Her wardrobe was limited. It ranged from comfortable, to comfortable-with-some-colour. Buttercup was almost ready to give up and borrow an outfit from Bubbles. It was late afternoon and she still hadn't found anything that fit Blossom's idea of a 'striking' yet 'formal' outfit she could wear for tomorrow's evening interview.
There was a knock at the door.
"It's open," Buttercup called. The door swung inwards, slowly, and Buttercup had to crane her neck to see who was there. "Why are you standing at the threshold like some horror movie murderer?"
Bubbles shrugged. "Sorry. I just didn't want to disturb you." She took a step inside. "Uh, Blossom said you could use some help?"
"Oh, yeah. With makeup, hair… basic colour co-ordination." Buttercup paused and gave Bubbles a glance. "But you don't have to hang around here just because Blossom ordered it. She's not an actual queen – despite her delusions," Buttercup muttered. Blossom's controlling nature was something she'd been glad to be rid of during her break from missions.
Bubbles gave a small smile. "I'm fine. I like fashion and," she waved her arms around, "everything else," she finished lamely. Her arms hung limp at her side as she glanced around the room.
"Right, right." Was this atmosphere because of the tiny comment she'd made last night? It was a joke; hardly worth dwelling on. Bubbles had always been too sensitive for her own good.
Buttercup blew out a breath, then snatched up her leather jacket, keys, and phone. "Get the Professor, we need a ride to the mall. More clothes, more make up," more people; less awkward silences, she added mentally. "You can help me pick some things out there."
Watching Bubbles in the mall was a surreal experience. She flitted from shop to shop, digging through clearance bins and picking out items that all had something wrong with them. Buttercup assumed this was her sister's way of being passive aggressive. Maybe Bubbles was going to dress her up like a hobo on live television.
"Bubbles," she called, speeding up when the blonde had disappeared into a crowd ahead. "I really don't know what you're doing. You have bags full of random pieces, you're constantly rushing ahead, and we haven't bought a single thing that I can confidently label as an item of clothing." She was starting to get annoyed. "Are you actually trying to help me? Or is wasting my time your way of getting back at me?"
Bubbles tucked a wavy strand behind her ear, her attention flickering between Buttercup and the prying shoppers. The strand popped right back out.
"Look, ignore them. Just tell me where the heck I stand with you." She hated feeling like a bomb was about to blow.
"I'm not –" Bubbles cleared her throat. "I'm not getting revenge or anything like that." She shrugged. "This is… this is just how I shop." Her voice had faded, bit by bit, until Buttercup had to lean in to hear her last words.
Great. Now she felt shitty. All of this was Mitch's fault for convincing her that Bubbles would be emotionally scarred or something. She shouldn't have let his words weigh on her mind; even Bubbles could take a little embarrassment.
"I… guess I read into things. I shouldn't have snapped at you." Buttercup put a hand out. "Pass some of those bags my way."
Bubbles handed her a few and Buttercup steered her sister away from the prying shoppers. But she knew it was already too late. They'd made a scene. By tomorrow morning their 'heated argument' would be on a popular blog somewhere, despite the fact that it'd lasted all of ten seconds.
Buttercup kicked herself. She was usually so good at remaining unnoticed. After sixteen years, Townsville hardly cared about the Powerpuffs unless there was conflict. It was child's play to go under the radar.
When they had walked a good distance, Bubbles spoke. "I think we have everything we'll need. You can borrow my makeup, and I'll use the clothes I bought to layer some material over an old dress I own. It'll look nice." She smiled. "So, uh, maybe we can take a break before we call the Professor? There's a nice juice bar upstairs?"
Buttercup shrugged. "I don't know. I'm not really in the mood." The Professor would take at least ten minutes to get here. If they delayed the call, it would only take longer – she was already running out of conversation.
Bubbles nodded. Her lips were tightly shut and her shoulder's hunched. She'd clearly been asking for more than just a trip to the juice bar.
"But… I guess I could do with a smoothie," Buttercup muttered. Why didn't Bubbles just say what she was after? Buttercup found this irritating. She felt like she was playing the part of an oblivious boyfriend in a romantic drama.
They turned around and headed up the escalator. By the time they'd settled at a table with their smoothies, fifteen minutes had passed. They could have been half way home already.
Buttercup removed the lid from her mango smoothie and stirred it with a straw. Bubbles had suggested this, but she didn't look particularly happy; she hadn't even touched the tomato and avocado concoction she'd ordered.
"So…" Buttercup said.
