CHAPTER 71: SCARLET WOLF

ME: Wow, am I tired.

BRICK: So you still exist, after all. And here I was wishing you were gone forever.

ME: Heh. I'm seeing this thing through to the end. You can't get rid of me that easily.

BLOSSOM: It has been three months though. Where have you been?

ME: Oh, you know...school. *glances at the calendar* Is the last time I updated seriously April 1st?

BRICK: Yes. Duh.

ME: *rolls eyes, ignores him* Wow. That was before my AP English exams. Before my AP Art portfolio was due. Before my AP Art field trip to a camp. And way before I had my final exam mock trial on dictators, with my assignment being on whether or not Mao Zedong did more harm or good for China.

BLOSSOM: Ooh, how did that go?

ME: Great, actually. It was fun, and prosecution, which I was a part of, won the case. Anyway, point is, that was before a lot of stuff.

BLOSSOM: And when do your AP marks come out?

ME: They start coming out July 5th. Isn't that crazy?

BANANA: You've had a busy few months, haven't you?

ME: *nods* Grad happened. My birthday happened and I'm kind of sort of considered an adult now. Oh, and Canada turned 150. So I guess you could say I've been preparing for the next chapter of my life.

BRAKER: Just like you've been preparing this new chapter for this story?

ME: Heh, yeah. I may not have started writing it until June, but here it is now! In all its ridiculously-long glory. Enjoy~

Chapter 71: Scarlet Wolf

Here goes nothing.

Taking a deep breath, Buttercup raised her fist and knocked on the door. She waited on the doorstep, fidgeting uncomfortably. She wasn't sure where things were going to go, especially since she hadn't visited or even made much contact with the Rowdyruff Boys in quite some time.

So when the door opened, her heart was beating quite quickly—but she managed to relax somewhat when she saw that it was Mojo standing in the doorway.

His pink eyes widened slightly. "Why, hello and greetings, Buttercup Utonium the green Powerpuff Girl and superhero—it is quite the pleasant and thus also nice and sweet surprise to see you here, as I was not expecting you or anticipating such a visit. So to what do I owe this generous and friendly drop-in, considering how I was not—"

"Mojo dear, get on with it," a voice that starred out light and feminine before turning demonic called. A puff of pink smoke revealed a demonic-looking figure, with pincers for hands, red skin, and black lips that were currently scrunched together tightly. He rolled his neon-green eyes. "You take forever."

"Hi, Him," Buttercup said awkwardly, raising a hand in greeting.

Mojo let out a huff. "Well, I never," he muttered.

Him turned to the green Puff. "Anyway, whatever brought you to our humble abode?" he questioned, fanning a lobster-like claw.

"I was looking for Butch," she explained.

Him blinked at her a few times, before his green eyes widened. "Oh," he stated. "Ohhh."

Buttercup rubbed her arm uncomfortably, unsure of what he thought she wanted from the green Ruff, but it certainly looked like he had an idea.

Him turned to the staircase, breathed in deeply, before shouting, "BUTCH!"

"WHAT!?" a familiar boy's voice yelled back from upstairs.

"WE HAVE COMPANY LOOKING FOR YOU!" he bellowed back.

Buttercup heard a familiar chiu! before spotting the dark-green burst of light at the top of the stairwell. She hung back behind Him and Mojo, feeling nervous and awkward.

Butch Jojo appeared, descending the stairs quickly. His usually spiky hair was a little less spiky than usual, she noted—perhaps because he hadn't gelled it, or he'd just taken a shower—and he was wearing a green hoodie with fur around his neck. He had clearly been relaxing, judging by his pyjama bottoms.

Him sighed when he spotted the boy's outfit. "You could at least put more effort into your look."

Butch snorted. "Like I care."

"Him has a point, as in a valid argument, as surprisingly and unexpectedly as it is," Mojo stated. "Appearances and the way you look are quite important and thus should be a priority or very high on the list of things to think and ponder deeply and thoroughly about, as your look has a direct correlation and link to how other people may see you or think of you or judge you."

"Like I said, like I care," Butch repeated bluntly, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. "Anyway, who's looking for me?"

"I am." Buttercup stepped forward, still feeling uncomfortable. She saw Butch's eyes widen in shock as he unfolded his arms. Glancing between him and his adopted parents, she cleared her throat. "Butch... Can I talk to you? In private...?"

He looked at his adopted parents, and they stared back at him. After a brief silence of surprised staring, he came to his senses and jumped up, shooing them away. "You heard her!" he hissed. "Leave us alone!"

"Right, right, right; of course," Him responded, already floating away. "We won't bother you. Come along, Mojo dear—we can make some cookies."

"But I was just working on and developing a new weapon and tool for XJ9* with and in collaboration with Brick for renowned and fellow scientist and also colleague, Nora Wakeman—"

"Mojo, now," Him commanded, dragging the mutated ape away.

Buttercup watched them leave, before turning back to her counterpart.

He was staring at her, eyebrow raised. "So what did you want to talk about?"

She looked around, feeling as if a million eyes were on her, despite it being only Butch and her in front of the door. "...Let's go for a walk," she finally decided.

He frowned, but said nothing against the idea. Instead, he nodded. "Okay. Let me get changed first."

So Buttercup waited as Butch flew back upstairs to get dressed. And as she stood there, the door to Mojo's lab opened and a boy with red hair and red eyes stuck his head out. He had a fur collar like Butch, but his was more reddish. He spotted her and grinned.

"Hey, BC," he said, making his way over to her.

"Hey, Brick." She relaxed. She felt more comfortable now, since she was pretty close to the red Ruff.

"I'm surprised to see you here," he commented. "What's up?"

"Just looking for your brother," she explained.

Just as she said that, another boy walked in, this one with spiky brown hair and orange eyes. "Is it me?" he chirped.

"I was just about to ask." Brick chuckled. "I do have like...five other brothers."

"Butch," she clarified.

"Ooh." Brick and Braker exchanged wide-eyed looks, their eyebrows shooting upwards.

"What's with that look?" Buttercup demanded in an awkward mutter.

"Want me to call him?" Brick asked, raising an eyebrow. "And what did you want to talk to him about? Is it...?" He trailed off, and while he didn't finish the thought, the look he was giving her said it all.

"That'd be very brave of you if it was," Braker added. "I admire that."

She flushed red. "No"—and she was saying it to more than one of their questions, both spoken and unspoken—"it's fine. Him already called him."

"Ahh; I thought I heard something." Brick glanced at the heavy metal door to Mojo's lair. "But you know—semi-soundproof door and loud machinery and all that."

"Yeah," she responded awkwardly.

He turned back to her. "Anyway, speaking of Mojo's lab, have you seen him anywhere? He just up and disappeared."

"He's in the kitchen with Him," she answered.

"Okay! Thanks, BC. I'll see you around," he replied, before floating off into the kitchen.

"Well, I'm off too. Him and Mojo kicked me out of the kitchen while I was snacking, so I'm heading upstairs to play video games." He grinned. "Too bad you can't join me, but you've got things to discuss with Butch, don't you?" He winked, waving as well before flying up the stairs.

She waved back to both of them, before hearing Butch come flying down to her.

"Alright; ready," he said. He was now wearing a green beanie and very dark-green coat with many zippers and black jeans. A similar fur collar to his last one was also on this jacket.

"That's a lot of zippers," she remarked.

"All the better to hide things in," he replied. As he bent down to pick up his shoes, he grinned. "You know, I'm surprised you're talking to me again. Ever since Ross went missing, you've been refusing to speak to me..."

"Yeah..." she responded absently, tilting her head as she tried to get a better look. She could spot sharp teeth in his mouth, reminding her of Ross' secret, a name she'd heard him speak. It made her heart clench. Butch wasn't wrong about the zippers, even if he was joking—he did have a lot of things to hide after all. "You know...I've only just noticed how sharp your canines are," she tested carefully.

He froze, slowly letting go of a shoe and standing up straight, before turning to face her. He shoved his foot fully inside his shoe and blinked. "...All the better to eat with," he finally stated.

"Right." She decided not to push further. If her suspicions were correct, she would be trying to get confirmation later—jinxing herself right then was the last thing she wanted. "Okay, let's fly to my house," she finally said decidedly.

He smiled, raising a cocky eyebrow. "Oh, Buttercup—if you wanted a date, you could've just asked, instead of using this convoluted plan."

She punched him. "Oh shut up."

He laughed, before pushing the door open. "Lead the way, B-cup."

"I keep telling you not to call me that," she responded.

"And it'll only egg me on more." Butch winked, before blasting off. "Race ya!"

"Hey, no fair! You cheater!" she called back as she flew after him, trying to catch up. "You always do this!"

"Do not!" He chuckled, speeding up when he spotted her almost reaching his side.

The two of them continued to fly, exchanging blows through words until they reached Buttercup's house. Butch skidded a to a stop.

"Ha! I win," he exclaimed.

She rolled her eyes, landing beside him. "Only because you cheated, you butt-face."

He stuck his tongue out at her. "So what did you want to talk about, anyway?" he asked, looking around. "Seems kind of like a big deal, if you wanted me to come all the way here."

She walked toward the door and unlocked it, pushing it open with a sigh. "Just follow me," she responded. "We're going to my room."

Butch's eyes widened and a blush formed on his cheeks, but Buttercup didn't catch the expression. He trailed after her awkwardly, looking flustered.

"Alright, here we are," she said, pushing the door to her room open. "You can sit down anywhere you want."

He went for the chair at her desk, seating himself on the edge in an awkward manner. Buttercup sat down on her bed. "So what's up?" he asked again. "What's going on, BC?"

She weighed her options in her head, frowning. She could try asking him directly, but it might set him off and piss him off—she wouldn't put it past Butch to be upset at the question. But if she tried to dance around it, he'd still be upset if or when he caught on because he wasn't an idiot.

Buttercup grimaced. "Okay, Butch, I—"

"Buttercup!" came the Professor's voice, interrupting her.

She and Butch both jumped at the same time, exchanging bewildered glances.

"Guess you should go," he finally commented, and Buttercup snapped out of her stupor.

She scrambled upwards. "I'll be right back," she said quickly, diving out the door and down the stairs. "Professor!" she called. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"It looks like you've brought a boy home!" he stated, frowning with folded arms.

Questions raced through her mind. Since when did the Professor care about who I brought home? And why would he be against Butch being here? "Professor, I—"

Her father's mouth stretched into a grin as he suddenly made a flourish with his arms toward the living room. "And he's absolutely delightful! He's in there right now, sipping tea and waiting for you~"

She stopped in her tracks. Who could it be? Ross...? Her heart skipped a beat. "Thanks for letting me know," she said, already walking toward the next room. "I'll—"

"Just be careful, BC. I know you're at the age where dating is a thing, but make the best choice possible and be safe, okay?" the Professor asked, placing a hand on her arm to stop her.

She stared back at him, before nodding awkwardly.

"Awesome! Okay, I'll leave you two to it then," he chirped, walking off.

Buttercup watched him go, wondering when things had changed from talking to the Professor about life in general to suddenly getting a warning about boys. She shrugged to herself before entering the living room. "Uh, hello—I heard from the Professor that you were looking for me?"

"Buttercup!" The boy who stood up from the sofa was indeed the boy she was expecting. His green eyes and soft, curly brown hair was a dead giveaway.

"Ross!" She brightened and made her way over to him, grabbing him in a hug.

He seemed surprised by the sudden attack. "A-Ah...?"

"Why are you so startled?" she asked teasingly.

"Well...I-I don't know where to put my hands," he admitted, now looking embarrassed.

Buttercup laughed. "It's a hug, silly! So you hug back." She smiled, before going pink and looking away shyly. "I mean...you said you like me back, right? So...a-are we technically dating now...?"

His face flushed red. "Uhh, yes, right. I-I suppose so..." He scratched the back of his neck, ruffling his curly hair. "I mean...i-if you want to, that is—"

"I do!" she blurted out. "I do want to...err, date...you."

His eyes widened but then he smiled. "I'm...glad to hear that," he responded. "I-I'd like to date you too."

Buttercup buried her face in her hands. "God, this is so silly. We're both so embarrassed."

Ross relaxed too, grinning. "I didn't expect this from you, BC."

"I-I'm not good with romance, okay? This isn't really my type of scene, but I can't just ignore it when I have a crush on someone."

He smiled, and she felt her heart jump with joy. He really was so cute.

"Here, come on." She grabbed his hand and led him toward the stairs. "Let's head to my room. There's something I need your help with..."

"Alright," he said, arching his eyebrows. "What is it that you need help with?"

"It's a surprise." She smiled. It was going to be so much easier to coax a confession from Butch with Ross by her side, considering that he'd already admitted his truth to her.

The two stopped in front of her room, and once again she didn't notice the boy behind her blushing as she opened the door.

"Buttercup! You're back," Butch exclaimed, jumping up. He looked relieved, probably having been sitting rather uncomfortably for the past minute, but...then he froze when he saw who was behind her. "Buttercup... What's he doing here?"

"Butch, hey." She closed the door behind her. "Ross showed up and I thought we could all have a little chat."

He stood behind her, eyes wide in panic. "Buttercup, I don't think this is such a good idea," he whispered.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's fine," she responded. "Butch won't bite." She looked up. "Right, Butch?"

He paused, running his tongue over his sharp canines. "...Right. Of course not."

Buttercup turned to Ross. "What did you want to see me for?"

"I wanted to return this to you. You'd left it at my place when we...when we...umm..." He trailed off, blushing, as he passed her a black cap with a lime-green star embroidered on the front.

Butch's eyebrow shot up, but he said nothing.

"Thanks! It's a favourite of mine." She took it and placed it on her head. "Okay, guys—let's get down to business. I wanted to ask Butch a very important question."

Ross grimaced, already knowing where things were headed, and Butch frowned. "And I'd like to hear this 'very important question' for sure," the green Ruff muttered, folding his arms.

Buttercup turned to face him. "I wish I could ease into the conversation, but it's going to be a little hard. It's been a long-time coming, Butch. You've obviously held so many secrets from me, made me ask so many questions, and never tried to hide it, although you'd push my questions aside."

His eyes turned round as realization dawned, and he slowly turned his panicked face toward Ross, who looked wide-eyed and guilty.

"Sorry," he whispered. "She knows."

"You don't have to apologize for anything." Buttercup reached out and took his hand, giving it a squeeze.

Butch stared at their hands, his ears suddenly ringing. He swallowed hard, his throat feeling hoarse as he rasped, "Who confessed first?"

She stared back at him confidently. "I did." She turned back to Ross. "He didn't admit anything at first, so don't get your panties in a twist. He wasn't looking to spill all the secrets. He just did the right thing and told me the truth when I told him I liked him, in order to truly protect me."

Ross glanced at Butch nervously, looking uncomfortable and timid.

"I feel sick," the green Ruff growled out.

"So do I," the other boy agreed meekly.

"It's okay." She squeezed his hand again, before turning back to face Butch, her chin raised. "I know, Butch. I know Ross is a vampire." She looked him dead in the eye as she said it.

"I don't care," he hissed back.

"And I know your little secret too, you know, so you should probably care at least a little bit."

He perked up, spinning around. "What did you tell her?" he demanded, touching the fur collar around his neck self-consciously.

"Nothing else! I came to a conclusion on my own," she said defensively.

"Now this I've got to hear," he growled out, looking angry, and yet still amused, as he picked up a pencil from Buttercup's desk and began twirling it in an almost menacing fashion.

