, and in the beginning, left with a horribly traumatized and confused Bubbles as their only hope, Beth let herself join the droves of citizens sure they were all doomed. What could Bubbles do by herself, after all, so gentle that her power almost seemed wasted on her?
But that was eighteen months ago, when Bubbles was still shell-shocked and in denial and able to see, before she had shown them all how far she was willing to go for them (even if they didn't believe in her), before she forced herself to be their weapon the way neither she nor her sisters ever had, and Beth knows she'll probably never completely be rid of the shame she feels for doubting.
All these thoughts and more flash through her mind as her car goes over the bridge's railing and splashes grill-first into the frigid water below, even as she screams for help and wishes she could somehow get into the backseat, where little Jackie, uncomprehending, claps and squeals. Her heart leaps into her throat as she realizes her baby girl won't understand even when the water starts seeping into the car (It's already coming in), and probably won't be afraid until she actually starts to drown. Her Jackie loves water, after all. And Beth can't even touch her, because water is already rushing into the her car and her legs are submerged and too cold and numb to move. She thinks of Sam and, God, please … please don't let my little girl die.
Another, more detached part of her curses herself for not getting her brakes checked when they had begun making strange grinding noises yesterday. But in Townsville, where monsters and demons roam the streets, being killed by faulty brakes seems an absurdity.
Then Beth catches a streak of bright blue outside her window, a beacon in the rapidly darkening water, and the world shifts as the car rights itself. The river clears and brightens and, Bubbles! Oh my God, we're not going to die! Jackie's still having a blast, and that weird little detached part of her reflects there's a slight chance her daughter might be just a little bit of a daredevil.
Another few moments, and the car is back on solid ground. Beth sees emergency lights in the distance, rapidly growing closer, hears their sirens yowling in her ears, and lets out a shuddering sigh of relief as Bubbles rips off the driver's side door, water rushing out of the car with a loud splash. Their savior is soaking, dripping wet, and smiling, relief radiating off of her in spite of the blankness of her grey eyes. "It's alright," Bubbles says softly, "I've got ya. Everything will be fine." And without waiting for a response Bubbles gently scoops Beth out of the car and floats to the back door, pulling it open and sitting her next to her daughter. Beth takes a shuddering breath and wraps her arm around her little girl as best she can without pulling her out of the safety seat (in spite of her nerves, she's still a doctor, and knows better than to pull the toddler free from her restraints before the EMTs have checked her over).
Bubbles kneels protectively next to them and says nothing, her smile suddenly sad and far away, and it takes Beth a moment to remember she hasn't seen her own family in eighteen months, and, if they were all honest, might never see them again. In the most literal sense, would never see them again no matter what. She tightens her grip on Jackie and doesn't know what to do for the little superhe--little girl kneeling next to her, and before she can think of anything the authorities are upon them and she's lost her chance.
Red (Robin)
Robin wakes to darkness in an unfamiliar room in an unfamiliar bed, the nightmare fading even as it leaves her short of breath and shaking, and it takes her a second to remember where she is, but she remembers Janet Fraiser's birthday and slumber party before she has time to panic, relaxing back into Janet's mattress even as she can't quite manage to shake off the last of the fear trying to make her jump at shadows. Well, she thinks, if I could move. Mother doesn't like it when her humor turns sarcastic, says it's unladylike and Robin has to be a proper lady especially now, but Robin suspects she really doesn't like it because it's just one more thing she's got in common with Bubbles, whose tongue's gotten lots sharper since Him took away her eyes. Her best friend's sense of humor can turn vicious at the drop of a hat and (Robin surpasses a snicker) she's certainly not ladylike, even if her hands are the gentlest Robin knows next to her parents', callouses and scars and all. At least, when she's not using them to tear through something big and slimy and evil.
And that's fine. Townsville doesn't need a perfect little girl right now. She hopes, someday, things can go back to the way they used to be, but knows that can probably never really happen.