"I'm not good at conversations," Bubbles blurted, "and confrontations. And sometimes I, it's like… I get in my own way." She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, jostling the entire table in the process. "So I'm always really happy that I have you and Blossom; we're always together, and we always protect each other. It's like I've never had to be alone." She cleared her throat. "But, I don't know. Maybe you don't… It's like you don't feel that way. You don't like me."
Buttercup was at a loss for words.
Bubbles' hands shot up, as if Buttercup was the one who needed to calm down. "It's not about yesterday. That doesn't matter. It's just every day really… we're not friends."
Her smoothie looked unappetising. The yellow hue identical to the fading bruises running up the length of her arm. She pushed her drink away. And then pulled it closer. Then away again.
What could she say to that?
Bubbles had just now realised what Buttercup had known for a while; they just didn't get each other. Missions had been the girls only bonding experiences, and even that was filled with tension. Bubbles had felt comforted to have sisters? Buttercup had never felt more alone; the only person she'd had, for a long time, was Mitch. Exactly what household had Bubble's grown up in?
"I, uh, I think… you're a decent sister," Buttercup finished lamely.
She got a glimpse of Bubbles; her eyes were filling up and she was blinking rapidly.
"Okay… so yeah. Maybe we're not too close. But, I mean, we've had our moments." It's not like they were enemies. Her relationship with Bubbles was way better than her relationship with Blossom.
A tear spilled from Bubbles' eye and she swiped it away with her sleeve. Buttercup made a point of looking elsewhere. Bubbles was always tearing up, but she hadn't actually cried in front of her since they were kids.
Buttercup glanced through the window and out towards the escalator. She didn't know what else to say; she'd come to terms with their distance long ago. If she couldn't comfort herself then, she certainly couldn't comfort Bubbles now. She guessed it didn't help that she'd given up on forming a real relationship with her sisters.
But she wouldn't say she didn't like them.
Her gaze drifted across the first floor landing. It was mostly empty apart from a pasty kid with dark hair and sun shades. Buttercup snorted; he looked 11, maybe 12 years old, and he was already adopting the habits of a seasoned douchebag. She wondered if his dad wore shades indoors at night time too. It'd definitely be interesting to see.
Bubble's hiccupped and Buttercup stirred. She wasn't sure if she should turn around yet, but it was getting late. "Bubbles…"
Her sister's eyes were red, but that was the only sign that she'd been crying.
Buttercup pushed her chair back and put on her jacket. "We should call the Professor and head home." She tried to give a smile, but her mouth wouldn't quite cooperate.
Bubbles walked ahead while Buttercup phoned the Professor. When the call ended they fell in step, but neither said a word.
They were approaching the escalator when Sun Shades sidled up to them. "Y-you're the Powerpuff Girls."
It seemed as if the boy was staring at the floor, but she couldn't be certain. Maybe he wore those shades because he was shy? Buttercup nodded slowly. "That's us."
"I've, um, I've followed every mission. On the news, and… and the clips online." He fiddled with his fingers. "Bubbles is my favourite," he murmured.
Maybe this kid didn't live in Townsville? Why else would he idolize them to this extent?
Bubbles smiled; it looked genuine too. She crouched down until she was level with his face. "Thank you. It's nice to see a fan with this much excitement."
Buttercup crouched down too. She couldn't contain her smirk. "You know, I'm the exact opposite of Bubbles. Are you trying to say I'm your least favourite Puff?"
The kid began to stutter and Buttercup's smirk dissolved into laughter. "I'm joking. Calm down kid. I'm just messing with you."
She stood up and Bubbles stood too. "That wasn't very funny," Bubbles said.
"Huh?"
"You always do things that aren't funny," she mumbled. She turned to the boy and donned her sweetest smile.
He shoved her.
Bubbles squealed and staggered back, knocking her elbow against the escalator railing.
"Hey!" Buttercup yelled, pulling him by his shirt collar. "What the hell's wrong with you?"
He tilted his head back, and grinned. At this angle, with the fluorescent lights above, his shades were partially transparent. Buttercup noticed he had no iris'.
"You're the Amoeba kid, aren't you?" He didn't answer, but Buttercup wasn't expecting one anyway. It wasn't his real name, just a moniker the press had thought up in the last few months. He had an extreme split-personality disorder; it made him unpredictable, dangerous.
Buttercup let him go. "Okay Bubbles. We've had enough play time with kid crazy over here. Let's get moving."
"H-he only acted like that because you made him look silly." She cradled her elbow in her hand and crouched in front of him again. "She didn't mean what she said. You're still a fan of ours, aren't you?"