"I...I should go," Ross mumbled, standing up. "You two obviously need some time alone to discuss things."

"Ross, no, it's okay. You can be here—"

"No, he can't. I agree that we need some time alone to get this all sorted out."

Buttercup glared at him. "Butch, don't be such an ass."

"Buttercup, I want to leave," Ross explained. "I shouldn't be intruding on this."

"And I won't give you any answers if he stays," Butch added.

"...Fine." She turned back to Ross and kissed him quickly on the lips. "See you later, babe."

"Bye," he murmured back.

Butch crushed the pencil in his hand.

Ross glanced at him, mouthing an apology before pushing open his girlfriend's window. He looked back once more, before jumping out. Butch watched his exit, his lips forming a tight line. "Goddammit, Ross—why are you going around letting all these secrets out?" he muttered crossly.

"He did the right thing!" she protested. "Couples don't hide things from one another."

"Don't remind me," he grumbled, turning away from the window and leaning against it, with his arms now folded. A couple. They're a couple now.

"Why are you so angry? It was his choice to tell me his secret."

"Yeah, but not his choice to tell you any of mine!" he snapped back.

"And I told you he didn't! I just used my intuition."

He barked out a harsh laugh. "Oh, right. This I've got to hear."

"He's a vampire," she stated.

Butch stiffened, but said nothing. He only formed the thin line with his lips again, his arms still folded and gaze still dark.

"And that explains a lot of things. It explains why he's always missing, why all of you are always missing; and why he's always drinking red liquid. It explains all the sharp teeth and all the rivalries and constant bitterness."

Her counterpart was still silent, but he did flash his fangs briefly.

"It explains a lot." She paused, taking a deep breath. "The fact that you're all vampires."

As if that were the switch, he jumped up and punched the wall beside him, glaring at her and seething. "You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he spat. "These are private matters, and they have absolutely nothing to do with you."

Buttercup returned the dark look with one of her own. "I can at least understand that this is also my business because my boyfriend the fucking vampire just waltzed through my room!"

"Ross isn't a vampire," Butch retorted, angrily crossing his arms. "And neither am I."

Buttercup raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" There was a pause as neither Ruff nor Puff moved, a long silence that was filled with tenseness, neither wanting to back down. She sighed then, closing her eyes and rubbing the area between them with her fingers. "There's no point in hiding it anymore, Butch. I know."

"You don't know ANYTHING!" yelled Butch, surging forward. He looked so angry that Buttercup almost expected him to grab her, and she flinched. But then he swerved at the last minute and kicked the door behind her open. He glanced back at her, showing his sharp teeth as his eyes glowed in the moonlight. "There's more to know than just that." Then he disappeared.

Watching him leave, Buttercup shivered as she stared at the half moon. What just happened? What does he mean?

Bliss was surprised when she'd received a text from Braker asking to meet up. As she prepared to head out, she spotted a dark-green streak fly down the stairs and then out the door. She spun around to see Buttercup running to the stairs a floor above her. "BC!" she called. "What was that all about?"

"It's just Butch being stupid again." She looked irritated and red-faced, but Bliss wasn't sure if that was from embarrassment or anger.

"Alright..." She frowned. "Well, can you tell the Professor that I'll be heading out for a bit? I have to go see someone."

That caught her sister's attention. "Who?" she asked.

"Never mind that. I'll catch you later." Bliss did a playful salute before disappearing out the door, making sure to go before any more questions could be asked.

She spiralled into the sky and flew toward that familiar café the Puffs and Ruffs enjoyed visiting, which was near the forest. It soon came into view and she skidded to a stop in front of it, pushing the door open, and walking inside.

"Welcome!" a voice called.

"Hey, Bat. It's just me." She floated over. "No need for the usual greeting."

"Thank God, because my cheeks are hella sore." He rubbed them, showing off a rather creepy grin. "Look at me—my smile looks like a serial killer's at this point."

"At least you're aware of it," she responded, pushing her hair out of her eyes. She reached forward and tapped the glass container, where treats were being displayed. "A strawberry and cream frappuccino and a chocolate-chip cookie, s'il vous plaît!"

"Alright; coming right up." He nodded toward a table where a boy with shaggy brown hair was sitting. "Someone's expecting you."

"I know." She watched as the boy lifted his head, revealing brilliant orange eyes.

"I'll bring it on over when it's done; I'll be taking a break in a minute so I'll join you two, if you don't mind." She nodded to indicate that she didn't in fact mind, and he turned behind him and called, "A strawberry and cream frappuccino for the little lady!"

"Make it yourself!" his brother yelled back, before adding, "Just kidding!"

"You better be." Rolling his eyes, Bat turned back to Bliss. "Working with siblings is such a nightmare sometimes."

She smiled. "I can imagine. Now, I'll be heading off—see you in a bit." He nodded and she flew to the table where her "date" was sitting, and she slid into the seat. "Hey, Braker."

"Hey!" He looked up again, setting his orange phone down. "Thanks for coming out here on such short notice." He looked frazzled and kind of nervous, which surprised her.

Braker was never nervous.

She smiled kindly, hoping to put him at ease, but he just looked even more jittery. "So what's up? I wasn't expecting this."

"Neither was I," he admitted. "I saw Buttercup when she came to our house to fetch Butch, and I'd had plans to go up to my room and play video games for the rest of the day."

"So what made you change your mind?"

"Well..." Now he hesitated, suddenly red in the face. "Buttercup seeking out Butch brought some implications with it, and it got me thinking..."

Bliss blanched. "You're worried she wants to date Butch?"

"I mean, that was an implication, but—"

"I wouldn't have guessed that, but I can see that implication." She tapped her chin, thinking. "But what's wrong with that? You think they're not right for each other?"

His cheeks turned even more red. "No, no! I just saw the implications and figured that if that was the case, it was very brave of her. And I admire that."

"Ahhh." Bliss nodded. "But what does this have to do with me?"

"Uhh, see...it got me thinking," he explained awkwardly, now trailing off.

Bliss paused.

"Thinking...about us."

Now she was frozen, a million thoughts racing through her mind as a million more questions popped up in her head. "O-Oh," she stammered, now feeling just as uncomfortable as Braker looked. "Oh wow..."

"...Yeah." His face was burning red with embarrassment now, and he covered his mouth with his hand, looking away from her. "Bliss, I...I like you." His eyes darted toward her. "A lot."

Her eyes widened. "Braker, I...I don't know what to say."

"You...don't have to say anything right now." He looked up, looking pained. "It's going to be hard for me either way, so—"

"Except I kind of do have to say something now." She felt bad, because turning someone down almost always did, but also just because it was Braker confessing to her. He was such a good friend of hers, and she'd known him for so long, and he was sweet and sometimes annoying but still funny and nice and—she paused. I'm rambling now, she thought, just realizing that Braker was staring at her expectantly, waiting for clarification.

"You...do?" he questioned.

She nodded uncomfortably. "I'm sorry, Braker. I really like you too, but—"

He froze, before cringing. "Oh no. Oh God no."

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, feeling pained. "You're such a good friend of mine—"

"Friendzoned. Of course I am." He buried his face in his hands.

"You've just caught me at a bad time," she said desperately.

His head shot upwards. "And what does that mean? When would a good time have been?"

"No, I just meant that—well, DJ and I..." She trailed off.

Braker's eyes widened. "No. You're kidding."

Bliss shook her head. "I'm sorry."

"Of course it's him! Of course you two had to get back together just as I decide to confess," he groaned.

"Braker, I—"

"Look, Bliss... Never mind. Just forget it." His face was still very red, but now he looked uncomfortable and upset and angry. "I...I just got turned down, so I'm obviously not very happy about it, but...don't mind me. It's fine. I want you to be happy. I'm just sorry it couldn't be with me, but I'm not going to be a jerk about it."

"Braker..." She felt pity well up inside her, and it must've seeped into her voice, because he paused, sighing.

"It's okay. Sorry. I'll just stop talking now." He glanced at her, looking like he was in pain. "I have to go."

He flew off just as Bat appeared, holding a cup with her frappuccino in it and a cookie on a tray. "What just happened?" he questioned after a moment's pause.

Bliss groaned, thumping her head onto the table. "A disaster."

"Uh-oh."

"I fucked up, Bat." She lifted her head, feeling miserable. "That could've gone a lot better."

"Oh shit..." His eyes grew round with understanding, even without her stating things outright. He glanced at the door, where the bell was still ringing from Braker's abrupt exit. "I don't know what to say."

"Nothing would be good." She groaned again. "I don't want to dwell on it."

"Here; hopefully this cookie and frappuccino will make you feel better," he offered, setting them down in front of her.

"Thanks," she mumbled. "But I still fucked up."

Bat glanced at the door again, sitting down slowly with his own drink. He lifted it up. "I'll drink to that."

"Hear, hear." She clinked cups with him, not bothering to lift her head.

Brick is giving you another chance. Don't fuck it up this time. Blossom stared at her reflection as the thought ran through her head for the umpteenth time that afternoon. She was running a brush through her long red locks, and just as she thought the words "fuck up", it snagged on a knot. Blossom swallowed and yanked down hard.

"Blossom...?"

She jerked her head toward the door of her room. "Who's there?"

"It's just me." The door was pushed open and Bubbles stuck her head in. "I wanted to talk to you."

"What about?" Blossom set her hairbrush down.

Her sister sighed as she flopped down on the bed. "Boys."

She grimaced. "Are you sure you should be coming to me for that?"

"Well, who else would I go to? You and Brick—"

"You know we ran into some trouble."

"But Bunny told me you two worked it out."

Blossom hesitated. "I think we did. Mostly." She paused. "Hopefully."

Bubbles looked at her incredulously. "What do you mean by 'mostly'?"

She paused, startled by the question. "What?"

"I mean, why would you say that? Do you think you two didn't work it out enough?" Bubbles looked genuinely confused. "If you two really love each other, then shouldn't things have worked out perfectly?"

Blossom opened her mouth to reply, but nothing would seem to come out. She swallowed, finally settling on the words: "I-I guess, but sometimes it's hard to tell..."

"Why?" Bubbles crossed her legs, sitting up straight.

"'Why'?" she repeated blankly.

She nodded. "Why aren't you sure? How come you can't tell?"

Blossom hesitated even more now. "Because I'm not," she admitted. "I'm not the perfect person to come to for this, Bubbles. You really shouldn't be asking me for love advice. I've been so terrible at it. I took Brick's feelings for granted and now I'm just kind of scared of losing him again. So I guess I feel like he should and could still be mad at me even though he said he forgives me..." She trailed off, gulping.

"But if he loves you and you love him, this shouldn't be a problem, right?" Bubbles asked, tilting her head to the side.

She shook her head. "I guess not. I don't really know anymore. It's...hard."

"That I can agree with." Bubbles sighed and flopped onto her back, staring up at her sister's ceiling. "I came to you seeking advice on being stuck between two guys."

Blossom grimaced, her mind immediately flashing back to Vincent.

"You dated one of them and yes, you were a terrible girlfriend."

Blossom cringed even harder.

"And then the other one kissed you."

Vincent hadn't kissed her, but he had confessed.

"So...who do you choose?"

"Maybe some more backstory would be nice." Blossom self-consciously ran a hand through her hair. She kept thinking back to Vincent and Brick, and that was the last thing she needed. It was also the last thing Bubbles needed too, since her sister was clearly asking about two boys who weren't the ones Blossom was thinking of.

Her sister blushed. "Well, I was dating one of these guys and we decided to take a break because the other boy was ignoring me and—"

Blossom held up a hand. "Okay, all this 'boy' talk is going to get really confusing since there's two of them. Why not use their names?"

"Because that's awkward!" she cried. "But fine. Let's call one of them Bomber and the other Sid."

She fought back a bemused smile. "I think I know who you're talking about."

"It was obvious from the start anyway," she huffed back. "Now are you going to let me explain my story or what?"

"Of course, of course. Sorry." She nodded. "Carry on."

"Okay, so say I was dating Sid, and we took a break because I kept thinking about Bomber and how he was ignoring me, only for Bomber to later kiss me. But he isn't sure if he likes me or not and Sid and I are still on break and now he has this super pretty girl with him I think he might like..."

"Bubbles..."

"I know, I know—I was the one not paying him attention at first, but still, he moved on so quickly—and that Sophia girl is such a catch! I guess I'm just not used to the idea of Sidney moving on so soon without me and Boomer—oh!" She clapped her hands over her mouth.

This time Blossom did let herself smile, but it was a gentle and reassuring one (with some amusement to it). "Like you said, it was obvious from the start."

She sighed and removed her hands. "I don't know what to do, Bloss. I made Sidney jealous but now I'm jealous without him and Boomer isn't making things any easier."

"I can certainly relate."

Bubbles perked up. "You can?"

"You know the story about Brick and I, don't you?" she asked.

She paused, before shaking her head. "I'm a little fuzzy on the details."

"Well, you better get comfy. Because there are a lot of details and a lot of spaces to fill." She watched as Bubbles shifted so that she was sitting cross-legged, and she herself grabbed a pink towel to wrap around herself like a cocoon. "And the less you assume and the more you actually know, the better."

"So...what happened?" she asked.

Blossom took a deep breath and got started, describing the nature of her relationships with Vincent and Brick, and how they had overlapped in very unconventional ways. "So in short, I was a horrible girlfriend who was very much so a hypocrite. I got jealous when he was with another girl, but all that time I was entertaining the idea of having another boy like me just because he was so nice. And that meant I was basically leading him on too, which only accentuates how terrible I was being even further."

She paused, glancing at Bubbles, who was staring at her quietly, listening intently. "I'm obviously not the best person to go to for advice on romance, but I will tell you this, Bubsy. I've certainly learned my lesson. And it took some trial and error for me to get here. I know you're troubled by your own situation right now, and you have every right to be worried, but just try not to be too worried. Sometimes you just need to fall in order to pick yourself back up again."

"I guess I see what you're saying," her sister sighed.

Blossom nodded. "Once you hit rock-bottom, there's really only one way to go..."

"Up." Bubbles smiled. "Thanks, Bloss." She stood up and stretched, unbending her legs. "Guess I'll get out of your hair, then." She paused, giggling as she pointed at the pink hairbrush on her sister's vanity. "Quite literally, too."

"Har, har. Very funny." She threw the brush at her sister before grinning. "You done?"

"Almost. I've got time for one more." Bubbles was beaming now, looking much happier as she made another pun: "So don't get your hair in such a knot now! I'm going, I'm going!"

Blossom rolled her eyes good-naturedly as the blue Puff flew away, and she got up to go fetch the hairbrush from the floor, the towel still around her shoulders. As she bent down to pick it up, her phone began vibrating and she quickly shot upwards, accidentally hitting her head on a shelf in the process. "Ouch," she muttered, rubbing the newly-forming lump. She turned to stare at her pink phone.

Who could be texting me at this hour? she wondered. She walked over and exchanged the brush for her phone, turning it on to see the new notifications on her lock-screen.

Blossom's eyes widened and she dropped her phone.

The new texts were from Vincent.

Blossom's right. There's only one place to go from here. And that's up. Bubbles skidded to a stop inside her room, snatching up her phone and turning it on. As her finger hovered over the keypad, she swallowed. At least, I hope so.

