author's note: The song recommendation for this chapter is Salvador Dali by Royal & the Serpent (ft. Marky Style)!

Tuesday, Feb. 02

"Has she done that before?"

That was Brick's voice. Muffled, cloudy, and so far away.

"Only once, but yes. We were really little when it happened."

Blossom.

"...she didn't remember shit after the last time it happened."

Buttercup—foggier than Blossom, and even further away.

"What happened then?"

"Your father. Let's just leave it at that," Blossom murmured, her voice thick with emotion.

"Mojo caused it?"

That was Boomer.

"I can't remember the exact details, it's been so long… I can't remember if he was the one to cause it or if his influence just dragged out that innate ability…"

"We're gonna be late if we don't walk and talk," Brick urged. "What do you remember from the last time it happened?"

The door opened.

"I remember that she was impersonating Mojo," Blossom started, her voice fading too far to keep clearly hearing.

The door closed and then everything went silent.

After a few long, drawn out minutes, another voice spoke.

Closer.

Much closer.

"You gonna actually open your eyes or just lay there?"

Annoyed and mildly embarrassed to have been called out, Bubbles finally opened her eyes. She was in Buttercup's apartment, that much was easy enough to tell just from the ceiling. The lime green blades on the ceiling fan were the same ones she'd helped the younger Puff pick out. One of the guest rooms, her blue eyes observed, based on the mostly black and white furnishings when she glanced around. Knowing where she was, she finally looked over to the Baron of Berserk, sitting in a desk chair next to her bed.

"Butch… why are you still here?" she asked, her voice coated thick with sleep.

His forest eyes were calculating, hard, searching for something, anything within her face- as if she were a puzzle he was desperate to solve. He clicked his tongue in mild annoyance, the chair creaking in protest as he leaned forward. "I stayed back just in case you woke up."

Bubbles accepted this and sat up, running her hands down her face after she was upright. Everything felt awful. Her head felt like it was full of cobwebs while her brain somehow also felt like it was sloshing back and forth through a muddy bog. Her body ached more than it had in a long, long time. Her leg was in serious throbbing pain, her back felt like it needed to be popped, and she could feel some level of dried blood caked to her spine just under her bodysuit. "Well I'm up… You can go anytime you want to, now."

"Sucks to be you," he snorted. "I ain't going anywhere."

"Butch—"

"You said if I wanted to." Her hands dropped from her face, her brows rising when he shrugged. "So I ain't gonna leave just yet."

She rolled her eyes. "Whatever."

It went silent again, and to her surprise the tension in the air was hardly noticeable. Though acutely aware of his presence, it was more companionable than anything. She stretched upwards, flung the blankets off of her legs and went to get up— only to be startled when he used his own powers to leap over the bed and stand at her bedside.

Like a bouncer outside of a club, Butch stood right in front of her with his arms crossed over his chest like a wall to prevent her from going any further. "Need something?"

She furrowed her brows at him, thoroughly confused by his demeanor. "Wh— Yeah, I need to pee?" He didn't even blink when he reached for her—and when he lifted her off of the bed, she squealed in surprise. "Butch, what are you doing?!" Her hands flew to his back, clutching at the worn fabric of his shirt when he tossed her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His shoulder dug into her gut— into her bladder. "Now I really need to pee, you butthole!"

"I'm taking you to the bathroom."

Her eyes narrowed on him. "Last I checked, I could—"

"Not walk on that bum leg."

It dawned on her then that his fingers had barely even grazed her left leg, as if it were made of glass and the slightest pressure would shatter it completely.

Something in her head clicked into place.

Like a dam bursting, memories from the previous night came flooding in. The abominations that had crawled and writhed in the shadows of HIM's latest monster, how she and Boomer had managed to corner four of them when they had broken her leg. How they had gurgled and shrieked, their heads twisting as they fled in a tangled mass of decay and lightning scorched flesh. Her fight with Boomer—or, rather, most of her fight with him. The further from the docks they were in her memories, the hazier they all grew. Bubbles remembered more than enough for it to mortify her, though. She raised her hands to cover her eyes, her cheeks flaming red. "I'm such an idiot…"

"So you finally remember, huh?"