Robin breathes slowly through her nose and flexes her shoulders, elbows, wrists, fingers, slowly stretching her upper body out before taking a deep breath, clearing her mind, and mentally yelling at her legs to move. In the dark she can't see, but she hears the quick, stuttery jerk of fabric against sheets that mean she's made some part of her body twitch. She sighs. And of course, the tingles are always there, worse right now, shooting up and down her legs and around her hips and bottom in no pattern she can trace, and she'll always call them tingles because her parents and Bubbles and the rest of her friends and family don't deserve to be constantly confronted with the truth that whenever she's awake it feels like there's a thousand little men with swords stabbing into her.
Except her parents and Bubbles were around in the beginning, when she was still in the hospital and they had to put her on morphine because she couldn't handle the pain, were around when she was sent home with really strong painkillers that made her head foggy, but she had to take to be able to stand legs and hips and other bits that couldn't feel anything but that horrible sparking, so they already know the truth. Robin figures she's just downplaying it for her own benefit, or else she might go a little crazy.
Eventually, she forces herself off the pain pills, too, forces herself to learn to go on as though she doesn't hurt at all, even when the tingles are at their worst, even when her parents beg her to take something because they can't stand to see her shaking and whimpering. She tells them she wants her mind back, because she really can't think when she takes those things, and that's enough for her mother and father. She throws herself into rehab and exercise, working every day for hours with muscles she can still control (and even those she can't, because there's always a chance they might listen to her again one day), until she's a trembling wreck, covered in sweat and barely able to move. Neither of them like seeing her like that, either, but neither would dare complain. Robin knows her physical therapist has told them motivating kids with injuries like her is usually a problem, so they figure they got lucky.
One day, when she's alone with her father, she says what she knows her Mom can't stand to hear: she has wanted to give up before, to give in and stay on the painkillers and sag in her chair and let herself wither away because she can't move and can't feel anything down there that doesn't hurt and everything she ever thought about doing when she grew up needs legs and feet that do more than tingle and twitch, but those thoughts stay behind in the hospital when she goes home.
She tells her father about the time he and Mom had gone to get something to eat, and she was laying in her hospital room, and Him sent giant, flying spiders to trash the city (Him really likes monster bugs), and before the nurses wheeled her to the emergency elevator and took her to the bomb shelter in the basement, she laid there and watched Bubbles, still struggling to learn to protect the city without her eyes, trying to fight them off. She won (one of the few things Robin believes in absolutely is that Bubbles will always win), but it was a horrible fight. She went down more times than Robin could count, coming up battered and bloodied, and even though nowadays she can twirl through the air and slip around almost any monster and fight like she can see perfectly -- better than perfect -- back then she struggled and it was horrible to watch because Robin knew Bubbles really was outmatched, and only kept getting back up, only won because she's too stubborn to do anything else, too stubborn to give up, too stubborn to lose.
Too stubborn, Robin even thinks, to die (though she knows that's not true and just tries to think it to keep from freaking out).
Robin tells her father that she has always known Bubbles and her sisters would do anything to protect the city, but never really thought about what that meant, not until Bubbles is alone and hurt and fragile in a way Robin never even imagined she could be, and keeps on going anyway.
Bubbles is her best friend, and loves them all so much, and Robin tells her father she thinks it would be insulting to give up, when Bubbles isn't willing to. Her father doesn't say anything for a long time, and at first Robin is afraid she's made him angry, but then he smiles and ruffles her hair and calls her cupcake and tells her he's proud of her with a funny, thick voice.
And at least, she thinks, laying in the borrowed bed and listening to her friends snore, I don't have it as bad as lots of the other kids. She doesn't realize that at first, of course, not until her parents take her to a support group for other kids whose backs are injured like hers. She may be stuck with the tingles, but at least Bubbles was fast enough to stop the worst of the damage, and she can still tell when she needs to go to the toilet, can still breathe on her own, can still swallow food and drink without a problem, doesn't have a rod in her back that makes it impossible to bend.