And then she was punching the number in, and soon waiting for the person on the other end to pick up. There's no turning back now, she decided. Things were going, and she couldn't stop it from reaching its (hopefully) one destination of up.

"Hello?" a groggy voice on the other end greeted her, sounding disorientated.

"Hello?" she echoed. "It's me, Bubbles."

The person seemed to suddenly fumble to attention, and she could hear him shuffling around. "Oh, hey—I wasn't expecting a call tonight. Sorry if I sound sort of out of it; I just had a nap," he said.

"That's alright. I know this is rather unexpected." She twirled a stray strand of curly blond hair around her finger, watching it loop over and over again. "I was just...hoping we could finally talk about a few things."

"...Right."

The silence between them stretched out for quite some time, until Bubbles sighed. "We need to do something about this."

"About what?" he asked quietly.

"You know...this. All of it." She frowned. "All this awkwardness."

"I'm sorry." He sounded even more tired now, like he wasn't sure where the conversation should go from here on out, and he didn't really want to deal with it. "It's just...hard because of everything that's happened."

"I know, but...we used to be friends. We can be again, right?" she questioned softly. "Would you be willing to give me the chance for that?"

"Of course."

"You promise?"

"I swear it." There was a pause on the other end, before he added, "Cross my heart."

"And hope to die?" she whispered in a teasing manner.

He seemed to relax on the other end, possibly even smiling slightly. "Ehhh, that might be kind of pushing it. How's about...'hope to fly'?"

"That doesn't sound like a consequence to me," she responded.

"Okay, then how's about 'stick a cupcake in my eye'?"

She giggled. "Are you making a Pinkie promise**? I didn't know you kept up with My Little Pony."

He chuckled back. "That's hardly 'keeping up'. I think that episode's from awhile back now."

"Fair enough." She smiled. "But I guess that is a fair enough compromise. Stick a cupcake in your eye it is, then."

"Guess we're friends again then." He paused. "But then again...we never officially stopped being friends."

"I guess so, but it kind of felt like it, you know?" she responded. "We were really avoiding each other."

He was quiet for a little bit, before he agreed, "Yeah...you're right. We were avoiding each other like the plague."

"And whose fault do you think that is?" She meant it teasingly, but it still sounded accusatory. She paused, groaning inwardly. Bubbles, you idiot! Too soon!

Sure enough, he didn't seem to find it funny, but rather pain-inducing. "You're right; it was my fault," he sighed back. "I started this mess."

"Wait, no! That's not what I meant!" Guilt stabbed at her belly. "I was just teasing."

"I know, Bubbles, but...you're still right. It was my fault we started trying to constantly hide from one another."

"But I didn't treat you that great either," she protested. "I treated you like second place, and no one likes that. I'm sorry."

"I should be the one apologizing. Bubbles, I'm sorry. I was selfish."

"No, you really weren't! Don't be so hard on yourself," she said desperately.

"It's fine. I take full responsibility." He laughed weakly. "It'll be the one thing I do right in a long time."

Bubbles felt a sadness seep through her now, and she wondered if she was feeling the same aching bitterness that he'd felt for so long. "It's okay," she whispered. "I forgave you for that."

"But why—?"

"Because I don't blame you for it!" she cried out. She froze, feeling her face burn. "Or at least, I decided I'd stop blaming you for it, since that would be unfair and cruel."

"Bubbles..."

"It's okay," she murmured.

"Well..." He trailed off briefly, before saying, "At least let me make it up to you."

She was startled by the suggestion. "How?" she questioned.

"Any way I can," he promised. "It may have to be a small and thus reasonable contribution, but...I-I want to try."

Bubbles felt her heart pound. "Okay," she murmured. She thought for a second. Every possibility she came to all had a feeling of lovey-doviness (like him treating her and taking her out for lunch or something like that), and she didn't think they were ready for that. They were still too awkward for anything romantic to happen.

"Bubbles...?" he questioned. "You still there?"

"Yes." She hesitated, before tapping a finger to her chin. "Small and reasonable, huh?"

"Yes. Sadly, I can't do much else." He sounded tired now, and kind of strained.

"Then...how's about I ask you questions? And you have to answer no matter what?" she suggested.

She could sense him hesitating on the other end. "Maybe not 'no matter what'. The questions will have to be small and reasonable too."

"Oh...I see." Her shoulders slumped in disappointment. She'd been excited to receive some real answers for once.

He seemed to take notice. "Sorry, Bubbles."

"It's okay," she sighed back. She frowned, tapping her chin again, trying to think. "Well..." She hesitated. "I really just have one question for you..."

"Alright. Ask away," he responded awkwardly. "I can't promise a super insightful answer that will thus answer all your questions, but I can still try."

She paused, hesitating even more. She wasn't sure if she was going about it in the right way, but Blossom's point still stood: there was only one way to go from here. And Bubbles was determined to make it go up. "I want to get things cleared up. How... How do you feel about me really?"

He paused, probably contemplating their opinion. "That's...a pretty loaded question," he finally said.

"I know." She blushed, trying to smooth out a crinkle in her shirt that suddenly became extremely noticeable and interesting. "Sorry about that. I-I just want to know the answer."

"That's okay!" he said quickly. "There's nothing wrong with asking. I promised you answers, after all."

"And I just want to tell you that there's also nothing wrong with telling the truth," she continued. "You can totally say you think I'm terrible if that's the case, because I have been pretty bad about being clear with my feelings to you."

"That's okay," he repeated, his voice dropping a bit. "You don't have to apologize for that, Bubsy."

Her breath caught at the nickname, but she didn't say anything.

"You weren't the only one acting wishy-washy." He sighed. "And I don't hate you—I don't think I could ever bring myself to hate you."

"Then...do you...like me?" she asked quietly.

He was quiet for a few long moments, and she was briefly afraid that she'd lost him, but then he confirmed very, very softly: "Yes. Yes, I do."

She felt her heartbeat slowing almost to a stop before it suddenly began pounding harder than ever before, going into overdrive, and her desire for answers suddenly spiked. "In...In what way?" she managed to whisper.

He hesitated before sighing. "That's the problem," he replied, sounding desperate. "I don't know. I'm not sure if I'm infatuated with you or just really attracted to you or if I just see you as an amazingly good friend that I sort of mistook for something more"—he paused then, and she could hear him trying to catch his breath. He then continued in a much softer tone—"I do like you, Bubbles. I like you a lot. But as of right now..."

"It's kind of hard to tell," she finished. She sighed. "I understand."

"Bubbles..." He must have sensed the disappointment in her voice, because now his voice was filled with pain and pity. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay!" She tried to perk up and be peppy, but she still felt the hook that had managed to capture her heart tugging on it violently, causing her chest to feel tight. "Honestly, I don't know anymore either. I also like you a lot, but I don't know what I'd do if you did like me. That would require me to make a choice I'm not sure I'm ready to make, so this..." She paused, trying to find the right words. She swallowed. "This is a good thing." The words came out slower than the rest, feeling wrong, like they didn't quite fit in her mouth.

"Bubbles..."

"Anyway, thank you for indulging me." She tried to smile to make her cheerful act more convincing. "I'll talk to you later."

"...Okay. Bye, Bubbles."

"See you." She paused again. "And...thank you. I...I appreciate it."

"Thank you," he whispered back, just as she hung up.

Bubbles stared at her wall, slowly setting her phone down, before beginning to slide downwards until she was sitting. Then she rested her chin on her arms, which she folded on top of her knees. She stared out over her legs, watching as two birds met up with one another. One of them had returned with a worm, and they greeted one another by squawking and then briefly rubbing their heads together before giving the worm to their babies. Bubbles watched the exchange, longing once again for that familiar sense of love and togetherness.

She shifted her head so that she would no longer see the birds and would instead only see her feet.

Meanwhile, some ways away, a boy had also just hung up on the phone and was now leaning against the wall, staring up at his ceiling with an aching feeling in his chest. "Great job back there," he muttered to himself. "You really reassured her."

He sighed, slowly descending so that he was sitting down with his legs crossed. "She seemed like she really wanted confirmation for a real relationship," he murmured, tracing circles onto the floor with his finger. "But I don't know if I can give her that."

He closed his eyes. Because I really don't know how I feel about her right now. I may have tried to kiss her, but that was because she looked so pretty and beautiful and I just kind of remembered all the times we had together back then...

He trailed off. Times I took for granted. Times that I miss. He groaned, clapping his hands onto his eyes and leaning his head back. "Great job back there, Boomer. You're really getting things settled, aren't you?"

"Cassandra, it's time for dinner!" her father called from downstairs.

She jumped, startled by the sudden disturbance in what had been a very quiet state. She turned to look at the clock. It was almost 7:00 pm. She'd fallen asleep, and had only just woken up moments before her dad had called for her.

Cassandra clambered off her bed and made her way to the door, but she made a stop to check on her plants. Her father had done a really good job caring for them and making sure they were all growing, but she was happy to be back in charge of them. She loved plants. They were beautiful and amazing and interesting, and tending to them just felt soothing for her.

"Guess you guys need some dinner too, huh?" she murmured, fetching the watering can. She made sure they were watered, before turning to Venus flytraps and other various carnivorous plants. "And here's something for you too," she continued, giving them things to digest like rehydrated blood worms.

Once she was done, Sampson's voice drifted up the stairs again. "Cassie, dear! It's time for dinner!"

"Coming, Dad!" She then rushed out the door and down the stairs, skidding to a stop in the kitchen. "Sorry! I fell asleep and was just watering my plants."

He smiled. "That's okay. I know how much they mean to you." He dusted off his red-and-white striped apron, before standing up to fetch the pan he had still on the stove. "It's probably going to be a little hot, but tonight we have some very juicy steak!"

"Wow, Dad! It looks delicious." She smiled up at him. Sampson was a really good cook, and she took after him in that sense. She sat down at the table with him and began cutting into her meat.

"So..." he said, as he also started to cut his own food. "About this Michael kid..."

Cassandra felt herself choke on a small bit of steak, and she began coughing.

"Are you okay?" he gasped.

She nodded, waving her hand to indicate that she didn't need any help. Sampson watched as she gulped down some water. She turned to stare at her dad. "Wh-What about him?"

Reassured that she really was okay, he relaxed. "I was just wondering what you thought of him. I know Brick is having you keep an eye on him, but how is he as a person, anyway?"

"He's..." She paused, trying to search for the right words. Her mind returned to that mansion, where she was with him the entire time. He'd been so happy to have her keep him company, and he'd been very nice to her because of it. "He's a character," she finally said.

Sampson raised an eyebrow. "I certainly got that from my own views of him. He's a character, alright. A fairly bratty one."

"He is a little spoiled, but...he's not a bad kid." She hesitated. "He was really nice to me, you know? I think he was just kind of lonely and scared, and who can really blame him? Things must be hell for the Hawthorne household right now." She looked up to see her dad's wide-eyed expression.

"Cassandra..."

"I just kind of pity him, that's all!" she interjected quickly, nervous about what was now racing through her dad's head. "He's missing his sister, after all." She paused, hesitating a lot now. "Surely...Surely you know what it's like, when you almost...lost me..." Now she trailed off, feeling uncomfortable and awkward.

Sampson blinked, before sighing. "Of course I know how it feels. I know better than anyone. You were gone for eighteen months, Cassie."

She looked down at her meat. She was suddenly a lot less hungry.

He sighed, reaching out to touch her face. "I just want you to be safe, dear. You know that, don't you?" he murmured.

She nodded.

"And falling for a Hawthorne is the last thing that is safe."

Cassandra jerked her head back, her face suddenly flushed red. "Dad, no! I don't like him that way!"

He stared back at her. "But you still like him in some way."

"I-I don't know!" Flustered now, she tried to rack her brain for something reassuring to say. "I just...I just feel pity for him. I don't know if I feel anything else right now."

"Just as long as you keep in mind that he's still a Hawthorne. That he's a vampire. That he's on the other side."

She was still looking away from her dad, her face red. "He's not that bad," she mumbled out. "For a Hawthorne, anyway."

"Perhaps." His hard, steely tone caused her to look up. Her father's hand was gripping his knife so tight his knuckles were turning white, and the metal began bending. She could see his teeth as he growled out, "But the bar is set pretty low. Don't forget what his uncle did. He almost took you from me."

The image of the explosion that sent her into an eighteen-month coma flashed through her head, and she grimaced, blinking to try and regain focus after the bright flash in her mind. "I know," she whispered.

Sampson sensed her discomfort, and he let his shoulders fall as his grip loosened on the knife. "I'm sorry, Cassie," he sighed. "I'm just...worried about you. You know that, don't you?"

"I know." She also relaxed, letting firmness reenter her voice. "I understand."

"I love you, sweetie."

"I love you too, Dad." She made herself smile back, despite the aching feeling that was now left in her stomach. She felt hollow, but she ate anyway. Sampson had suffered so much once she became comatose. She didn't want to worry him any further.

So despite not being hungry, Cassandra still finished her dinner.

Once they were done, she stood up and began clearing the dishes. "I'll wash them tonight," she told him. "You've been doing everything since I've woken up."

"No, I can do them!" He stood up quickly, reaching out to take the plates. "We don't want you straining yourself now—"

"Dad, I'm fine. I'm not made of glass." She pulled her arms back so that the plates were out of his reach. "You're a doctor; I'm sure you know I can do a few menial chores without injuring myself."

He sighed. "Of course. You're absolutely correct. Sorry, Cassandra." He rubbed the back of his head, looking sheepish. "I'm just looking out for you."

"I know. And I appreciate it." She smiled. "But I'll be fine, Dad. Let me do this for you. You've been doing everything else."

"I don't mind," he responded. "It makes me happy."

"Well, you've been cooking and cleaning and doing all the dishes and taking care of my plants and me for eighteen months. It's time I gave back," she replied cheerfully.

"I don't mind," he repeated. "I was cooking for one for those eighteen months, after all. It's nice to have someone by my side again."

Cassandra froze, the weight of the statement suddenly crashing down on her shoulders. Her arms suddenly felt weak and she quickly set the dishes down in the sink. "Dad..."

"Sorry, sorry! I know; that was heavy." He held his hands up. "Don't worry about it. I'm just happy you're here." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Go ahead and do the dishes—I'm going to go read a book for awhile, okay?"

She hesitated. Things were good and she was fine and everything was back to normal, but at the same time, it wasn't. She felt like they needed to talk about it, but she didn't think either of them were ready. So instead of saying anything about it, she nodded. "Okay."

Sampson left the room and Cassandra turned the tap on, beginning the process of cleaning. As she scrubbed the porcelain plates, she thought back to her conversation with her father during dinner.

About Michael.

She glanced back at the table, where the now-bent knife was still lying. She sighed to herself.

Her brain continued to think about these things as she washed, and when she was done, she felt tired and even more empty than before. Perhaps Sampson was right. Perhaps she was overstraining herself after all.

Cassandra wiped her hands on a towel and began trekking upstairs. She was almost at the top when her phone began vibrating in her pocket. Surprised, she pulled it out to see who it could be.

It was Brick Jojo calling. She checked the time. 7:25 pm. "Hello?" she said, answering the call.

"Hey, Cassandra? Do you have time?"

She thought it over, before deciding. "Yes. What for?"

"Can I send you out on a patrol?" he questioned. "Toward Michael's house?"

She frowned. "I guess so. But Brick...what is this for?"

"Something's wrong. Very wrong." Brick paused. "Something's happening in the Hawthorne household."