"Don't apologise for me," Buttercup snapped. "He's the Amoeba kid. He'll just become a pain if we hang around here."
"I already knew who he was." Bubbles said, standing up. "…It doesn't change anything."
The boy launched forward, in what looked like a flying hug, but his weight pushed them back. Bubbles stumbled to the escalator.
And they teetered on the edge.
Buttercup lurched forward and clutched Bubble's wrist. She had to grip something – hold something. But they were falling too fast. They were way too heavy. She couldn't hold them both with one hand.
Buttercup's eyes skittered around the area. Think, think, think. Then she reached forward, snatched at the boy's collar, and tore him off. There was a sharp cry and the sound of something splintering behind her as she hauled Bubbles to her feet.
She turned around. Amoeba kid was unconscious, laying in a shallow crater of splintered ceramic tiles. There was a trickle of blood sliding down his forehead. "…What just –"
"Buttercup, let go. It hurts. Please let go!" Bubbles was squirming in her grip and Buttercup snatched her hand away. Bubble's was tearing up. Her wrist was an angry red, already darkening on the spots where Buttercup's fingertips had pressed.
There was a crowd forming, and people talking, and Bubble's snivelling, but it felt like all of that was slowly fading into the background.
Could she really…?
Was it possible?
Buttercup laughed. She laughed until Bubbles had calmed down. She laughed until the paramedic's hauled Amoeba boy away, and the Professor placed a hand on her shoulder. She laughed until her sisters began to worry, and her gasps turned into tears.
Because someone was screwing with her. After months of wishing, and hoping, and praying for some sort of ability, after all her inner turmoil, it was at that moment she'd received her super strength — just in time to damage a kid.
The Hummer was suffocating.
Their car clearly wasn't large enough with Blossom's ego as an extra passenger.
"Are you paying attention Buttercup? I'm giving you advice. We need to make sure you know what you'll be speaking about. Or more precisely, what you won't be speaking about."
Buttercup rested her cheek against the window. It was cool, and gave off slight vibrations that lulled her into a state of semi-consciousness. But it couldn't quite block the images in her head; the flashes of nasty scenarios that could take place at the Townsville Bulletin interview:
An overly intrusive reporter.
A wardrobe malfunction.
Hell, she could say the wrong thing and single-handedly end the Powerpuff Girls, something no villain had been able to do in 16 years.
Buttercup swore under her breath.
"Avoid questions concerning the Amoeba kid," Blossom continued. "And questions about your super strength. We can't let Townsville know that a superhero can't control her superpowers," she said with a hint of …irritation? Second-hand shame? "And, it goes without saying really, don't mention Butch Jojo."
Buttercup peeled her cheek off the glass. "If you received your fire breath right this second, without any warning, I can bet there'd be two shish-kebabs. And it'd be me and the Professor," she said, trying to drag him into their conversation. If Bubbles were here, even with her wrist brace, she'd be talkative enough to act as some sort of buffer.
Blossom's face went completely still. "Did you even hear a word I said? Remember that you're representing the Powerpuff Girls; we are the heroes of Townsville. You can't make a mistake Buttercup."
"Yeah. I know. Do you see what I'm wearing?" Buttercup pinched a section of her dress, and then let it go; it clung to her like two opposing magnets. She'd been stuffed into a strapless navy blue dress that stopped just below her knees. It was layered with a fine black lace 'sweetheart bodice' as Bubbles had described it, and detailed with a silver thread along the neckline and the dress' hem. She was wearing foundation, a thick layer of eyeliner, and her dark hair had been styled in loose curls. She didn't look like herself— she didn't feel like herself. "It's not like I'm doing all this so I can purposely fuck up! So just back the hell off!"
"Language," the Professor reprimanded.
Buttercup's scowl was so fierce that she was positive foundation residue would cake in her frown lines. Where was the Professors' parental side when Blossom had been talking down to her?
"I'm aware," Blossom said, "but there are too many topics of interest surrounding you Buttercup. You need to be certain of what you can and cannot answer –"
"Looks like we're here." The car was slowing, and Buttercup stepped out before it had even rolled to a halt. She teetered back, snagging her tights on the door before it flopped shut. If she had full control of her body she'd be storming towards the studio entrance, but as things were, in her tight dress and black heels, she settled for an angry trot.
She heard the whirl of a window behind her. "Good luck sweetheart," the Professor called. "You'll do great."
She was still annoyed, but the knot in her stomach loosened a bit at those words. She waved without turning around and took a deep breath as the studio doors shut behind her.
Grateful for all the reviews! Hope you enjoyed this chapter.