A particularly nasty tingle gets past her defenses and she squeaks in pain before she can help herself, already feeling guilty even before the girl in the sleeping bag next to her bed stirs. Damn, and okay, so she knows a few adult words she's not supposed to, but she's overheard her parents arguing a lot more since she had a bus dropped on her, and she was actually sleeping...
Bubbles is up, kneeling on her knees and one arm, an open palm reaching in her direction. "Robin?" she says drowsily, though Robin knows that, if she gave any sign of being in trouble or needing help, that sleepiness would slide away from her friend like water off a duck's back.
"Hey, Bubbles," she whispers as she takes the offered hand, almost too quietly for her own ears to hear. No need to wake up anyone else. "Sorry. Didn't mean to--"
"Tingles?" Bubbles asks, and Robin can hear her frown even if she can't see anything but the outline of her head.
Robin nods, knowing better than to try to lie when Bubbles is probably giving her the superhearing once-over. Even though Bubbles can't see, Robin knows she catches the gesture, either from hearing the way her hair moves or using the blood flowing through her veins. "Yeah, but only after I woke up." She hesitates, not wanting to upset her friend more. "Bad dream." Next time someone suggests we watch a movie with an evil clown, they're getting a pillow to the head. Filled with rocks. Robin thinks of the movie, thinks of her dream of Him, transformed into a clown at Bubbles' birthday party, long arms wrapped around her struggling friend as he grinned at her, what they all soon found out was acid dripping from his teeth, before he spat--Robin shakes her head violently. They quickly changed movies after that little plot twist, but the damage was done. "Hey, don't worry about it."
Bubbles shakes her head. "Fat chance," she says, a hint of a smile in her voice. "Done sleeping anyway. More than a few hours and I … have my own dreams."
Robin says nothing. She's seen Bubbles having a nightmare, and would almost rather watch her fight a monster than have to watch that again. Her legs tingle painfully, more than normal, and she mutters about missing her own mattress.
"Want some help?" Bubbles whispers gently, and for a moment Robin imagines they're both six again, and Bubbles still remembers how to smile all the way. Its nice to know Him won't ever be able to completely destroy the part of her that's loving and caring like no one else, no matter how hard he tries.
Robin grins in the dark. "If you don't mind. I'm not sure I'll be able to fall back asleep, otherwise. I think this mattress is too soft, or something."
"Better than the sleeping bags, though?" Bubbles asks, reaching under the covers, and Robin nods and wishes she could feel the hands pressing against her legs, massaging her confused nerves back under control, just as the therapist had first taught her parents, then her father (with her mother's grudging permission) had taught Bubbles. Aside from her parents and the therapist, Robin doesn't really feel comfortable letting anyone else touch her where she can't feel.
They stay like that for several minutes, the sound of her bedding shifting the only way Robin can tell Bubbles is doing anything, until finally her legs are manageable again. She drifts back to sleep just as Bubbles resettles the covers over her, feeling warm and safe, and the last thing she hears is Bubbles telling her have pleasant dreams.
You too…
Drink
Bubbles spends most of her Friday night patrolling the air over the high school's senior prom, because it's just the sort of party Him likes to crash. Besides, the rest of the city's pretty quiet and Robin's sleeping off a cold, so there's really no where else for her to be. After four hours of practicing barrel rolls, loops, and what Blossom would have called evasive maneuvers (and Bubbles, privately, always thinks of as dancing), the party's winding down (though it won't be over for an hour) and she's starting to think she was worried over nothing, but then a girl screams, heartbeat spiking, before flesh clapping over flesh muffles her. Another moment and she's completely silent.
Bubbles lands behind the gym in less than second, but even before she comes to a stop she tags two other heartbeats she doesn't recognize. The girl hangs limp in the bigger one's arms, heartbeat and breathing unnaturally slow.
"Oh, fuck," the smaller one slurs, sounding terrified, and the stench of too much strong liquor hits her nose. The big one drops the girl and something smaller, and Bubbles lunges before either can hit the ground, cradling the unconscious teenager with one arm and snagging the thing--feels like a needle--out of the air with the other. The boys don't move or speak, but Bubbles can hear the terror in their blood.