"Yeah, I think so," she whispered. "Oh God, I didn't do anything too stupid, did I? Everything is still hazy…"

Butch was quiet as he sat her down on the lidded toilet, her heart hammering harder and harder with worried anticipation and anxiety, waiting somewhat impatiently for his answer. "I'll trust you to do what you have to." Then, politely, he left the room and shut the door behind himself. But, he stayed just on the other side. And only then did he answer her. "For a second, I kinda thought you'd end up seriously mauling Boom."

"Shit," she cursed, the whisper heavy and distraught. The blonde had never, in her life, felt embarrassed over anything in a closed bathroom— but knowing that Butch was on the other side of the door listening to her made her very, very aware of every sound she made. Not only that, but the guilt gnawing at her gut over the previous night didn't help her upset. "I owe him an apology," she said, trying to mask the sounds of her hopping on one leg to shimmy her leggings and underwear down and lift the lid on the commode. "Why hasn't my leg been put in a stint? Usually Blossom is right on that…"

"That's kind of the main reason why I wanted to stick behind. Figure something out."

"Oh yeah?"

It was a little awkward— talking to Butch of all people while she went to the restroom. Her sisters? Didn't matter which one— neither of them would have been so… So… Embarrassing to talk to like this. But she couldn't linger on it, reminding herself that she was almost twenty five and that everyone has to use the bathroom— even him. He was silent for an uncomfortable amount of time— but the blonde couldn't tell if it actually was too long since she just couldn't forget that he was right there, listening to her—

"Your sisters couldn't touch you."

That worked to shut her brain off.

"What?"

"According to Bloss Boss, you've used red lightning twice now. You didn't remember last time… How far into last night do you remember?"

Red lightning? Her brows furrowed. That couldn't be right, her color was blue… But she had no reason not to trust Butch. They didn't speak often, but from when they did talk, she learned very quickly that he was nothing if not honest. He always owned up to his little petty crimes, always owned up to his mistakes, always spoke what was on his mind… He'd beat around the bush, direct you towards false assumptions, but never would he lie. Not to her, not to Blossom or Buttercup, not to the Mayor—not even to the police, no matter how hard Brick elbowed him to get him to not tell the truth.

If Butch said the lightning was red, she had no reason not to believe him.

Even if it did sound pretty unbelievable.

"The last thing I remember," she began, mentally walking through the day, through the attack on the city, to the fight with Boomer…. "…I remember Boomer stopping me from following that…that…thing… And in the heat of the moment, we just redirected frustrations at each other. He had a point, and he knew I also had a point, but neither of us wanted to hear the other out. Screaming turned to powers, turned to fighting…" Her words trailed off, her eyes scanning the bathroom wall as though it would give her answers. "...I don't remember anything after he punched me in the gut."

One by one the puzzle pieces clicked into place- how Butch had been acting since she'd woken up, all that he had said up to this point… Everything painted a picture that was a far cry from what Bubbles had believed had been the defining moment of the night. In her mind, it had been so simple- she'd gone on a rampage, throwing a tantrum as if she were five again about not getting her way, and to subdue her Boomer had landed a punch to her gut. In her foggy memories of the night, that was where it ended, and she thought she'd simply been knocked out.

She should have known there would be more to it than that.

A great deal more, it seemed.

She finished her business and hobbled to the sink, realizing only after nearly stumbling how dumb that was. She lifted herself off the ground with her powers— just enough to be safe about 'standing' to wash her hands.

"All good?" His tone was tense, but she figured it was because he felt the rise of her powers.

"Yeah. I don't need you to carry me, you know."

He opened the door to do so anyway but stopped when he noticed her hovering. Then, he rolled his eyes. "Well then. Sorry 'bout that, little miss independent."

She stuck her tongue out at him, hovering carefully next to him as he directed them back to her temporary bedroom. "You said they couldn't touch me? Like… literally?"

He hummed in agreement. "Nobody could—well, except for me because of the whole shield thing—but you'd subconsciously shock everyone else. It wasn't red anymore, but your energy was still coming out as lightning and attacking anyone who touched you."

She heard the underlying message loud and clear. "And you couldn't really touch me, either? Just your shield?"

He nodded, watching her as she eased herself back into bed. "I'm the one who usually had the most injuries and broken bones of us Ruffs. I learned through practice, trial and error how to use this X—Ray vision of ours to set bones and stitch up wounds. If your powers were still acting up, I'd be the only one able to put a makeshift cast on ya. It made sense that I be the one to stay back."

"I'm so sorry for all of this," she whispered, her brows pinched in guilt.

