She could hear her heart pounding, like each beat was knocking on her ear drums. There was fear, and excitement, and anger. It gave her a sense of déjà vu, reminded her of the olden days when she was cornered in a fight – when she was forced to lash out.
She gripped Butch's hand with hers.
Well, maybe 'forced' was a strong word.
The front door swung open. Butch dropped her and she stumbled back, knocking her ankle against the coffee table. "Backing down then?" She straightened out her top.
"I'm not here to fight," he said, but his glare was saying something completely different.
The door slammed shut and Buttercup's remaining anger dimmed; the wannabe hero could wait. "Don't even think about starting on me Blossom. This guy is – whoa."
Blossom's hair was singed, with soot clinging onto every ginger strand. Her pink cold-shoulder top was now torn in several places, each rip had a charred likeness to the holes in Bubble's tattered outfit. They both had scrapes and cuts. Buttercup could tell that Blossom had taken the brunt of the attack; her sister's skin had so many red patches, that at times, she couldn't distinguish a fresh bruise from dried blood.
Buttercup took a step forward. "What happened? Why didn't you call me?"
"It's alright," Blossom looked exhausted, "it was just a difficult mission."
"'Difficult'? Look at you!" she yelled. To her right, she could hear Bubbles' breaths beginning to hitch; safe to assume she was close to tears. "You okay?"
Her sister's gaze was glued to the ground. "It's my fault. I… I wasn't paying attention. Blossom had to shield me."
Blossom placed a hand on Bubble's back. "It's fine, we locked him away and that's all that matters."
"Is he in critical condition?" Buttercup asked, "I'm pretty sure that's all that matters."
Blossom nudged Bubbles towards the staircase, leading down to the Professor's lab. No doubt they were going to get patched up.
"He's not home yet," said Buttercup.
Blossom sucked in a breath. "Right. Okay. Bubbles can you call him? We need to get treated, I still need to discuss efficient training regimens, and it's clear now that we'll be needing actual battle suits…"
It stung. Her sisters were injured, and her phone hadn't rung once, all day. Did she really look incapable? Just because she'd missed a few measly missions here and there?
"You should have called," Buttercup barked. She sounded pissed; she wasn't pissed at them. "I know I don't get involved in missions and all that, but this is different. When you need back up, I'll be there."
Blossom's mumbles died down. She regarded Buttercup before her attention flickered to Butch for the first time all evening. "We were fine Buttercup."
"What is that? Sarcasm?"
Blossom clutched her arm. "I'm not in the mood to deal with this."
"Deal with what? I was offering a hand. If you'd called me I would have helped."
"No. I guarantee you could not have 'helped'." Blossom's tone was weary, but every shot was crystal clear. "As you are now, you would have been as useful as a civilian. Your skills have dulled."
"…Really." It didn't matter that Blossom was exhausted, irritable, and injured – she'd said that bull in front of a Ruff. It seemed like everyone wanted a turn to step on her today.
"'Dulled'? I don't know about that." Butch swung his feet over the armrest. "Her skills are fine, and I've got the aching jaw to prove it. Besides," he tipped his head back and pointed in the general direction of Blossom, "based on the post-apocalyptic look you've got going on, I suggest focusing on the skills that you lack."
"I –" Buttercup recognised Blossom's expression; the Ice Queen was biting her tongue to keep from groaning in pain. "I'm… just not dealing with this tonight," she said, and walked into the Professor's lab with Bubbles trailing behind.
Butch grabbed the remote. "I can touch it now, right?" Buttercup remained silent. "Of course I can," he answered, already channel surfing. "I'm your knight in shining armour."
"Don't insult Blossom," but the statement fell flat even to her own ears. She tried a sentence that held more truth. "I don't need your protection. Five seconds ago you were spouting the same trash as her, so why jump in?"
"Don't get me wrong, I agree with her wholeheartedly." He shrugged. "But I'll take any chance to screw over a Red."
Buttercup pulled her feet up onto the kitchen counter. Bubbles was flitting around, and she didn't want anything to spill on her good jeans. It had been four days since her fight with Butch, and something was bothering her:
The Ruff had never hit her.
Not once, since the day they'd met, and she was certain she'd given him good reason.
Buttercup reached and grabbed the bowl of grapes off the adjacent aisle. She popped a few into her mouth. Blossom liked the red ones so Buttercup made it her mission to finish them each morning. Sourness be damned.
"You don't want waffles?" Bubbles asked, mixing the batter. She had streaks of flour on her baby blue top.