"What happened?"

"I don't know, but I was flying by on my usual patrol when I saw Maggie and Chris taking off. I don't know which direction they were headed in, but they looked like they were traveling with a vengeance. Something's up, Cassandra. Something big."

She pursed her lips. The Terrible Twosome heading out was certainly a bad sign. They usually traveled with such precision; you would hardly ever see them moving without a purpose. If they went out for fun, people never noticed. But people did notice when the couple went out for fights because they left death and carnage in their wake. "Okay," she finally said. "I'll check."

"Thank you. I'll talk to you later then."

"Yup. Bye," she responded, before hanging up. She glanced at the door to her father's room, wondering if she should say anything.

Before she could make up her mind though, Sampson called out, "Who was that, Cassie? And what did they want?"

She hesitated briefly. She knew he was still on edge from earlier, and his worry would feel raw—perhaps too raw to let her out on a mission so soon. "Nothing, Dad! It was just one of my friends. She wants to meet up and chat at the café! Is that okay?"

He was quiet for a bit, and she held her breath. But then he said, "Alright! That's fine!" and she felt herself release that breath.

"I'll see you later then!" she called.

"Bye!" he called back. "Get home before dark!"

"I will!" Cassandra rushed to grab a few necessities before dashing back down the stairs and out the door. The cool night air blasted her in the face and she closed her eyes, drinking it all in. It was a nice night out; the sky was a soft lavender and the moon stood in solidarity in the clear night sky. The air was crisp and calm, and it felt nice after a long night of discomfort.

She let herself slow down to a more leisurely pace so she could enjoy the night a bit better. As she strolled through her neighbourhood, she contemplated Brick's words. While Maggie and Chris going on missions weren't at all unusual, they'd been missing for many months. Cassandra knew Danes had the entire house on lockdown, and he was very protective of his family. The Terrible Twosome were like Cassandra—they'd been missing from Danes' life for a very long time, and she was sure his protectiveness of them would echo her father's. It would probably actually be even more strong, so if Danes was letting them out on a mission now, then it was definitely a big deal.

Brick's right, she thought. Something's off.

She was soon in the park, which was relatively empty at that moment. There were still some people enjoying the fresh night air, but she had it mostly all to herself. The few people there included a boy with flaming red hair in a ponytail, with glasses, and a sweater—he was walking his husky. There was also a couple and a family of four. Cassandra thought the boy with the red hair was familiar, but he was already disappearing from the corner of her eye and she was walking in the opposite direction, so she continued on her way.

She picked up the pace once she was far enough from the public park, and soon she was running, feeling like she was soaring. She soon reached Michael's home and stopped a little ways away, wondering how she should approach the situation. Spying was an option, but it was also a dangerous one. If she got caught, she'd be in big trouble, and Michael would never trust her again. The other option was knocking and trying to get welcomed into the house, but there was a slim chance they'd turn her away. And even if she was allowed in, there was still a risk of being caught.

Plus Cassandra wasn't sure if she was up to being very social—especially with Michael, considering what had transpired at the dinner table with her dad just awhile before. She sighed and closed her eyes, frowning, still weighing her choices. She didn't hear the steps approaching, or see the hand reaching out toward her, and she jumped when it touched her shoulder. She spun around, completely startled and agitated, and very ready to fight back if necessary.

She relaxed her shoulders when she saw who it was. "Oh my God!" she gasped. "You scared me!"

"I noticed." The newcomer grinned at her. "What are you doing here?"

"I was taking a walk"—not a complete lie—"and I kind of just found myself coming back here. I guess...I'm kind of drawn to it."

"How come?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She took a deep breath. Here goes, she thought, before plunging in: "I guess...I'm kind of drawn to you," she explained, making sure her tone was shy. She fidgeted a little bit to authenticate the feeling. "I was just wondering what you were up to, and if you were okay. Because of...you know..." She trailed off.

He had smiled at the suggestion of her being drawn to him, but now the cheeriness vanished from his face at her last sentence. "Because my sister is missing," he finished for her. "That's why, huh?"

Cassandra nodded.

"Well, you don't need to worry," he said firmly, narrowing his eyes in determination. "She won't be missing for much longer."

Her heart skipped a beat, but she played it innocent. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I'm going to get her back." He turned to smile at her, the kindness returning to his expression, although his eyes remained steely with that determination from before. "Don't worry about me. You should head back—I won't be home for awhile. I plan on heading out myself."

"Maybe...Maybe I could go with you?" she suggested in a shy manner.

He shook his head. "There's no need. It's not going to be anywhere for a lady such as yourself—it's going to be dangerous. And this involves me and me alone, so—"

"In other words, it doesn't involve me." She let her shoulders drop.

He gave her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Cassandra."

"It's okay." She returned the smile with what she hoped was a warm one. "Best of luck to you though. Go get 'em, tiger."

"You bet I will." He winked. "Rawr. I'll see you around!" He waved as he walked away.

"Yup!" She waved back, waiting until he was out of view to begin following him. And I'll be seeing you sooner than you think, she added silently.

Michael was walking away from the mansion and toward the forest, which gave Cassandra a pretty clear idea of where he planned on heading. Her mind was already conjuring up images of a wooden cabin and a man with scars across his skin. The very image gave her goosebumps, and she couldn't help but shiver in the crisp night wind, before continuing on after him silently.

Michael didn't slow down or stop until he reached a clearing. Then he became very still. Cassandra followed his example. The silence stretched out all the way to her, and it felt as if everything had frozen.

Then Michael was rushing forward and Cassandra swung after him from above in the treetops. She stopped herself just before the field, but he hurried through the tall grass toward the wooden cabin on the other side of the field. She watched as he reached a cracked window levelled himself so that he could begin clambering inside.

Before he could, however, the door to the cabin opened and a whistling man walked out. Both Cassandra and Michael froze, staring at the caped traveller leaving the building and beginning down the path.

Michael silently hopped down from the window, turning into a bat before he hit the ground and made some noise. He fluttered his wings and zoomed after the other man, who was still walking down the path. Cassandra frowned but decided not to follow. She had a feeling that if Michael confronted his target, things would get ugly and personal and if she was caught listening in, she'd be in for a world of trouble.

So instead, Cassandra raced forward and climbed into the window herself. She landed on the ground with a thud, and she began sniffing. The air was musky, thick with dust. The stench of rotting and burnt wood was almost overpowering, but she could just make out the many other scents layered on top of one another. She wondered if Damon had done this as a security measure, as he himself would know firsthand how sensitive his enemies' noses could be.

There was the smell of freshly baked cookies, of cooked meats and vegetables, of wet rain, and much more—but Cassandra could also make out a more...metallic smell.

She sniffed, following the scent until the fridge, which she promptly opened and then promptly turned her head away when the stench suddenly punched her in the face. It was the full-blown smell of iron, the kind you smelled in your blood. And Damon had a lot of it. Too much, in fact. There were so many blood packets and meats and other, more...questionable things—it certainly gave Cassandra a lot of questions herself. There was way more blood in that fridge than Damon ever needed.

She slammed the door shut. Her nose felt completely clogged now, so she sat down at the dinner table for a bit and tried to clear her mind. All the scents were beginning to overwhelm her, and the thick air was making her mind groggy. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, trying to forget the iron smell and catch a whiff of what Christie's scent would be—to help with her investigation.

Sure enough, her nose picked up on something. Starting to sniff, she looked around the entire cabin, trying to pinpoint the source of the smell. She was reaching for a bookshelf when the door slammed open. Startled, she jumped behind another shelf, her heart pounding as she waited for the newcomer to start making some noise.

Indeed, they began by moving around, their feet scuffling across the floor. "You shouldn't have come back." She recognized Damon's voice. He grunted, as if he were hoisting something very heavy. "You're a fool, Michael."

Cassandra's eyes widened. He got Michael!

"Put me down, you sick bastard!"

She peeked out and saw Michael pounding his fists on Damon's back. He had been flung carelessly over the other man's shoulder, and he didn't look happy.

When Damon didn't drop him, Michael bit down on his foe's thumb. Cursing, the older man dropped him and Michael scuttled away, hissing.

"Dammit," Damon growled out. "Should've just knocked you out when I had the chance."

"Yeah, well, you didn't." Michael folded his arms. "And now I'm going to find my sister. I think I've already found a trail, so I'll be able to find her eventually."

Damon stared at him for a few long moments, before he burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" he demanded.

"The fact that you expect to find her." He grinned. "That's what's funny."

Michael looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly, now glaring at Damon. "That's not funny at all, you fucking asshole. My sister's in danger because she's being held hostage by a creep like you and you have the balls to laugh about it in my face?"

"Christie's situation may not be very amusing for you, and it's certainly not anything particularly funny, but I have to admit I find your overconfidence pretty cute."

"Don't patronize me, Damon."

"Why, I'd never!" He paused, before smiling. "And Michael?"

"What?"

"Don't antagonize me so. I'm not holding her hostage at all; I'm holding her captive. There is a difference."

"Of what kind!?" The boy threw his hands up into the air angrily, looking fed up with Damon's attitude. "What difference is there!? She's still being held against her will!"

"Yes, but I'm not asking or gaining anything out of this arrangement. I'm just doing it for no real reason at all," he replied.

"For no reason!?" Michael's eyes flashed fire and he snarled, leaping forward at Damon. "That does it! I'm going to fucking kill you!"

The older man tumbled backwards, but recovered quickly and promptly punched his opponent in the face. As Michael fell to the ground, groaning, Damon stared down at him with a shadowed expression. "And here I thought that would make you feel better," he said, his voice far too upbeat for the hatred that smouldered in his brown eyes.

"How!?" Michael spat out, his nostrils flaring. "How would that, in any way, make me feel better!?"

"I figured that knowing your sister was not being used to benefit me would make you rest easier," Damon responded calmly.

"Only for me to hear that you've captured her 'for no reason', as if it were just for fun!? Bullshit!" he yelled back.

He narrowed his eyes. "Be quiet, you. You'll disturb my other guests."

Seething, Michael's voice lowered. "What other guests? You mean my sister and Vix? The two people you're 'holding captive' instead of holding hostage?"

"Oh good. So I can teach an old bat new tricks," Damon sneered back. "Perhaps you're not as stupid as you appear, considering the fact that you're learning."

He bared his teeth. "Watch it, old man, or you may find yourself sucked dry of all your blood."

"You can't touch me." He smiled. "You'd never be able to land a single bite on me."

"But I can still land a scratch or two." Michael jumped upwards and ran towards Damon again, this time slashing at his opponent and trying to catch him in the attack.

Damon sighed as he dodged each and every swipe. "It looks like I was wrong," he mused. "You're never going to learn, are you?"

"I can't learn anything if you aren't willing to teach me!" he shot back. "So what do you say, Damon? Why don't you show this bat a few new tricks?"

"If you insist." Damon's leg shot outwards and caught Michael in the stomach. He stumbled backwards, coughing, as his opponent grinned. "Lesson number one. You better watch yourself or you're going to end up getting hurt. So try not to use your big mouth too much, or it may just be your undoing."

Michael let out a scream of outrage at the jab, jumping up to try again, eventually catching Damon with a single slash. Both of them stared, wide-eyed, at the unexpected development. Time seemed to slow down as the scratch grew across the man's cheek. Then time suddenly sped up and Damon's irises immediately shrank, a loud hiss that almost resembled a steaming kettle now suddenly bubbling from his throat. He jerked his head up to glare at Michael, before rushing forward and smashing his hand into the boy's face.

Michael flew backwards and fell to the ground with a loud crash, knocking the back of his head against the wooden floor. The sound that came from it was a sickening crunch.

Cassandra grimaced at the gruesome impact, her heart pounding. She didn't know how much longer Michael could handle. She couldn't just sit back and watch all of this happen. I have to do something—

As the boy let out a low moan of pain, Damon began clawing and punching at his arms and face. "YOU FUCKING DARE TOUCH ME!?" he snarled, leaning down toward his opponent until they were face-to-face. "YOU DARE DAMAGE MY FACE!?"

"It's...an improvement." Michael smirked back, looking victorious despite the blood welling up on his own skin.

Damon let out an enraged roar as he slammed both hands into the boy's neck, his grip tightening. His victim let out a sharp gasp, eyes bulging out of his head as he struggled for air. Damon leaned forward, hissing, "Lesson number two. Daring to be so insolent as you are will lead to your demise."

Michael only let out another gasp in response, his face turning bluish.

Cassandra took a deep breath. She knew she couldn't just keep hiding and watching. She had to save him. She had to help Michael. He wasn't going to last for much longer.

"You will die here tonight," Damon snarled, his hands still tightening around the boy's neck. "You failed both lessons, bat."

Hearing this, and having had made her decision, Cassandra jumped out of hiding. "Leave him alone!" she cried, rushing forward and slamming into Damon, sending the two of them tumbling.

From behind her, she heard Michael take in a large gulp of air before hacking violently. She felt relief flood her system as she and Damon continued flying backwards.

The older man let out another horrifying hiss, catching himself on the wall. He looked up, teeth bared, probably ready to kill her for what she'd done. But then his eyes grew wide. "You," he whispered.

She swallowed hard, not sure if he recognized her. It had been a long, long time since she'd seen Damon. Her mind was now flashing back to another time; when he would smile at her and give her presents and tell her stories about himself—

—Stories she wasn't even sure he remembered anymore. Or if they were ever true in the first place. She shook her head, trying to focus as the man before her began moving.

He stood upwards, his eyes now narrowing as he finally muttered, "You're the daughter of Samp—"

"I'm nobody important," she said quickly, interrupting him before he could reveal her identity. She glanced back at Michael, who was still rubbing his neck and trying to recover. He didn't seem to have heard what Damon said, which was perfectly okay with her. She couldn't have him learning of her father's identity, or things would be all over.

Damon seemed to have noticed, because he followed her gaze. "Ahh," he murmured, realization dawning in his eyes. "You plan to seduce him."

Her eyes widened and she spun around, her mouth falling open. "What, no!"

"But you do plan on deceiving him." He tightened his fingers into a fist, clenching it until his knuckles turned white. "You want him to trust you; to listen and speak to you." He paused then, obvious amusement glinting in his eyes. "Do you not?"

She stared back at him, horrified by the assessment. "No, I-I..." She slowly trailed off, not sure how to rebuke his claim. He wasn't wrong. Her mission was to get Michael to trust her.

"You want him to fall for you," Damon whispered calmly, stating his theory as if it were a simple fact.

Cassandra's eyes stretched even wider, but she swallowed hard and managed to shove aside her shock. She began to back away from him slowly. "Stop talking," she managed to choke out. "Just stop talking."

Meanwhile, from behind her, Michael had recovered enough to look up and see a hazy figure standing before him. Despite his blurred vision, the long tan hair was a dead giveaway. Confusion filled his already dazed mind as he mumbled out, "Cassandra...? Is that you...?"

She turned quickly, just as Damon let out a bemused smirk. "Michael," she gasped, running toward him. She bent down, holding him. "Are you okay?"

"I...I think so," he managed to say, still looking distant. "So you are real? You...aren't an illusion? Or a...hallucination...?"

"No, I'm real," she confirmed, her hold on him turning firm. She closed her eyes, trying to calm her nerves and her speeding heartbeat. "I'm real."

"She's all too real," Damon agreed from behind her. "But also all too fake."