"It's not your fault, Sugar." The way her nickname rolled off his tongue brought heat to her cheeks and a lopsided smirk to his lips. "Besides, I don't mind spending more time with such a pretty face."

"Is that why you check yourself out in the mirror, then, Baron?"

He laughed, completely dismissed her playful question, and reached down to a little plastic bag next to the bed. Two tape and gauze lined supports and two rolls of ace bandage were in his hands when he stood straight. "We heal too damn fast for a proper cast. Take it from experience—you'll be in this for just barely over a week, but you should be fine around day eight or nine." His eyes glowed that rich emerald hue she'd grown so familiar with, and she could feel his penetrating gaze.

His eyes raked down her form and while she logically knew that he really couldn't see anything private by doing so, it still didn't make her feel any less exposed. "I know even my skeleton is hot but you don't have to stare like that," she teased as he checked her bone placement.

His laughter felt like a reward, even if the hesitation within the sound almost overwhelmed the joy within the sound. Her brows pinched in concern while he double checked her over, a small wriggling worm of doubt eating its way into her subconscious.

"Did I… Did I hurt anyone…?"

"You mean other than Boom?" he chuckled. She wasn't laughing, though, and it shut his chuckle down pretty quickly. He carefully placed the two supports on either side of her clothed leg—but paused. "You wanna roll this up, take 'em off, what?"

Bubbles reached down to the hem at her ankle and ripped the leg of the bodysuit up to her knee. Her suit, it seemed, had caved in on itself when the monster had clawed at her back—though why or how, she didn't know. Edna would have to take a look and fix it. "I'll change into a different outfit later."

"I dunno, the asymmetrical look is kinda hot. Maybe take it a little shorter on this side, though," he teased, waggling his eyebrows at her. "The underbutt look would be hot on you."

She huffed and shoved his shoulder. "Pig."

"Oink oink." He then snorted twice and she laughed, still not forgetting that he had yet to answer her question. Either the answer would hurt her, or the answer was one he didn't want to give.

Contrary to his rude joke, his hands were incredibly professional and gentle. He was very cautious and careful about how he set the supports on either side of her bruised and mildly discolored leg, and she tried so desperately to focus on anything but the rough sensation of his calloused hands against her skin. He spared her embarrassment by not commenting on her shiver at the contact, but she genuinely couldn't tell if he was letting his touch linger like that on purpose or if her nerves were just messed up around the break in her leg.

Both were possible.

He didn't make her as nervous as he used to, but that wasn't saying much, considering their current situation. Her nerves were high and, honestly, she would probably feel the same no matter which of them did it. They weren't left literally alone like this often— she could remember the last time they were left alone like this being sometime in their junior year of high school. She used that line of thinking as a crutch, doing her best to convince herself that everything was normal and fine.

"You've got the day from classes," he said softly, his eyes not once moving from his work on wrapping her leg. "Boss and Boom are covering you on patrols to keep the girls from exhausting themselves."

She sighed deeply, finally pulled almost completely away from the weird physical tension that had sparked between them. "I feel like shit. Everyone's having to go so far out of their way for my tantrum…"

"Twice now," he said, his thumb caressing her calf gently as his gaze locked with her own. "If I send you out cursing so much, your sisters will have my head on a platter."

She laughed airily. "Oh, what they don't know won't kill them."

He raised a single brow, his eyes flashing with the heat of something indecipherable. It was gone too fast for her to accurately pin. "Someone's gotten sneaky."

"As if I didn't have amazing influences to make that happen," she challenged, raising a brow of her own right back at him.

His fingers twitched against her skin.

She successfully held back her shiver and held his gaze steadily.

Butch cleared his throat and was the one to break their eye contact, looking back down to finish up his wrapping job. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Ah, yes, because you—Butch Jojo—are the personification of innocence."

"Well duh. Have you seen me?"

She laughed, the sound like bells.

Finally he finished up, patting her knee gently to let her know he was done. "…I think that's how a lot of people see you, actually."

A frown settled on her face and his words—though ever honest—stung as they burned in her mind. Her teeth clenched tightly, her eyes hardened and her back tensed. The dried blood that was caked there flaked a little, and the feeling made her stomach flip. More than that, she picked up on his choice of words. Instead of following him and asking why he thought that, she tilted her head at him. "But you don't."

It wasn't a question, but he still nodded. "Right."