And Bubbles tries to calm herself, even as a white-hot ball of fury explodes between her temples and she has to blink back a blast of heat vision that would incinerate them both (because maybe she's only eight, but she's not stupid and this isn't the first time she's found a guy (or several) drunk and hidden behind a building with a helpless girl, and what she couldn't figure out on her own Mommy explained, crying into a coffee mug and talking about how she wasn't supposed to know that kinda stuff yet (even though she had to now that the police couldn't handle all the regular criminals on their own).
Still, she couldn't sleep for a week after Mommy explained it to her. In some ways, she thinks, Him will never be more wicked than humans can be.
She carefully slips the needle in her pocket and uses her now-free hand to get a better grip on the girl, floating into the air. Her heart rate and breathing aren't right at all. Bubbles turns her attention to the shaking cowards beneath her, and parts her lips, blowing them into a nearby wall; they sputter and beg and she's suddenly madder than ever. She focuses on them for another second, until she's sure she can find their heartbeats anywhere in the city.
"You're gonna tell me what and how much ya gave her, right now" Bubbles can't make it come out as anything but a snarl, but one of them chokes out a name and number she commits to memory, and oh, great, they apparently gave her lots to drink, too. "I'll be back. ...Don't make me have'ta look for you." They stutter and she can hear their heads slice through the air as they nod like idiots.
Bubbles flies for the emergency room as fast as she dares, losing herself in listening to the girl's every sound. Concentrating on making sure she lives gives Bubbles something to focus on besides the rage thrumming between her ears, and when she lands in the emergency room parking lot forty seconds later, she can honestly say she's overcome the compulsion to hit both boys until she can't hear them at all.
Midnight
Bubbles loves Townsville most after midnight. Between 2:30 and 4:30 in the morning, most of the town is asleep, even the criminals (well, unless someone's planned a crime or Him's unleashed a monster), and when she can't sleep she leaps out her window and its just her and the wind and the city as no one but her can see it, gusts of air between buildings carving out paths and revealing half-hidden places no one else would notice. She dances on air for hours, and thinks Townsville is kinda like a cranky baby: much more adorable when it's out cold. She smirks. If that makes me the babysitter, I definitely don't get paid enough.
Temptation
Bubbles can think of at least fifty different ways to make sure Mommy's date ends in a disaster that will make sure she never wants to see Mr Hamilton ever again. She's even certain she can get away with five of them. But Mr Hamilton seems like a perfectly nice man, and he likes Mommy a lot, and the only thing Bubbles has against him is he's not Daddy and she knows that isn't enough, even if she's certain Mommy still had a thing for him even after they broke up (even Valentino agrees they were good together, and the cat is downright hostile to any guy who shows Mommy attention).
So she goes to practice her drums before Mommy leaves and gets deep into something loud and fast, because she knows even though Mommy is happy she has a hobby, she really doesn't like rock music that much, and won't come in to say bye if she's jamming out. It's much easier to sound happy and supportive shouting through the door, when Mommy can't see her face. As she hears Mommy drive off, she hopes everything goes well, in spite of herself.
View (Ms Keane) (*)
Sandra is going to kill Krachett, she decides, even as years of teaching pre-schoolers allow her to keep a calm, placid expression on her face. The part of her seething with rage as she walks down the museum's hallway, most of Bubbles' classmates crowded around her (because, after all, she is the popular, friendly chaperone), is already busy preparing the verbal evisceration she's going to give him once this damnable tour is over and Bubbles is somewhere far away and unlikely to be listening. Or maybe she won't worry about whether her daughter can hear: Bubbles needs to know it's okay to think the man's an asshole, though she will of course expect Bubbles to express it in age appropriate terms. Parental double standard? Hell, yes.
She focuses on the sound of her heels clicking against the marble tile as she walks, on making sure her charges don't break anything expensive or irreplaceable, and finally manages to pull her anger down from thundering rage into something like a dull roar.