Cassandra jumped. She hadn't even heard him approach. She turned to stare up at him, trying to not be afraid, while Michael grabbed her arm. As she looked back down at him, he said, "Cassandra... You have to...get out of here—he's...he's dangerous..."

"I know," she murmured back, feeling her stomach twist for him. "I know."

"You know a lot. Far more than I care to have you know," Damon said, eyeing her with interest. "What would you do if I told you I could not let either of you walk out of this cabin alive?"

"No," gasped Michael, still struggling to stay conscious.

"Let us go," Cassandra added. She felt petrified, her limbs feeling as heavy as stone, but she wanted to be strong. For Michael. She wanted to protect him—to not just feel like an immovable rock, but to be one as well. So that when Damon pushed her, she could still stand her ground.

"Let you go?" he repeated. "I'm afraid that's not something you can simply ask for." A twisted smile blossomed on his face, blood dripping from his scratch down to his lips. "That's a right you'll have to earn."

Cassandra stood up on shaky legs. "Then so be it," she muttered, before letting out a yell and leaping toward him.

Damon dodged to the side, watching in amusement as her fist slammed into the wall behind him. "Nice, nice," he commented. "Lovely form. Could use some work on the control though."

Growling, she ripped her hand out of the hole and debris she'd created, swinging her arm at him again. This time her fist connected with his jaw and knocked his head to the side.

Damon stayed very still for a few seconds, perhaps surprised at having been caught by her hit, before he let out an amused "humph", smiling. He rubbed his cheek. "Not bad."

"Cassandra," Michael whispered.

She turned toward him. "Shhh," she murmured back, "I'll protect you."

He stared up at her, looking like he was still disorientated from his near-death experience, before his eyes stretched wide and he let out an alarmed cry. "Cassandra!"

She spun around only to see Damon flying toward her. Before she could react, his fist met her stomach and she jerked back, coughing violently at the forceful impact.

Damon stood over her, cracking his knuckles. "Lesson number three. Never let your guard down." He grinned. "I think that one's a no-brainer."

She could only let out a groan of pain as she tried to recover from the blow.

His smile vanished. "I'm disappointed in you, Cassandra," he said. "I expected more from you. But I suppose that's what happens when your only motivation is simply trying to defend a bat. The very idea alone would make me weaker."

"Then think...about it even more," she coughed back, "until...it weakens you so much...you won't be able to fight anymore."

Damon stared at her, before barking out a laugh. "Oh, that's rich! Now there's truly an idea!" The laughter quickly turned into a callous grin. "But really, I'd rather not. You see, Cassandra..." He reached toward a shelf, grabbing an object she couldn't yet see. "I'd much rather be strong."

She looked up, still fighting to regain air in her lungs. As she coughed some more, she squinted at what was in his hands, trying to make it out.

Damon held the black object up, still smiling. "In fact, you could say... I'd rather be"—he lowered his head, the smile now reaching his eyes as his finger pulled backwards—"invincible."

Michael realized what was happening first. "Cassandra!" he gasped. "You have to get out of the way—"

Her eyes grew large. It was a gun, and Damon had just pulled the trigger.

As the bullet flew toward her, she jumped out of the way. With her heart pounding, she looked back to see it lodge itself in the wall just behind her. She turned back to Damon, hearing his laughter ringing in her ears.

He was clapping as he laughed. "Brilliant!" he cheered. "What a brilliant dodge there, Cassandra. You've just avoided death!"

"You're sick," she managed to say.

"I've had a lot of people say that to me over the past few days." He stopped chuckling, although he was still smiling. He cocked his head to the side. "Strange."

Cassandra stood up. "My father's a doctor," she began, briefly wondering if Damon even remembered, "he could help you."

"Thank you for the kind offer, but"—Damon held the gun up again—"I'm afraid the doctor is no longer in!"

As he fired the next few rounds, she dodged each bullet, her heart racing. She leaped forwards and grabbed his wrist, forcing his arm upwards. The next bullet was shot into the ceiling, where the wood splintered and cracked.

Damon was watching it with his head raised, but now he jerked his chin back down and met her gaze. His eyes grew large and his mouth stretched into a giant, toothy smile. "Big mistake, little girl."

Her eyes widened as she tried to let go and get out of the way, but it was too late. Damon's other elbow slammed into her face, causing her nose to make a cracking sound. She stumbled backwards, letting out a low groan. When she removed her hands, she saw blood dripping down her fingers.

Michael was staring at her, and now his irises shrank with an animalistic hunger. His teeth sharpened into jagged points. "Blood..." he whispered. "Blood!"

"Looks like you have something else you need to deal with now," Damon commented, smirking, just as Michael lunged.

He tackled her into the ground, grabbing her by the wrists to keep her pinned. He leaned forward, his tongue flicking in and out like a snake's. "Blood," he murmured, nostrils flaring.

"Michael, no!" She struggled against his hold, but there was an animal-like form of desire in his eyes that gave him strength. She swallowed, stopping her attempts to break free. She knew what he wanted.

He wanted to suck her dry.

"Blood." He bent down and rubbed his face against hers, sniffing at the red fluid coming out of her possibly broken nose. She grimaced, trying to stay calm. His tongue was rough against her skin, and soon he reached her neck. Cassandra felt the tips of his teeth sink just ever-so-slightly into her flesh, and she closed her eyes, letting out a small whimper.

Michael paused.

When she dared to reopen her eyes, she saw that the hungry look was gone from his face. It was replaced by one of horror and disgust. His own eyes were wide, and when they locked gazes, he blinked rapidly. He stayed there, sitting on top of her for a few more long seconds, as if he didn't know what to do.

Damon broke the moment by clapping his hands together. "You'll always just be an animal," he jeered.

Michael scrambled backwards. "No, I...I—" He cut himself off, looking ashamed.

"A monster," Damon finished.

Cassandra sat upwards, rubbing her neck. "Michael, no—it's okay," she said.

"No, it's not!" he retorted, before breaking off and looking down. "Now you know. I'm a freak. A...A vampire."

She didn't tell him that she already knew what he was. "You're not a freak," she said, trying to comfort him. "You're—"

"A disgusting demon. An uncivilized creature. A savage beast," Damon continued, "who needs to be put down."

She shot him a glare. "And you need to be put in your place." She got up again, despite her shaking legs, and charged at him.

The two skidded backwards, Damon fighting against her attack. "You'll never beat me," he snarled.

"I don't have to. I just need to hold you back," she retorted.

"Traitor," he hissed, throwing her aside.

She caught herself on the shelves he'd grabbed his gun from. "I should be saying that to you," she growled.

Damon stalked towards her, and she grabbed the shelf to push her up and swing her legs forward. Her feet slammed into his chest and he staggered back.

When he recovered, his irises grew small and he let out a long, ugly hiss. "You'll pay for that."

"Not if you can't lay a hand on me first." She swung upwards onto a higher shelf and her legs smashed into his face.

Damon let out a growl, grabbing his head and trying to refocus. "Insolent, useless girl!" he shrieked.

"You say that, but I'm not doing too bad for an 'insolent, useless girl', now am I?" she shot back as she gave him one last, swift kick to the head.

He stumbled to the side, letting out an enraged screech.

Cassandra leaped past him, somersaulting until she was in front of Michael, who was staring at her with wide eyes. "Come on!" she cried, grabbing his wrist. "He won't be subdued forever!"

As she said that, Damon removed his hands from his face and turned toward them, roaring.

"Where...did you learn to fight like that?" Michael asked breathlessly, still astounded.

Frustrated, she shook her head. "No time!" She grabbed Michael by the wrist and yanked him up. He stumbled forward. "Now come on! We have to get out of here!" she urged, pulling him along. Soon they were running—away from Damon, past his furniture, past the kitchen, over some furniture, and then out the window.

"COME BACK HERE!" Damon screamed, chasing after them.

Cassandra and Michael raced through the field, not slowing until they were in the forest and his pounding footsteps had stopped. She looked back and saw that Damon was no longer behind them. She could just make out what was probably his ghostly figure in the window, eyes flashing a deep, bloody red—her mind reeled in confusion; perhaps he'd never been chasing them in the first place?—but when she blinked, he was gone.

As she blinked some more and began rubbing her eyes in confusion, Michael was hunched over, trying to catch his breath. "Seriously though..." he gasped. "Where...did you learn...to fight...like that?"

"Fight like what?" she asked absently, trying to play it innocent.

"Like that!" he repeated in disbelief. "Back there, with Damon!"

"Oh." She pursed her lips, weighing her options. "I've...had training. Some martial arts and stuff," she said lamely.

"I don't get it." He shook his head. "Why would you want to take a martial arts class? I thought you were a classy lady—"

"Hey!"

"—No, wait! That came out wrong." He quickly waved his hands. "Sorry. I meant, I thought your life was peaceful. Like...one of simplicity. Harmlessness. One where you wouldn't need to learn how to fight. A human life." He paused now, hesitating. "You know...normal."

She stared back at him, feeling pity well up inside of her. He still didn't know the truth about her. He didn't know that she actually knew exactly what he was going through. That she understood. And despite her pity, she intended to keep it that way, which only made her feel even more sorry for him. "Sometimes you have to prepare for the unexpected. Danger lurks behind every corner." She paused, considering her words carefully. "And besides...I wanted to."

He looked up in surprise. "But why? I'd love to have a normal life. One without...all of this." He gestured back at where they'd come from.

She followed his gaze and sighed. Me too, she thought. "Yes, but...being prepared for anything is necessary for anyone, even someone who's...relatively 'normal'." She paused again. "And...who decides what's normal, anyway?"

"Society." His eyes had grown distant and his voice was cold.

"And what is normal?" she asked. She could tell the topic brought back years of pain for him.

"Someone who's like the majority. Someone without creepy powers that make you lose the people around you," he muttered.

Cassandra swallowed. "You won't lose me."

"Even after that disgusting display back there?" He looked up, meeting her gaze. "You don't have to pretend. I was horrible back there. I must have terrified you. I violated you, Cassandra. And I'm so sorry."

She thought back to his tight grip on her wrists and his tongue on her face. She shivered.

"See? I'm terrible," he said, looking back down. He shoved at the ground with a stick. "Damon's right about one thing. I am a monster."

"At least... At least it makes you different," she managed to say.

Michael snorted. "I'm ready for the whole cliché inspirational speech about how my abnormalities make me special and unique."

She shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. You're not special—at least, not exactly."

His lips formed a tight line. "Gee, thanks for the pep talk."

"Michael, listen. You're not special because there's bound to be more out there just like you, but that doesn't mean you're not special. You're unique in your own way, even if that way is small and insignifiant. But then again, we all are." She looked up to catch his eye. "And to me, you're extra special."

His eyes widened and a blush formed on his cheeks. He quickly looked away. "Th-Thanks," he mumbled out. "I needed that."

She relaxed. "You're welcome." She glanced back at where Damon's cabin stood. "Now come on... Let's get out of here. This place gives me the creeps."

"Me too." He joined her, wrapping an arm around her. She stiffened at the sudden contact, and he paused. "Sorry," he said quickly, removing his arm. "I get it if you're still kind of wary around me, considering what I did..."

"No, it's...it's okay. I'm just still kind of jumpy because of everything that happened back there," she explained quickly. "Sorry."

His eyes softened. "There's no need to apologize. I should be the one doing so." He reached out and brushed his hand against her face, where blood was still visible on her skin. He rubbed at it, before staring at the red blood now on his fingers. "If it weren't for me, you wouldn't have come out all this way and gotten hurt."

"But you would've been even more hurt than you already are."

"I can take care of myself," he mumbled.

"Don't be like that! Don't be one of those people who can't admit when they need help." She flicked him on the forehead. "I was worried about you, you big bat."

The blush returned to his cheeks. "O-Oh... Well, thank you then."

"And Michael...?" She paused, waiting for him to respond.

He glanced down at her. "Yeah?"

"It...It's okay." She looked down at the ground, her face red. "The licking. It wasn't so bad, if it makes you feel any better."

His cheeks grew red too, as his eyes widened. But then he smiled and bent down, sticking his tongue out and brushing it against her skin again, still trying to help wipe up more of the blood. "There. All clean," he whispered. When he pulled back, his gaze was troubled again. "That really is a lot of blood you lost," he murmured in worry. "You're hurt pretty badly."

She smiled, leaning against him and resting her head on his shoulder. "But we're both okay now."

It was his turn to stiffen at the unexpectedly affectionate touch, but then he relaxed. "Yeah... We're both safe now," he murmured in agreement, curling his arm around her again. "You're right though, about danger lurking around every corner..."

Meanwhile, a few feet away, a wolf was watching them with glowing red eyes from behind the brush, a low growl burbling from his throat as his claws sank into the soft earth beneath him.

Vincent was surprised when he spotted two bruised and battered teens walking through the forest, attempting to support one another. He approached them, his husky Vixen trailing behind him. "Hey!" he called out.

They both jumped, turning to see him.

"Vix...?" the blue-eyed, blond-haired boy asked, looking shocked. "You're okay...? And Damon doesn't have you?"

He frowned. "Why do people keep thinking I'm him?" he wondered aloud, shaking his head.

"Oh." The disappointment on the other boy's face was obvious. But it soon vanished, replaced by a guarded look. "Sorry for having mistaken you for someone else."

"That's alright." He paused, eyeing the two of them carefully. "But are you alright?"

"We're fine," the tan-haired girl responded, crinkling her nose as if she'd smelled something off. He could just make out a streak of blood not fully wiped off of her face. "We just...happened to get into a small skirmish."

"You two better be careful," he murmured. "I hear the gang wars are getting pretty intense now. Not exactly a safe time to be hanging around."

The two exchanged somewhat knowing glances, and the boy turned back to him. "Same goes to you. Wouldn't want you getting hurt either."

"Thanks for worrying about me. But Vixen will protect me. Won't you, girl?" He bent down to scratch her ears as she let out a sharp bark. "She's practically one of the family, and she's an excellent guard dog."

"Ah." The boy nodded. "Well, we best be going now. I have to get home or my uncle will kill me."

"I've definitely heard that Danes is a rather strict man," he agreed. "Run along then. I won't keep you. I know what it's like. My dad's pretty strict too, even though he comes off as the chill type who just likes having tea and eating prime ribs and studying animals and doing some people-watching," he added with a chuckle.

His companion paused. "Wait...how do you know my uncle?"

"I'm your friend, silly! Of course I know who your uncle is."

He narrowed his eyes, before they grew wide. "Vincent...? I haven't seen you in forever!"

"Did you really already forget who I am?" he teased. "Am I really so unmemorable to you? Or are you just way too popular for me?"

"Sorry, I'm a little out of it right now. You're almost unrecognizable without glasses. It really does make you look like my other friend Vix," he explained sheepishly.

"That's okay, Michael. You'll remember me soon enough," he chuckled. "I'm back in town, so I don't think you'll be able to forget me again, at least not anytime soon."

"Ah, of course." Michael smiled. "Welcome back, bud. Now if you'll excuse us..." He and the girl with him soon began walking away.

Vincent watched them go, before smiling. "He may have forgotten me now, but he won't next time. Will he, girl?" He glanced down at his husky.

Vixen barked, and Vincent grinned. "You're right. After everything, he certainly won't forget me again."

Just then, his phone vibrated in his pocket and he pulled it out. He stared at the lock-screen, where a new text was being displayed. He read it before beaming. "This day just keeps getting better and better!" he chirped, petting Vixen. She wagged her tail. "Things are certainly getting interesting."