"Where is this coming from, anyway?" Her tone was guarded and monotonous at best. If her eyes could do anything other than laser someone to death, they would probably poison whoever she looked at. If that were the case, Butch would be her first victim with the sheer venom in the look she leveled on him.

"Something you were yelling about last night," he answered simply. He walked back around to his chair by the bed and sat on the edge of the cushion, leaning towards the bed and towards the lass. "Everyone babies you because they think you're a walking source of innocence. They forget that it's sugar you're mostly made of, not some stupid idea of purity."

Bubbles very carefully measured her breathing and her nails dug into her palm as she tightened her fists. "I appreciate you trying to get me to talk about it, but that's probably not the way to go about it."

Butch waved a borderline flippant hand at her, dismissing her statement. "I ain't trying to get you to talk about it, Sugar. I'm letting you know that I call you 'Sugar' for a reason. You're not pure or innocent to me. You're Sugar." He shrugged. "The same sugar that can be sickly sweet, give you stomach aches, be so sweet it's sour… or in extreme concentrations, can poison you."

She didn't like how hard and fast her heart was beating and she hoped like hell that he didn't notice. It wasn't that loud, right? Her teeth were gritted tightly, and she hated the way her emotions felt like they were being tugged this way and that at the same time. She didn't want to believe him, but she also had total faith in his honesty. She wanted nothing more than to snarl at him, ticking off one by one all of the times where he was just like the others- always babying her, always believing that she was a little angel who could simply do no wrong- but no matter how desperately she searched and clawed through her memories, she couldn't find a single one. She hated how he fully exposed one of her biggest insecurities, but her heart burned with the way he soothed those internal wounds. He was sweet and his words were so kind and beautiful, but they were carried on steel that sliced cleanly through the confidence she usually had to keep a steady conversation.

She couldn't handle it at that moment.

"Can we talk about literally anything else?" she finally settled on, her voice meek and small.

He seemed taken aback. "Yeah… Sorry, Bubbles, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"I know you didn't." She smiled hesitantly. "I'm just… not at all ready for a conversation like this. It's genuinely not you or what you were saying, just…"

"It's not you it's me, right?" he asked, putting on a fake hurt expression. It was so overly dramatic that she couldn't help but roll her eyes at his theatrics. "Alright, I'm dropping it… Just know there's at least one person here that ain't that way. But with that out of the way—what do you want to eat? You've been asleep for almost eighteen hours now, I'd guess you're hungry."

He just had to get the last word in, huh.

She'd ignore it for now.

Bubbles smiled cutely at him. As fake as it felt to do so, she needed some level of normalcy. "I'd liiiiike some of Butch's famous thick-n-fluffy pancakes, if you'd be willing to make a few for little ol' me." She batted her eyelashes at him for extra effect, earning a belly deep laugh from him.

The sound made her smile feel much less empty, much less forced. She decided that she liked it when he laughed. His eyes crinkled, his smile bright and wide, his face both scrunched in joy and so relaxed that he seemed five years younger.

"Alright, but only if you keep inflating my ego, Sweetcheeks," he finished with a wink.

The Puff watched him stand with a mischievous glitter to her sky eyes. His ability to think of nicknames on the fly was unparalleled, but she was grateful he dropped the Sugar one for now. "Why, of course, oh handsomest of the Ruffs." Her smile grew wider at his smile and light blush—a rare feature on his face. "The coolest, most fun man to be around."

He tried his hardest to keep his cocky smirk, but she could see his fluster in the way his ears and neck slowly pinkened.

"Oh, the best looking man with a mind of gold." He bit his lower lip and she kept going. "Oh, Butch Jojo, with the Midas Touch that turns anything he cooks to flavor gold, who has a voice that can flood the undies of anyone listening—"

His cheeks grew red, and she giggled when he started to head out of the room. "Alright, alright, I'll make you some pancakes. That's enough."

"But I was just getting started!"

"Maybe I should've just gone with them."

"Aww, boo. You're no fun." She stuck her tongue out at him, reminding him of a rabbit as her nose wrinkled.

"You're more trouble than you're worth." He rolled his eyes fondly, then paused in the doorway to look back at her.

She was still smiling widely at him. "I think I'm worth more trouble, actually."

He snorted. "…maybe, just not today."

Her laughter tinkled in his ears again, like windchimes on a warm summer's night.

He looked like he wanted to say something else, but he just smiled and walked off.