10. Breathe Again

Bubbles clutched the sheets around her, biting hard on the end to keep herself from screaming. She should have seen this coming. Everyone she knew was telling her this would happen. Why was it that, just when she needed to be her most obedient, she decided to be stubborn?

She gingerly touched the burn on her shoulder. She didn't know moonshine could do that to skin. If it had made such an awful mark on her, she didn't like to think what it had done to his tongue. Actually, she would like to think of it. She'd like to think it burned it right out of his lying mouth. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she curled up tighter, shoving more of the sheets in her mouth to keep her quiet.

She'd have to call her sisters and her father at some point. She couldn't stay in this hotel all night. Not now. She forced herself to uncurl and pull on her bathrobe, walking to the wash room. The face looking back in the mirror didn't look like Bubbles to her. She looked like a stupid girl who believed a man when he said she was pretty. Her hair was a tangled mess, a far cry from its usual bob. Her makeup ran down her cheeks in twin black rivers, and the red marks on her neck stood out brighter than ever against her pallid skin.

A knock on the door sounded, and for a second her heart leaped in her chest. Maybe he's come back, she thought hopefully, for which she rebuked herself a second later. No. He's not coming back.

She wiped her face on her sleeve and walked to the door, trying to smooth down her hair. She undid the latch and the door opened, and a familiar pair of blue eyes took in her appearance.

"Boomer," she said, trying to sound normal, but his name came out in a choke. His expression melted into a wince.

"Aw, honey, I told you," he said, and she burst into tears again.

"I know it," she sobbed, and she heard the door close as he stepped inside. "I know you did, and everything was true, I just didn't want to believe it—"

"Shh," he soothed, pulling her against his chest. She sobbed into his shirt as he shrugged out of his coat and put his arms around her. They didn't say anything until long after Bubbles gained control of herself.

"What do I do?" she asked softly, and Boomer let her go, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She sat next to him, wringing her fingers. "He's not going to marry me. My father is going to kick me out. My life is over."

"They're not gonna do that," Boomer shook his head. "I know everything looks hard, but…" he paused, trying to find the words. She twined her fingers in her hair, gently tugging on it.

"He said he liked my hair," she said in a small voice. "'The bee's knees,' he called it." Her hand reached for the drawer, in which was a pair of scissors Bubbles usually kept on hand for loose threads. When Boomer saw what she was doing he reached over and gently grabbed her wrist.

"That ain't the way to go about it, Bubbles," he said, and she dropped the scissors. "Listen, he's been my dad since I was ten, and I know some things about him. I warned you 'bout him because he's been wronging pretty girls like you since I first met him. But…Bubbles, I just don't want you to turn out like the others. You're better than all of them, and they all went funny in the head."

Bubbles sniffed, reached for her handkerchief, and blew her nose. Boomer drew his arm around her and she leaned against him, and for another few minutes they were silent.

"You ever had a broken heart, Boom?" Bubbles asked. Boomer nodded. "It's like getting a kick to the gut, isn't it? Like you'll never be able to stand up and walk around and breathe because it hurts so much."

He nodded again, not trusting himself to speak.

"I should have seen it coming," she said, and tears welled in her eyes. "All fellas are the same. They tell you what you want to hear, then they leave you cold when they get what they want." She laughed hysterically. "Pretty. I should've known when he started calling me that." Boomer looked down at her and pulled her up by the shoulders.

"Bubbles," he said, "maybe you won't understand me when I tell you this, but one day you will. Yeah, it hurts a lot when someone breaks your heart, but you don't have to let it get you down. You're a bright, beautiful woman." She snorted, and he tilted her head up so she was forced to look him in the eyes. "I mean it. You're gorgeous. You don't know it because you're you. Mr. Him won't ever see it, but I do." Her eyes widened, startled. "You don't need a low-life like him. You're a Utonium gal, and what you're famous for is your looks and your brains."