The one mandatory second grade science/history field trip of the entire year, and the prick has to pick the Townsville Museum of Visual Arts, when they've got the best Natural Sciences and Natural History Museums in the state. Everything in the damn building is about color and shape and texture and shadows and light and sure, maybe Bubbles could at least get something out of the sculptures, but not without touching them, and that's not allowed.
And from the smug look on the bastard's face as they trudge through the first of six floors they're supposed to cover over the next four hours, he knows exactly what he's doing. Bubbles, who has to be her charge and not her daughter right now, floats along, face expressionless. Too expressionless. Her baby girl is likely at least as angry as she classmates' expressions, ranging from discomfort to mildly mutinous to downright furious (Sandra wonders if Bubbles doesn't have her hand resting on Robin's wheelchair to keep her from running Krachett down) leave Sandra both proud and worried she's standing on a powder keg. She knows she shouldn't, but finds the whole supportive, openly disrespectful display oddly gratifying. Especially when she notices the twitch in her esteemed colleague's eye.
And she just has to stand there and do nothing because once Kratchett got authorization to take the kids to "an educational museum of my choosing" she had no reason to expect he would pull something this low until the day of the trip when he finally announced where they were going (Wanted it to be a surprise, my ass...). But she's only got so much patience and self control, and is about to rip the man a new one when Bubbles finally has enough. "Hey, Robin," she says, in a not-at-all quiet whisper that's just a little too polite (and, Sandra notes with hidden glee, her girl just happens to be floating near the "no talking" sign), "this sounds really cool. What's it look like?" Because somehow the man can lecture ad nauseam in an art museum and still not describe anything.
And Robin grins and starts describing the exhibit in a low whisper that, even though Sandra can't hear the words, carries across the room like the sound of crickets chirping. Krachett suddenly can't hide his anger and contempt behind his smugness anymore, and Sandra watches him suck in a lungful of air to reprimand the girls when he finally seems to notice he's surrounded by a small army of children ready to beat the tar out of him. His eyes widen and he looks to her for support, and, suddenly having a most excellent day, she smiles at him beatifically, as though she doesn't want to grab the Aztec ceremonial spear on the wall and scream at the children to "Charge!" With great effort she even forces herself not to wink. There's the slight chance the moron would think she was flirting with him, after all. Her stomach flips. Ew.
Anyone watching probably thinks Bubbles doesn't react, but Sandra knows her moods better than anyone else in Townsville, and doesn't miss the way her mouth twitches into something that wants to be a vicious grin before she gets it back under control and devotes her full attention to Robin's delighted voice.
Krachett blinks once, twice, visibly pushing down his anger, and goes back to a lecture no one really listens to. Sandra watches Bubbles actually enjoy herself and walks along with a much happier group of students, and mentally begins making plans to finally get the jackass who's done his best to make Bubbles miserable for the last year fired. Being a rude, insufferable (but completely rules compliant) jerk in class is one thing. Giving Sandra grounds to threaten an equal protection lawsuit (because Sandra actually goes to the training meetings, and pays attention to what is and isn't legal) is quite another. Especially given that the PTA and school board just happen to like her, and Bubbles, better than they do Krachett, who's only kept his job this long because he's a slippery bastard. Or was. She smiles. No way is he talking himself out of this one.
Music (Ms Keane)
"You're sure this is what you want?" Sandra asks, proud of herself for completely suppressing the panic she feels.
"Yep, Mommy," Bubbles, well, bubbles, grinning so big her dimples almost show, excitement practically radiating off her. Sandra only now remembers how much her girl loves music, and feels like an idiot for forgetting all this time.
Sandra looks at Andre Forte, who's so glad that Him's latest creature didn't crush his family that he's practically forcing Bubbles to pick whatever she wants from his inventory, then back at her daughter, and feels herself melt. Bubbles never takes gifts from anyone for saving them, but Andre had been one of the citizens that, in a panic, initially blamed her for their predicament, and all three of them know, even if it's unsaid, this is his way of trying to apologize. Sandra really couldn't get in the way of that. Even if she wanted to. And Lord, did she want to, looking at the monstrosity in front of her. "Okay," she smiles. "You really don't have to do this, Andre, but, it looks like we'll take the," purple, so bright you can see it from space, and big enough to wake everyone in the neighborhood, "drum set."