He thought of long red hair and a shy smile, causing him to smile even more.

"Let's go home now," he suggested. "Dad's waiting on us, and I have to think of how to reply to my new text." Vixen simply barked in response, and the two began their short walk home.

The new, interesting text was a response to one of his, and it was from Blossom Utonium.

She flipped through her notebook, trying to concentrate but not being able to. "Ughhh," she groaned, placing her hands over her eyes.

Her mind kept going back to the whole mess between her and Butch, and how badly it had ended. He'd been so angry...

Before that particular train of thought could go any further, a knock sounded on her window. She jumped, turning toward the glass. A small bat was flapping its wings and hovering in front of her window. For a second her mind wasn't able to comprehend what was before her—was that a freaking bat?—but then she remembered.

She got up and pushed the window open, watching as the small creature flitted inside. There was a puff of smoke and then a boy was standing in the center of her room.

"Ross," she said, making her way over to him.

"Hey." He stood up, glancing at her. "I...I wanted to ask how it went."

He didn't need to specify. She already knew he was referring to her talk with Butch. "It...It didn't go so well," she admitted.

Ross sighed in response. "I'm not surprised." He looked up then, brows furrowed and green eyes soft. "I'm sorry it didn't work out the way you wanted, BC. But Butch clearly doesn't want his secret to get out."

"It's so dumb though!" she protested. "I know everything now. I know you're a vampire. I don't get why he's still trying to deny everything."

He hesitated, but didn't say much more. His gaze remained troubled though.

She noticed the apprehensive look on his face. How could she not? It was a far cry from the usually gentle and serene Ross she knew. "Let's not focus on that then," she offered. "How's about we just hang out for awhile? Together?"

He relaxed, the tenseness leaving his shoulders. "Sure," he agreed, looking grateful. "That'd be nice."

"And by hang out I mean, can you help me with my Math homework?" She grinned. "It's giving me some trouble."

He chuckled. "Nice try, but you're going to have to find someone else to help you with that. I'm not going to be of much help."

"Are you sure?" she teased, moving closer to him so that she could poke him in the arm. "And here I thought you were good at everything..."

Ross' cheeks became tinged with pink, and he shuffled away slightly. He cleared his throat. "Ah-hem. That'd be a bit of a misconception."

She frowned, pulling back. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," he responded, although she could tell he was essentially lying through his teeth.

She huffed, her lips forming a thin line. "Ross... It's okay now. You're my boyfriend. You're allowed to be close to me."

"I-I know. I'm just...still not used to it yet," he said awkwardly, looking embarrassed. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay." She sighed, moving closer to him again. He tensed and she paused. "I just wish you were used to it."

He stared back at her, eyes large. "BC..."

"Here." She reached out and took his hand. "Let's try this. Is this okay?"

He nodded.

"And is it okay if I sit beside you?" she asked.

He nodded again. "I'm sorry; you shouldn't have to ask..."

"No, it's okay." She shook her head. "I want you to be comfortable, Ross."

He stayed quiet.

"Now I want to ask you something else," she continued. "Do you want to be my boyfriend?"

Ross hesitated, but then he nodded. "I do. I really like you. I may not feel like I deserve you, but I want to be with you—"

"Perfect." She smiled at him. "Then I can prove to you that you do deserve me. That you're the best guy for me."

The unsureness remained in his eyes. She was pretty sure he was thinking back to Butch again.

She gave his hand a squeeze. "Don't worry about Butch. Don't even think about him. Just think about us."

He gazed back at her, silent for a bit, before finally nodding. "Okay," he breathed.

"Now I want to try something." She noticed a brief flash of panic in his eyes, and she gave him a reassuring smile. "It's nothing too difficult"—she paused, considering her words—"or rather, it's not too difficult if you mean it. Are you willing to try it?"

The hesitation reappeared, but then he nodded. "Yes."

"Perfect." She smiled again. "Ross, I love you."

She watched as his face turned red and he became flustered. "I-I—"

She held her hand up. "Do you love me back?"

He paused, staring back at her. "I... Yes, I do."

"Try saying my name. My whole name; with the phrase," she instructed. "It'll help make it feel more natural." And it'd be nice just to be able to hear it, she added to herself. Ross gulped, and she held her breath.

"I love you, Buttercup," he finally said. And despite his embarrassment and his red face and shy look, he was smiling at her.

Buttercup's heart warmed and she smiled back. "And I love you too, Ross."

He was young, and he was small, and he was heartbroken.

The memory of that pain brought a sharp stab to his heart, one that he felt all the way home as he flew away from Buttercup's house. Ross was feeling warm and elevated, like he was on cloud nine, but whenever he thought of dating someone, the memory of that heartbreak always returned to him.

And the memory of her. Sydney.

Ross sighed, now descending. He stopped in the garden and transformed back into a human. At first, he didn't move. He just stayed there for a little while, staring at the roses growing thick and beautiful in their briars and bushes.

"They're gorgeous, aren't they?" a soft voice asked from behind him.

He turned to see Raymond approaching, brown eyes warm and glittering with admiration as he gazed at the red flowers.

"They are," Ross agreed. He watched as the older man prepared water for the roses. And for those few seconds, they were silent. But Ross' mind kept returning to the singular question he wanted to ask. He bit his lip. "Raymond...?" he finally dared to ask.

The man looked up. "Yeah?"

"I was just wondering," he began, "about how you dealt with heartbreak when you were younger?"

The question gave him pause. His face was suddenly shadowed, and Ross wondered if he had brought up painful memories. He was afraid he'd offended the gentle man.

He waved his hands. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, of c—"

"Love," he finally said.

Ross paused. "What...?"

"I loved," repeated Raymond.

"But what if love was what caused that heartbreak in the first place?"

"I kept loving." He began spraying the plants with water, a sad smile on his face. "I don't think I could've stopped loving even if I wanted to."

"Raymond..."

"I loved both of them," he continued. "I loved her, but I also loved him. I just... Sure I was upset and heartbroken, but I could never hate them. They were both such great people and amazing friends. I couldn't stop myself from loving and caring about them."

Ross stayed silent, wondering if he could feel that way for Sydney and Michael. He thought he cared for both of them, but somehow he couldn't find it within himself to love them the way Raymond suggested. But perhaps it was just Sydney he couldn't imagine loving again, because whenever he tried picturing it, his heart would tremble and twist in fear of being broken again. It had taken Ross years to mend that broken heart, and he wasn't sure he could ever handle that same pain.

Raymond sensed the boy's discomfort from his currently quiet disposition, so he kept talking. "The hardest part about fixing a broken heart is not thinking about the two people who hurt you. But you'll find that your brain always comes back to them. You find them everywhere. In a crowd, at a party, in photos, online, and even in your own brain when you're simply trying to take a nice, relaxing shower. But that's on you. You're the one who's upset. They probably never even meant to hurt you. You become overly aware of them every time you pass them in a hallway, and may try to avoid them out of discomfort. And they may not even realize what they're doing to you.

"But it's not their fault. They're simply existing. You're the one who's always thinking about them and the pain they caused you, and thus you're the one who's always shoving them out." Raymond looked up. "Am I wrong?"

Ross hesitated. He remembered that for months after Sydney had rejected his confession, he'd struggle to keep her out of his head. He would single her out in any crowd, and whenever he found her, he'd duck out of the way before she could find him. He didn't talk to her for months after that. Ross frowned. "No, you're not wrong," he admitted.

"And you get angry at them, don't you? You become confused. You wonder why you're not good enough. You have so many questions for them, but you'd rather not ask. And yet, you still get upset with them for not giving you any answers."

He hesitated even more, but he knew there was no point in trying to think of a rebuttal. He slumped, sighing. "Yes."

"And that's okay."

Ross jerked his head up in surprise. He watched as Raymond felt the roses and their petals, and he took a deep breath. "How?" he asked.

His companion looked him directly in the eye. "You're simply afraid. And being afraid has never necessarily been a bad thing. It's what you do with that fear that counts."

"I avoided her for months—maybe even years—and refused to talk to her. I refuse to talk to her even now." Ross kicked a stone away from him. "I basically let bitterness and fear consume me. How is that okay?"

"It's not, but that's just because you haven't let yourself heal yet," Raymond replied, watching as the stone rolled toward his boot. "You haven't opened yourself back up yet."

He shivered. "And I don't really want to. Dealing with that once was more than enough for me."

"You don't have to do it yet." He returned his attention to the roses. "You can take baby steps. That's perfectly okay."

Ross sighed. "I don't think I'm even ready for baby steps yet."

"Making an inch of progress is fine too. It doesn't have to be all at once, and if a baby step is too much for you, then try something even smaller. Instead of saying 'let's talk', a simple nod to acknowledge the other's presence is okay too. It's still a start."

"I don't know if I'm even ready for that. Anything acknowledging her and letting her back into my life is a requirement for me to expose myself again. And I don't want to do that ever again. I don't want to be as vulnerable or as weak as I was that day ever again, Raymond. It hurt too much."

"All you can do is try, Ross. And all I can do is offer encouragement and advice. Whether or not you take it is entirely up to you." Raymond turned off the hose and walked over to him. "But Ross...?"

He looked up. "Yeah?"

"Any form of progress is still progress." He offered a comforting smile, holding up a rose. "But no matter how afraid you are, just remember that you have to learn to walk and learn to run before you can learn to fly."

Ross stared at the rose in the other man's outstretched hand, before taking it. He looked up into his companion's warm brown eyes, and found it within himself to offer his own small smile. "Thanks, Raymond."

"No problem." He pulled away, returning to his gardening. "I'm here if you ever need me."

He nodded. "Thanks again." He waved goodbye, and when Raymond returned the gesture, he walked off. Ross entered the house and began making his way up the grand stairs, thinking back to his conversation with Raymond. And not only to the one he'd just had, but to the other talks he'd shared with Raymond over time.

Damon himself may have become a shell of his former self, now twisted and insane and cruel beyond redemption, but his twin remained a kind, patient, and caring voice of reason.

Ross continued his trek upstairs, until a ringing doorbell caused him to stop in his tracks. He turned and stared at the door. The ringing occurred again. No maids or butlers were around to get it, so he ran downstairs and thrust the door open.

In front of him stood Cassandra and Michael, and both of them looked pretty battered.

"Are you guys okay?" he gasped.

Cassandra responded first, nodding. "We're okay," she managed to say. "Not great, but we're still alive."

Michael only groaned in response.

Ross ushered them quickly inside and into an empty guest room. "We probably don't want Danes seeing Michael in this condition," he fretted. He continued to fuss over them as they got settled, and when he was sure they were okay, he stood back up. "I'll fetch Raymond," he offered, already running out of the room before Cassandra or Michael could say anything in response.

He burst out of the house and into the garden. "Raymond!" he cried.

The man looked up, startled, dropping his shears in the process. "Oh my God, Ross; what's the matter?"

"MichaelandCassandrajustappearedandbotofthemarebadlyinjured," he explained hurriedly. "They'reinoneoftheguestroomsand—"

"Wait, hold up." Raymond held up his hand. "What's wrong? You were speaking so fast that all I got was that it has something to do with Michael and Cassandra."

Ross gulped in air. "Michael and Cassandra just showed up and they're both badly injured," he repeated. "They're in one of the guest rooms."

"Say no more." Raymond jumped up, already hurrying inside. "Lead the way, Ross."

He told the man which room to enter, and they skidded inside.

Raymond's eyes widened when he saw Cassandra and Michael's conditions. "Oh my stars," he murmured. "Michael... Cassandra... I—" He hesitated then, pulling his first aid kit out and not finishing whatever thought he had.

Ross sat down to watch breathlessly as Raymond got straight to work. As Ross tried to regain his breath from running around, the other man didn't take any time to recover at all.

"What happened?" he demanded, setting down bandages and ointments and bottles of medicine.

"Michael sought out Damon," Cassandra explained in a rush. "He wanted to find his sister."

A pained look came across the older man's face. "Michael, no..."

The blond-haired boy glanced down, looking ashamed.

"You had already sought him out earlier during the day—and look at what he did to you! You should've learned by now that—"

"Shut up!" he snapped back. "What do you know anyway? You're not the one whose sister has gotten kidnapped! Don't even try to talk down to me!"

Raymond froze, looking hurt, and Cassandra and Ross exchanged glances. The older man became stiff, now working in a still fast but more robotic manner. "You're right," he said dryly. "I haven't lost a sibling before."

Michael sensed his change in attitude. "That's not the same," he muttered in protest. But he wasn't yelling anymore. He looked drained of all energy. "It's not the same."

Ross jerked back, startled by the appearance of tears in his best friend's eyes. "Mikey..."

Cassandra was faster though. "Michael, it's okay," she was saying, wrapping an arm around him. "It'll be okay..."

He was full-on crying now, sniffling and hiccuping as he tried to wipe away all the tears that streamed down his face. "It's just not fair," he cried.

Raymond took Michael's free arm, gently applying ointment to the cuts and scrapes on his skin. "I'm sorry," he whispered, looking broken.

"No, I'm sorry," Michael hiccuped back. "I was being a jerk. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I'm sorry."

"It's alright. You're just afraid for your sister. I understand that." He finished with the ointment and began wrapping the bandages around the boy's arm. "I'm not going to blame you for lashing out. It's okay."

Michael sniffled. "Even if it's not exactly the same, I'm glad you can kind of understand."

Raymond simply nodded.

They sat together in silence for awhile, all just watching as Michael was treated. Raymond finished that and moved on to Cassandra.

He stared down at her, looking troubled. He took a deep breath. "Cassandra..."

"Yes?" she asked hesitantly, looking uncomfortable as she gazed up at him.

"I..." He hesitated. "Never mind. It's been so long..."

She frowned, furrowing her brow. "Since what?" she questioned, tilting her head to the side.

"Just...never mind. It's nothing important." He reached out to brush his fingers against her nose, causing her to grimace. He paused. "What did Damon do to you?"

"This was from when he jabbed his elbow into my face," she replied. "It started bleeding. I don't know if it's broken or not."

He shook his head. "That's definitely broken. It's luckily not deformed or twisted out of shape though, so we won't have to straighten it." He inspected her nose some more. "It should heal within two to three weeks. Just place an ice pack over it for ten to fifteen minutes every few hours, and prop your head up with extra pillows when sleeping. It's stopped bleeding, but if there's any unbearable pain, try taking some over-the-counter painkillers like paracetamol or ibuprofen for relief."

"Thanks," she mumbled, gently touching her nose.

"No problem." He offered a small and comforting, although rather sad, smile. "I'll give you the cases of medicine you might need."

She nodded, waiting as he fished around for the containers.

As he handed them to her, he sighed softly. "I'm so sorry for everything my brother's done to you."

"It's...It's okay," she said.

"It's not okay," Michael muttered, but Raymond's ashamed expression caused him to look up and amend his words: "I mean, it's not okay that he's done them, but I forgive you. Things are okay there, because they were never your fault to begin with. I won't forgive your brother though." He paused, scowling. "I can't forgive Damon."

"That's fair," sighed Raymond. "I wouldn't ask you for anything more."

Ross shuffled his feet, now uncomfortable. He sort of felt like he was intruding on what was more of a private moment, a conversation that Michael and Raymond both needed. He stood up quickly. "I'm going to go for some fresh air," he said.