She popped another grape into her mouth. "I can hold down both."
Most of Bubble's bandages had been removed, and there was only some light scarring on her elbow. Maybe they all had a bit of super healing left in their system, after all, it was a similar situation with her bruised ankle.
"Hey," Buttercup began, she had to be tactful, "what do you think of Butch?"
Bubbles' stirring slowed. "Uh… I don't really, I mean, he's fine. He's…a Rowdyruff boy."
Buttercup snorted. That answer was a bit pathetic. "Come on, I'm not Blossom. I won't string you up if you show a little honest emotion." Bubbles went back to stirring and the silence lasted so long that Buttercup was beginning to question whether she'd spoken out loud. "I've been having some thoughts of my own," she continued, "I'm just wondering if we're on the same page."
"Okay. But I don't really know what I think," Bubbles said. "He seems different from when we were children. It's like he's bad, but… not really."
Buttercup nodded. "Okay. Yeah." If she hadn't felt the same, that sentence wouldn't have made much sense. "Guess we're thinking alike then."
Bubbles reached for the waffle iron in an overhead cupboard. She tiptoed and stretched and still only the tips of her fingers brushed it.
"Need a hand?" Buttercup asked, already walking along the kitchen counter. She hopped over the stove and grabbed the waffle iron. "Here."
"Thanks," said Bubbles.
"We cook there Buttercup." Blossom strode into the kitchen, her hair slicked into a tight ponytail. She looked as pristine as ever; she obviously didn't intend to actually touch anything in here. "If you need something, use a chair to reach for it."
"Why is this even an issue? You certainly don't cook in here," she jumped off the counter. "Anyway, I've got to go." It was too early to deal with the pink puff.
She walked into the living room just as a knock sounded on the front door. "I've got it," she called.
But it didn't even sound like the girls were listening. She could hear Blossom interrogating Bubbles: something about grocery shopping and red grapes. By the time Buttercup pulled the front door open, she was thoroughly pleased with herself.
"Buttercup. Weird seeing you here."
It was Mitch. She hadn't seen him since their almost-fight a few days back. She'd clearly felt tension between them, but it seemed like he was ignoring it now. "I live here." She wrestled her lips into a smile. "What? Does Bubble's outshine me now?"
He pulled his phone out of his pocket. "It's… 7:30. In the morning. Aren't you nocturnal?" he teased.
"Huge exaggeration." If Mitch was going to act like nothing had happened, then so could she. "So, are you here to see Bubbles?"
"No, just dropping this off." He held up a blue jean jacket. "She left it at my place."
"Oh. Cool." It had taken Mitch years before he'd invited Buttercup to his trailer. "You and Bubbles… pretty serious there. I mean, your place?" She forced a laugh.
Mitch leant in slightly, inspecting her expression. "Wow. You sound painfully uncomfortable."
"I'm not. You said you wanted to speak about this lovey-dovey crap, right?" Buttercup shut her eyes for a second. Even when she was being genuine, it was her anger that came across. "I said you could tell me this kind of stuff, didn't I?"
Mitch rocked back on his heels. "Yeah. Okay then." He took a second, and then, "I don't know about 'serious', but we've been going out every day." He shrugged. "I've liked Bubbles for a long time."
"How long?"
He shook his head. "Long."
That was irritating. The way he said that word—like he'd been pining for someone who was out of his league. Like he couldn't quite see himself measuring up to Bubbles. But Buttercup had seen her sister suffer a low GPA, an attack of aggressive acne, and months in public with orthodontic headgear. "You know she didn't stop eating crayons until she was 11, right?"
Mitch raised an eyebrow.
"I'm just saying – she's normal. And you're…" Good enough. But she couldn't say that, not if she wanted to keep those grapes down. "You're normal too. So there you go, a match made in heaven."
He snorted. "Thanks."
She grabbed the jacket off him and flashed a smile. "Something about that didn't sound genuine."
He shook his head and turned to leave. "Anyway, I need to get going."
"Hang on a sec. I've been cooped up in this house for way too long. Want to hang out?" She said, already stepping past the threshold. "I'm thinking –"
"Sorry, I really can't make it today. I have a bunch of errands to run; my place is practically falling apart."
She didn't even have to ask who was occupying his evenings. "We haven't hung out in ages. But, fine, whatever."
He ran a hand over his buzz cut. "Next time, yeah?"
She shrugged. "Yeah, sure. Later." She shut the door before he even turned away.
Look forward to an action packed chapter 7