"Not after this," Bubbles said in a small voice, and Boomer sighed.

"Come here." Boomer pulled her up and walked her to the balcony, where he kept his arm around her waist as he led her to the rail. Townsville glittered in the midnight darkness, the streetlights glimmering on the new roads and the fresh automobiles rumbling along the pavement. "Out there, there's a lot of dames who would kill to be you, and there's a lot of girls who have been where you are now." He traced his thumb over her shoulder. "You asked me once why I left. Do you still want to know?"

Bubbles nodded slowly, and Boomer gave her arm a squeeze.

"Because I couldn't stand watching him hurt you," he said simply. She looked up at him, startled, and he shrugged, a small smile growing on his face. "Come on. The night is still young, and I know this swanky little club downtown to make you feel better."

"No thanks," Bubbles replied, sounding exhausted. "I just want to go home." She sighed. "Can you take me there?"

He hated it when she sounded like that. "You don't even have to ask," he agreed, and waited on the balcony for her to get dressed. She tapped on the window pane, and he turned around and opened the door.

"Can you help me?" she asked, turning around, and Boomer felt his throat bob when he saw the plane of her back. Where the dress gapped her skin was smooth, but if he just opened it a little further, he could see the angry red tracks he'd left. He swore quietly.

"I can fix that," he said, and she turned her head to catch him in her peripherals.

"He said it was moonshine and it wouldn't hurt any," she murmured.

"Surprise. He lied." Boomer guided her back to the bed and sat her down while he went into the kitchenette for a washcloth. "He calls it Red Fire. Uses it to mark his past catches so he knows, if he ever finds them again, that he's been there already." He returned and started dabbing at the worst of her burns. "He never repeats a performance."

They were silent as Boomer mopped up the traces of the volatile alcohol, and Bubbles only squeaked once or twice when he was applying another wet rag to her back. It was almost an hour later before either of them spoke again.

"Thank you," Bubbles said softly. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

Boomer smiled a little and removed the rags. Her back was already looking a little better. Silently he did up the buttons to her dress, making sure to avoid touching her skin where it could be helped. When he was done he helped her into her coat and offered his arm. She took it, took one last look at the room, and let him lead her out and downstairs to where his Ford was waiting.

The drive to the Utonium estate was silent, with Bubbles looking out the window and Boomer periodically looking over at her. Once parked in front of her house Bubbles turned back to Boomer.

"Thank you," she said sincerely, and Boomer forced a smile. "For everything." She got out of the car without a second glance and made her way to her door. Boomer watched her go, releasing the breath he'd been holding since she started speaking again. He stayed in front of her house until he saw her bedroom light turn on and back off. He had a feeling he hadn't seen the last of her, and the thought made him glad.

Over the years Bubbles would learn many things about Boomer, but two things she would never know was how many bruises Boomer got when he confronted Mr. Him later that same night, or how red Mr. Him's face first got when Boomer broke a bottle of Red Fire over his head. There were some things friends and lovers didn't share; this counted as some of the first in small services he would do for her, and do for her over and over, because it didn't matter how many times she broke his heart; all it took was for her to say his name and he could breathe again.

A/N: Okay, I apologize for the gap, but it's the holidays, and I think you all know how crazy that time of the year can be. :) That being said, this is me exploring my PPG 1920s idea, because I'm really intrigued by the whole concept. It's just so different, and I LOVE it! This particular episode would be me reinventing the Octi episode, only without Octi. Him is a womanizing mob boss, the Utonium girls are old money socialites, the Boys are new money gangsters-it's just all so fabulous! If there's one thing I've learned to do and do pretty good, it's AUing the crap out of fandoms. People may take offense at this, but it's what I see happening, so lay off. And the Red Fire junk? Him's built up an immunity of sorts to it, so he can use it whenever he wants. Eew...he's become so deliciously evil it's creeping me out. XD

Reviews are good, y'know?