Bubbles giggles happily and hugs her and Andre and Sandra knows its worth it.
Even if she suddenly feels doomed.
Silk (Robin)
"I can't believe you talked me into this," Bubbles grouses as she leaps from Robin's window, her friend tucked safely against her chest. Her wheelchair, neatly folded, hangs from her free hand. In spite of her tone, Bubbles' lips twitch into a grin. "Feels like I'm kidnapping you."
Robin giggles. "It's not like I had to try that hard," she sing-songs. "One 'Bubbles, get me outta here,' and you were there in ten seconds." Her earlier rotten mood evaporates as they soar through the air, and she rests her head on Bubbles' shoulder and watches the world go by, everything small and colorful like a giant lego pad.
"Yeah, well," Bubbles sighs, "it's not like I was gonna leave you there with them arguing like that, but we shoulda told somebody where we were going. Or tried to … they probably wouldn't'a heard us if we'd set off a firecracker. What does your grandma expect 'em to do?" Bubbles scowls, and Robin's gut twists.
"My family's … not like your family, Bubbles. Everyone doesn't just adore everyone else," she shakes her head. "Grandma always thought Mom and Dad got married too early. Blames Dad for Mom never finishing college and ending up 'stuck at home playing housewife.' … Don't repeat that, by the way. I don't think I was supposed to overhear it." Bubbles nods with a hurrumph, scowl darkening. Robin's going to have to do something about that, quickly, but her friend won't let her leave the story half finished. "It got better after I was born, from what I hear, but now that I'm, well, higher maintenance," she makes air quotes, feeling a cold fist slam into her stomach at the thought of her grandmother's words and the spark of anger in Bubbles' face, "the old argument's getting … reargued … I guess. Grandma still loves me," she adds, and whether she's trying to convince herself or Bubbles she isn't sure, "she's just … nothing's like she wanted it to be."
Bubbles scoffs, but Robin can see her scowl lighten just a bit. "Nothin's like anyone wanted it to be." She sighs, and maybe senses Robin's embarrassment, because Robin can actually see her try to shake her sour mood off: a muscle twitches several times in her jaw before finally relaxing. "So," she begins, and actually does sound a little happier, "what're we doing?"
Robin thinks for a a minute. She probably is going to get in trouble with her parents at this point, so she might as well do something worthwhile with her time. "Library? I need to finish my silkworm report."
Bubbles raises a teasing eyebrow; Robin thinks to herself that, though her grey eyes are blank, they are by no means emotionless if you know how to read them. "I finished mine yesterday. You've had a month. It's due in two days."
Robin raises her hands, palms open as if to ward off a dangerous animal, giggling back. "I know! I've only gotta find a couple more sources, I swear. What about you? How's it going with the," she giggles, "dung beetles?" And three … two … there's the vein on her forehead. Hee.
"'Pick an animal out of the hat to do your report on, kids,'" Bubbles sing-songs, her shoulder-length hair flying behind her and doing nothing to make her sound any more ominous than a wet kitten, as far as Robin is concerned. "'I'm sure you'll be surprised how fascinating it is!' Wanna guess how fascinating a dung beetle is, Robbie?" Robin's seen her truly angry, ready to kill things, and anything less than that is just kinda adorable. "And Mitch Mitchelson got gazelles! Mitch! Gazelles! How can he appreciate them? He tried to start a cockroach wrestling league!"
"Ugh," Robin wrinkles her nose. "Don't remind me. When they got loose one almost went down my shirt." That was a wonderful day.
They're both silent for a little while, then Bubbles grins. "I think we need ice cream, first. Library after that."
"Oh, yeah," Robin laughs, making sure Bubbles can hear her grin. "Hit it." Bubbles banks left, the wind whips through their hair, and Robin tries to decide between Brownie Batter and Creme Brulee.