Michael stared after him. "Ross..."

"I'm fine! I'll catch you guys later," he responded in a rush, already vanishing out the door with his rose.

Soon he was wandering aimlessly through the halls, sighing to himself as he walked. As he journeyed through the hallways, the doorbell rang again. Ross jumped, taking a look around. There was still no maid or butler was present. He figured Danes was doing an inspection of some sort, lecturing all of the mansion's workers at the moment.

So he went to unlock and open the door himself. And he instantly regretted that decision.

Standing in the doorway, was Sydney and Sidney.

Sydney's shocked expression must have mirrored his own. "R-Ross..." she stammered, eyes large and mouth having fallen open.

He swallowed, remembering Raymond's words of wisdom. Acknowledge her, he told himself. "Hey," he began, although he couldn't bring himself to add her name to the end. "You two."

"H-Hey," she managed to say.

"We're here as per Danes' call," Sidney explained, glancing between the two. It was obvious he was aware of the tension, but he was struggling to try and defuse it. "We won't bother you. We're just going to go up to Danes' study."

"Yeah, sure." Ross stepped aside and let them in. He watched as they began making their way up the stairs, and before he could stop himself, he called out, "Hey, wait."

The twins froze.

Ross gulped. He waved. "You can keep going, Siddy. I...I want to talk to...your sister."

They shared confused and concerned looks, but then Sydney nodded and her brother nodded back. He continued to make his way up the stairs, while she turned to face Ross. "Yes...?" she asked softly.

He stared back at her, wondering where he was going with this decision and what he wanted to say. Simply looking into her eyes was causing him to get lost in memories, many of them painful. They were overpowering, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to stop feeling so overwhelmed. "I...I..."

"Ross?" she asked, concerned. The tone of her voice caused one memory to shoot up above the rest, and his eyes snapped open.

Flashback

It was almost January 1st; almost time for a completely new chapter of everyone's lives, and a few days after Ross' failed proposal to Sydney. Everyone else was excited—they were all preparing for the magical countdown of the New Year, but Ross was still upset.

Sydney had seriously hurt him by refusing his confession. And while he knew he wasn't entitled to anything from her, it didn't prevent him from feeling pain. Ross knew he was still young; probably too young for true love, but it definitely didn't seem that he was too young for true heartbreak.

Perhaps she wasn't the one, but that didn't make things any better.

"Ross? You okay?" his uncle asked.

He looked up. Shamus was staring at him, his brow furrowed in concern as he stirred a pot of soup on the stove. "I'm fine," he responded flatly. He and his uncle didn't get along great. After his father's death, Ross had really closed himself off from other people. Confessing to Sydney had been an exception, and it had completely and utterly failed.

His uncle got the message. "Okay, but if you ever want to talk, I'm here..."

He shrugged in reply. When Shamus returned his attention to the pot despite obviously wanting to say more, Ross also turned away. Sighing to himself, he halfheartedly folded some more napkins.

Beside him, Michael was also folding napkins. "I'm so excited," he was saying. "When all the guests finally arrive, this party is going to be wild!"

"Yeah." Ross didn't share his friend's enthusiasm. He was ready to crawl into a hole and just hibernate for the next few months. At least until winter was officially over. And spring. And summer. And fall, even. Perhaps he'd just never come out. Perhaps he'd just sleep past every season, every year, for the rest of eternity.

"Reminder that this party isn't just for fun," Michael's strict uncle Danes began saying, in an almost warning manner, "but it's also to secure our positions of power and finance for the new year, lest anyone dares challenge us."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, Uncle." Michael rolled his eyes. "You can worry about all that junk, but I'm just going to have fun with my friends."

Danes sighed, shaking his head. "I don't know why I even bother sometimes."

Shamus gave him an amused smile.

"Don't be so hard on him. He's only a kid," Maggie chided from her seat at the kitchen table. She was busy mixing salads.

Beside her, her husband Chris nodded. "And children are allowed to enjoy themselves when the occasion allows for it."

"As if you were ever so unruly during this age," Danes retorted. "And this is hardly such an occasion—"

"I say my son is allowed to have fun, so that's that," Maggie interrupted before he could say any more.

Michael's uncle frowned, his lips twisting to form a thin line, but he didn't argue.

"Mom, Dad! The chefs have finished with the cake," Christie called, walking into the dining room. She was carrying the aforementioned cake, which was giant.

Maggie clapped her hands. "Perfect! Just in time too." She glanced at the clock, her gaze suddenly turning dark. "Any longer and I would have cut off their hands."

"Maggie," Chris scolded.

She simply shrugged.

"Good job, Christie. You've done very well in trying to organize this whole thing," Chris said to his daughter, looking proud in his quiet way.

Maggie nodded, looking equally proud—but in a more obvious manner. She was practically glowing with pride. "We were right," she agreed. "You're more than capable of preparing an event at your age."

Michael snorted. "Everything my sister does is seen as perfect. They're just feeding her ego at this point." He paused then. "And speaking of feeding, at least she can't really cook. That's like, the one thing she's not 100% good at. I just hope she doesn't master it anytime soon."

Ross smiled slightly in amusement, despite his gloomy mood.

Soon preparations were done, and in the next hour, the doorbell rang. One of the maids rushed to get the door, and all the other butlers and maids got into formation. They bowed as the guests entered. "Welcome to the Hawthorne household; please enjoy your stay," they chimed.

Time went on and more and more guests arrived. The party had started, but Ross didn't find it within himself to walk out onto the dance floor. He was content (or as content as he could be) with simply watching every person who came into the mansion for the party.

As he watched Jamel enter with a flourish, he didn't notice the family walking in behind the lanky, red-haired man. The maids and butlers said their usual greeting, causing him to jump. He turned to the door, and his breath caught in jus throat.

The new guests were Sidney and Sydney, and their parents.

"Thanks for the warm welcome. It really gives off those positive vibes," Sidney's dad was saying. "I feel like you could probably dial back on the robotic feel to it all, but other than that, brilliant job on the radical greeting."

The maids and butlers exchanged confused, amused, and/or even annoyed looks.

"Welcome," Danes said, walking over to the family. "Come; try some of this brilliant ox blood, imported from France..."

Sidney and Sydney's parents followed him away, beginning to try the samples. Danes stayed where he was, watching them. He clearly didn't plan on joining in the festivities; this party was mainly to secure his position. He'd be mostly greeting guests, as well as making speeches, and making sure everyone was comfortable.

But even someone as strict as Danes could get roped into having fun at a party.

Deth Jackson Sr appeared in front of him, grinning wide. "Hey sunshine," he greeted. "You want to dance?"

Danes looked over the other man's shoulder. "Where are all your lady fans? Like that Ruby girl. Surely there's plenty of those who'd wish to dance with you. I for one need to stay here, in order to greet guests. And besides, don't you have your own obligations now?"

DJ Sr smirked, shaking his head. "Nah, I lost them." He held his hand out. "Come on, Danesy. How's about that dance? We can see if there are still sparks—enough to cause a wildfire. For old times' sake?"

"Ugh. Fine. But just this once," Danes replied, taking his hand. "You're a bad idea."

"And you move like a full-on rainstorm," he teased. He pulled his partner onto the dance floor, and the two stood very close to one another—DJ Sr's forehead almost touched Danes' when he tilted his head downwards. "Let me show you how to move like a swan."

Danes' face reddened, perhaps from embarrassment at having to dance in front of everyone.

DJ gagged. "This is so weird. I hate when my dad does stuff like this. It's so embarrassing. Why can't he just settle down with someone like a normal parent, instead of being all flirty and playful? It's so gross. He's not 18 anymore."

Michael laughed, clapping his friend on the back. "He still acts like it though. Uncle Danes always talks about your father and his reckless behaviour. Says he's like a firecracker."

Ross didn't hear much of their conversation, as he was still staring at Sydney, who looked stunning in her shimmering, sea-green dress. Her hair was done up in a fancier hairdo than usual, involving braids and a bun, but she looked just as...well, Sydney as ever.

Michael then nudged his friend. "Dude, are you going to stare at her all day? That's just creepy. I feel like you're drilling holes into the back of her skull or something."

He blinked, flushing red in embarrassment. He didn't—couldn't—say anything.

The twins uncomfortably made their way onto the "dance floor", which was the centre of the room. They grabbed some punch and sort of just stood about near the snack table, looking around.

"Looks like they're just as bored as we are," Deth Jackson Jr commented, swinging down from the rafters above them. He waved. "Hey, Sidney! Get your butt over here."

Their friend made his way toward them. "Hey, guys," he greeted. He glanced back at where his sister stood, who happened to look miffed. "I would've come over sooner, but I kind of promised not to abandon her if she didn't have anyone to hang out with at this party."

"Pfft," DJ said dismissively, blowing a raspberry and waving his hand. "Promise schmomise. You"—he poked Sidney in the chest—"need to hang out with your own friends and have some fun. She can find something to do in the meantime. I'm sure some boy will be more than willing to sweep her off her feet."

I wish I could do that. Ross' heart ached. There was a large part of him that wished he dared go up and ask for Sydney to dance with him, but he knew there was no point. If she'd rejected his confession only a few days prior, then why on Earth would she agree to dance with him now?

Despite his seemingly sound logic, he still saw that Sydney was making her way across the room towards him. He sucked in a deep breath and held it, feeling terrified and rooted to the spot.

"Hey look," DJ remarked. "Here she comes."

Sydney stopped in front of them, folding her arms and leaning her weight on one leg. "And here I am."

"Speak of the devil, huh," he responded. "I guess I summoned you or something."

"Haha very funny, Jackson," she said sarcastically. "But in case you forgot, I'm actually a vampire; not a demon."

DJ snorted. "Was that your attempt at a comeback? Because of course I know you're actually a vampire." He cocked an eyebrow. "In case you forgot, we're all vampires."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't see what every girl sees in you."

"And I'm beginning to see that you're blind, if you seriously can't see my perfection," he replied, smirking.

"Oh, I can see 20/20. Every single little flaw of yours is laid out bare and clear to me."

He stuck his tongue out. "I'm also beginning to see why nobody's asked you to dance yet. Careful, or no one's going to ask period, considering your similarity to a demon."

Ross opened his mouth, knowing that this was a good time to interject and explain that he actually happened to want to dance with Sydney, but before he could even work up the courage to do so, Sydney was already replying.

"I don't need to lie around waiting until someone else asks me." She turned to an unsuspecting, oblivious Michael. "Shall we dance, my good sir?"

"Huh?" He blinked at her, before agreeing, "Yeah, sure." He took her hand and the two made their way to the dance floor.

Ross frowned. Right. Sydney likes Michael. His heart twisted, but he couldn't turn his eyes away to try and make himself feel better. So instead, he could only watch as the two danced together.

He hugged himself, suddenly feeling very cold.

Later, when Michael and Sydney parted ways, Ross wondered if he still dared to ask her for a dance. He swallowed, making his way over to her. "Sydney..."

She jumped, before turning toward him. Her shoulders slumped. "Oh, hey, Ross..."

He tried to ignore the pity in her eyes. Out of all the possible emotions she could feel toward him, he didn't want her feeling sorry for him. "Would you... Would you care to dance?" he asked shyly.

Her eyes flickered toward the buffet table. "Well, err...I'm sort of tired right now, and I was kind of planning on getting some snacks—"

"Hey, why the hell not?" Michael interjected from where he was standing, sipping at a cup of punch. He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "You were more than willing to dance with me. What's wrong with good ol' Ross?"

Sydney blushed. "That's...umm..."

While Ross sometimes wanted to smack his friend for being so oblivious, this was not one of those times. He was relieved that Michael was there to challenge Sydney's decisions.

"Fine, let's dance," she said, reaching her hand out.

He took it, sucking in a deep breath. Her hand fit nicely in his.

He pulled her onto the dance floor and they began to spin, twirling and twirling around the other couples also dancing. And the whole time, Sydney wouldn't—maybe even couldn't—look Ross in the eyes. Then a slow song came on, and the two also slowed down. He stared down at her, but she still wouldn't look up.

"Sydney..." he tried. "Would you please...just look at me?"

She turned her head slightly toward him, although she kept flicking her gaze down.

He sighed to himself. "How have you been, anyway?" he asked. "Since...Christmas..." His heart ached at the mention of that day.

She turned rigid, but she replied with grace: "I've been fine. Sidney and I had a lot of...fun this year, despite some...mishaps"—Ross flinched. Is that what she considers my confession to be? A mishap?—"and going skiing after was fun too. I'm glad to be back though. Just not very happy with the idea o school happening again."

"Yeah...me too," he agreed.

They danced in silence for awhile, but then she asked awkwardly, "And you? I know you said 'me too' to my statement, but..." She trailed off.

"Oh, yeah." Ross spun her around. "I...had fun too." He paused. "Or at least, I tried to," he corrected. "But Uncle and I just stayed here this year."

"Right." The awkward silence reappeared.

Meanwhile, the party was beginning to count down. "10...9...8...7...6..."

He let it happen for a bit, simply dancing with her, but when her body got close to his, his heart felt about ready to explode. "Sydney..." he murmured breathlessly, wanting to say something so much more than either of them were probably ready for.

"5...4..."

She sighed, seemingly sensing this. "Ross, stop. I-I know you like me, but...I just...I really don't feel the same way."

His heart cracked again, despite having already been obliterated into smithereens. He swallowed, trying to ignore the threat of tears that prickled at the back of his eyes. "I know," he whispered hoarsely. "I wouldn't ask you again."

"3...2..."

She finally looked at him, now seeing how distraught he was. "...Oh," she said, and that was all she could say.

Now Ross looked away.

The song stopped, and so did the countdown. "1!" people screamed, all excited for the new year to begin. Ross didn't share their enthusiasm.

He and Sydney parted ways, and he could only stare at their hands as they let go of one another, before returning to his friends. He couldn't bear to look at her again. He just couldn't.

Meanwhile, the party now erupted into cheer as streamers were shot into the air. "HAPPY NEW YEAR!" everyone cheered.

Everyone, except Ross. And while he felt more alone than ever, he also felt more determined than before to not only stay strong, but also to move on. He wanted to stay true to his word: that he wouldn't ask Sydney to be his again.

End Flashback

And he'd been right even back then. He still had no intention of confessing to her again.

And yet, just the sight of her still sent his heart racing. He wasn't sure if it was fear or desire that caused him to go breathless around her. Perhaps despite his best efforts, a small part of him still wished that they could've worked.

Sydney furrowed her brow, standing before him. "Ross...are you okay? You...wanted to talk to me...?"

He blinked, snapping back to the present. He managed to recover his focus and nodded. "Yes. I did."

"Okay..." She rubbed the back of her neck. "What about?"

At first, he couldn't find it within himself to reply. In fact, he couldn't even find a reply. "How have you been?" he finally asked.

"Uhh...I've been fine." She stared at him in concerned confusion. "You okay, Ross?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? Because you're acting kind of weird." She walked over to him, reaching out to feel his forehead. "Are you sure you're—?"

He sucked in a deep breath and quickly brushed her hand away, thus dismissing her worry. "I'm fine!" he repeated, probably sharper than he needed to.

"...Oh." She pulled her hand back, holding it tenderly, as if he'd just scratched her. And maybe he had. "Sorry."

"No, I..." He sighed. This wasn't working the way he was hoping it'd work. "Okay, look. I just...I want things to get better between us."

At these words, she straightened her back, looking relieved. "I do too," she agreed. "So maybe we can start by talking more?" She raised an incredulous eyebrow. "Whenever I think we're getting better, you start avoiding me again."

I can't help it! he protested inwardly. He didn't say it out loud though. Instead, he replied, "Sorry." His tone was more curt and awkward than he'd intended.

She frowned. "Uh...apology sort of accepted, I guess. But...about talking more?"

He took a deep breath. Baby steps, Ross, he reminded himself. "Right. I'll try."

"Well, okay. I guess that's all I can ask of you. To try." Her shoulders slumped.

Ross couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze, so he was left to wonder if it was disappointment in her eyes...or something else.

"So...was that all?" she finally asked.

He shook his head. "I...I wanted to wish you the best of luck in the future," he said.

She seemed surprised. He didn't need to see her eyes to tell by her body language that she was not expecting this. "Oh. Well, thanks," she began. "That's pretty sweet of y—"

He finally looked up and met her eyes. "And I hope you find someone who loves you and who you can love back someday," he continued. "Because it's a really sweet feeling...when it does work out."

Her eyes widened. "Ross...are you... Have you...?" She trailed off, seemingly too shocked to keep going.

He nodded. "I've found the one for me." Raymond's words rang in his ears: Acknowledge her. He offered her a small smile, one he hoped was warm enough, and he held out the rose. "Thanks, Sydney. For...teaching me how to move on. And for being such a...good friend."

She took the rose and stared at him, unable to reply.

"Best of luck in the future," he added, waving as he began walking away. Baby steps, baby steps, baby steps, he reminded himself all the while. Even an inch of progress is okay. He could feel her still staring at him; his back burned under her scorching gaze.

But he'd acknowledged her. He was starting to move on. He had Buttercup now.

And yet... Ross' shoulders slumped. Why do I still feel hurt when I think of her? Have I ever even moved on in the first place?

"What do you mean he just randomly texted you?" Brick demanded, pushing the door open.

His girlfriend grimaced. He'd sounded angry when she'd called to let him know about Vincent's recent text, and he sounded angry now. She'd just unlocked the door and he'd shoved it open himself—he was clearly unhappy.

"What did he say?" Brick continued, his nostrils flaring.

"Let's go upstairs to my room," she murmured, noticing that her sister Bunny was standing nearby. She wasn't sure if the purple Puff could overhear, but she didn't want her sister to witness another roadblock in Blossom and Brick's relationship, after already having seen one not that long ago.

Brick nodded curtly, flying up the stairs. Blossom followed him into her room, which he burst into and immediately began ranting. "I can't believe that asshole! Texting you after everything that's happened? He never should've sought to hang out with you so much in the first place! Is he trying to steal you from me?" Just the thought seemed to make him even more irritated, because he stopped pacing to growl, his face flushed from anger. "That piece of shit!" He spun around toward her. "What did he text you?"

She frowned, wishing she could say something to calm him down, or even just to say "calm down", but she knew that'd only make the situation worse. So instead, she held up her phone.

When it was turned on, the lock screen displayed the text: "'Hey, Bloss! I'm back in town again. Looking forward to hanging out with you soon.'"

"I never even knew that he was gone," Brick growled out. He grabbed the phone, studying it and rereading it over and over again, as if he could decipher the simple text and reveal some sort of secret.

"Brick..." she tried.

"Tell him," he said, shoving the phone toward her. "Tell him you two won't be hanging out again because you're not his puppet and that you're with me now—"

"Brick!" she said, much more firmly this time.

He paused, turning to stare at her. "What?"

"Let's not get carried away now." She began reaching for her phone, ready to take control of the situation.

He snatched it back. "'Carried away'?" he repeated incredulously. "He nearly took you from me last time! I don't think I'm getting too carried a—"

"Stop," she cried exasperatedly. "You can't do this. Don't become the overbearing boyfriend who has to watch over my every contact with someone. Don't be the over-controlling, overly paranoid boyfriend that so many other boys are. You're better than that."

He stared back at her, red eyes harsh in the dim light. But then his gaze softened and the red of his eyes softened, becoming more like a sunset than a wildfire. "Bloss...you know I'm just afraid of losing you again, especially to that creep."

"I know." She reached out and cupped his face with her hand. He sighed, holding that hand and nuzzling into it. "But Brick, you don't have to worry anymore. I love you. Not him. And I have no intention of loving him."

"And I trust you," he murmured back. He closed his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm being a jackass."

She smiled. "At least you're willing to admit it," she teased.

Brick smirked. "Heh, yeah. I guess I am." He handed her the phone. "Here. You can deal with him how you see fit, because I really do trust you."

She smiled, giving him a hug. "Thank you."

"I love you, Blossom," he whispered as he hugged her back.

"I love you too."

The two pulled apart and Brick sat on her bed, knees to his chest as she typed out a reply to Vincent. When she hit send, she turned back to her boyfriend and smiled. "All done," she told him.

He looked up and smiled back, still looking a little apprehensive. "So...what did you say?" he questioned, before pausing. "Or is that too overbearing?"

Blossom laughed. "No, not at all. You deserve to know." She joined him on the bed. "I said, 'welcome back', and told him that while it was a nice offer, I was going to be pretty busy in the next few days."

Brick raised an eyebrow, gazing at his girlfriend. "Busy with what, hmm?"

She grinned. "You, of course." She wrapped her arms around his neck, entangling her fingers in his long, thick red hair. "There'll be plenty of dates, of course—"

"Of course," he murmured back, wrapping his own arms around her body.

"—and a whole lot of this." She leaned forward and kissed him.

He kissed back, and the two flopped down onto the bed. As they continued to make out, Blossom's phone vibrated on her desk. One new text from Vincent: "'Thanks for the warm welcome, Bloss. And aww, that's too bad. Just let me know if your schedule ever clears up, because I really like you and your company...'"

Bunny was busy practicing the flute when the doorbell rang. She flew over to answer it, but saw that Blossom already had it handled.

Brick flew inside, shoving open the door even before his counterpart could pull it open. "What do you mean he just randomly texted you?"

Blossom winced somewhat, looking already exasperated.

"What did he say?" he demanded, red eyes narrowed and dark.

"Let's go upstairs to my room," Blossom murmured. Her eyes slid toward the hall that Bunny was standing in, causing her sister to jump. She wondered if the pink Puff had noticed her presence and thought she was eavesdropping (which she kind of was, but she didn't really mean to).

Brick nodded curtly, before flying up the stairs. Blossom followed, and Bunny came out of hiding to stare up at the two disappearing streaks of red and pink. She sighed to herself. She'd only just helped the two reds overcome their problems fairly recently, and she hoped that things would stay resolved. She didn't want them to break up again.

"Bunny, who was that?" the Professor asked, appearing in the doorway of his lab.

"Oh, that was just Brick," she explained. "He wanted to...double-check something with Blossom."

"I see. I wonder what he wanted to check?"

Bunny shrugged nervously. She was no good at lying, but she figured that neither Blossom or Brick would want the Professor to be aware of their dating troubles.

"Brick's a pretty great guy," the Professor remarked, smiling. "I still remember when he was that villainous little tyke, though. Only five, and yet one of the strongest threats to Townsville. Thank God he and his brothers reformed."

She simply nodded, not sure where he was going. The girls were always more than happy to indulge the Professor in his nostalgic flashbacks, but Bunny was feeling uncomfortable and she wanted to leave. She was afraid of accidentally spilling the beans on Brick and Blossom's situation.

"I'm glad that he's the one dating my little Blossom," her father continued. He paused then, before turning to look at Bunny with his brow furrowed and his head tilted to the side. "You know, I always thought you'd end up with Bandit, dearie. You two always seemed like such a nice match and a perfect fit. You were truly counterparts in an even closer way than perhaps the other Powerpuff Girls and Rowdyruff Boys, and it seemed like it would work out." He chuckled then. "Funny how life goes, huh?"

"Haha...yeah..." she agreed uncomfortably.

"I know you had a bit of a crush on him for awhile. It was so cute! I actually didn't mind the idea of you two being together, and you know my stance on dating. Your boyfriends have to be just as amazing as you are; no settling for less for my perfect little girls." The Professor smiled. "And I actually thought Bandit kind of fit that role. Oh well. I know you've moved on, but sometimes I wonder if Bandit himself has."

This caught Bunny's attention. "Has what, Dad?" she questioned.

"Why, moved on, of course." He tilted his head to the side, tapping his chin. "Sometimes I think he still has a crush on you."

She blushed. "Oh, I don't think that's ever been the case. He's never seemed to see me in any light other than as a friend."

"Really? But I thought—"

Before they could continue to discuss the matter, the doorbell rang again. And this time, Bunny got to answer it.

Although she almost wished she hadn't, because standing in the doorway was Bandit Jojo.

"Speak of the devil!" the Professor exclaimed. "We were just talking about you."

"You were?" He looked confused, and he raised an eyebrow at Bunny, asking what he didn't say out loud.

Her face burned. "J-Just talking about all the Rowdyruff boys, b-because Brick just popped in."

"Oh, right—I was actually going to ask you about that," Bandit said, already moving on. "Brick and I were supposed to go for training, but he happened to get a text and he sort of just vanished—almost like a puff of smoke. Although he did leave one trace behind: and that would be his red streak."

"He's here," the Professor confirmed. "He's just talking with Blossom. Who knows...they might take awhile." He chuckled, appearing playfully amused.

Bandit glanced up the stairs and shuddered. "Uhh...yeah. Okay. I don't need that image in my head."

"Well, I'm sure they'll keep things more than appropriate. You boys know how I feel about anything other than light, fluffy actions of romance, especially the se—"

"Dad! Bandit doesn't need to hear all this stuff," Bunny interjected quickly, mortified. She felt like her whole face was on fire.

"Yeah, Professor—I'm not dating any of your daughters," added Bandit, looking equally red in the face.

"Oh, right. Pardon me." He cleared jus throat. "Anyway, I'll be heading back down into the lab for work, so you two will need to keep each other company for awhile."

"Uhh, about that... I could just go—" Bandit tried to say, but didn't get to finish.

"Bunny, why don't you and him go for a little fly? I need to get some supplies for my new project anyway, so maybe you two could help me collect them," he suggested, brightening. "I'll go grab you two a list!"

As they waited awkwardly for the Professor to prepare the aforementioned shopping list, Bunny turned to Bandit. "I-I'm so sorry," she said awkwardly, still embarrassed beyond anything she was comfortable with.

"It's...okay." He blushed too. "I don't really mind."

She was taken aback by the words, but before she could ask what he meant, the Professor reappeared.

"Here you go!" he exclaimed, already shoving it into Bandit's hands. "Now get along, you two! And be back before 7:00."

"Of course, Professor." Bandit dipped his head before flying out.

"Professor..." Bunny turned toward her father figure, still feeling weird about the whole idea.

"Don't worry about it, dear. Bandit's a real gentleman. He'll never do anything to you that you don't want—"

"Never mind!" Flushing red again, she flew out the door. "W-We'll be back later! Bye!"

As she caught up to Bandit, he glanced down at her and her bright pink face. "What did he say this time?" he asked. And despite his obvious embarrassment, he also seemed kind of amused.

"N-Nothing." Bunny buried her face in her hands, not wanting to tell him exactly what the Professor had said.

"Oh." His shoulders sagged, and he seemed disappointed.

For a second Bunny didn't understand why, but then she realized that if she had told him, it would've given them something else to talk about. It would've been a conversation starter, and a pretty funny one at that. Now the two of them were left to fly in uncomfortable silence.

"Bandit—"

"So," he coughed loudly, snapping the sheet of paper in his hands, "first up on the list are new nails. A lot of these are pretty technical, so I guess we can stop by Home Depot or something."

"Yeah...sure," she agreed quietly.

They went to many stops and grabbed the things they could from each store on the list, and eventually they found themselves at the Townsville mall. As Bunny and Bandit landed, she glanced over at her counterpart, who was still checking the list and muttering to himself. He'd been extremely focused on their job the entire time, probably needing the distraction out of discomfort. Bunny sighed quietly to herself. She missed being able to talk to Bandit at all, even if their conversations hadn't always been peachy.

As he continued to stand there, studying that list, Bunny decided she had had enough of the awkwardness. "Bandit."

He jerked his head upwards. "Yeah? Did you already find a store that will provide a new yet reasonably-priced toaster?"

She shook her head. "Let's take a break. I just...I just want to talk."

"...Oh." His eyes had widened somewhat, but he recovered from his surprise and glanced back down at the paper. "I-I guess we could..."

"Bandit, please," she said softly. "Let's just talk for a bit."

He frowned, before sighing. "Alright. Let's." He glanced around. "Where would you like to sit?"

"Let's drop by Starbucks," she suggested.

"Sure." He let her lead the way, and the two got into line to order drinks.

Bandit asked for a mocha, while Bunny requested a strawberry frappuccino. Then the two sat down at one of the small round tables in the café, beginning to sip their drinks. And for a little while, they just sat there in silence.

But Bunny broke that silence first. "So...I was wondering how you were," she finally managed to say, before mentally smacking herself for the lame conversation-starter.

"I've been alright. About as good as I can be, anyway." He didn't meet her gaze.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Err...I guess I've been kind of..." He paused, finally sneaking a glance at her. She was watching him intently, and he dropped his gaze almost instantly. His face felt warm. "Kind of lonely."

"Lonely? Why?" She furrowed her brow in concern. "Are you not talking enough with your friends? Bandit, you really should try opening up more—"

"No, no!" he interjected quickly. "I have plenty of friends." His face turned red again as he glanced at her. "More than enough, probably."

"Then why do you feel lonely?" she asked. She frowned, reaching out to place her hand over his. "And is there anything I can do to help?"

He stared down at their hands. "Not really," he murmured back, "unless you were willing to be more..."

"Bandit? More what?"

He jumped, startled. His eyes shot upwards and he quickly shook his head, drawing his hand back. "N-Never mind. Just forget it. I'm being ridiculous."

"Your feelings are valid," she told him. "You don't have to hide them."

"But sometimes you do." He turned away. "So look, don't worry about it. I didn't mean to worry you."

"I'm just trying to look out for my friend."

The word 'friend' made him wince. "Right," he mumbled back. "Friend."

"Are you feeling okay?"

"I'm fine." It wasn't true though. Bandit felt all over the place, like he was falling apart at the seams.

"Bandit." Her voice was firm this time. "Tell me what's wrong."

He stared at her, surprised. "That was aggressive," he finally commented.

Her eyes widened as she realized what he meant, and she clapped her hands over her mouth. "Oh, I'm sorry! Was that too aggressive? Was I too demanding? Or too harsh? Gosh, I'm so sorry—"

Bandit chuckled in amusement, shaking his head. "Never mind, Bunny. It wasn't too aggressive at all. It was just right." He smiled. "And it looks like no matter how firm you become, you'll always still be the same adorable little Bunny I know and love."

Her eyes grew even bigger, and her face turned red. He'd just called her adorable. And "little Bunny". He used to use that nickname a lot, but had stopped after their relationship started to fall apart. And now Darkai mostly used it. But he'd also said "the same Bunny I know and love", and while that was a pretty common phrase, he'd used the word "love".

Bandit seemed to realize this too, because his face went from softly amused to embarrassed and mortified in just a few seconds. "In terms of being friends, of course," he quickly cleared up. "Great friends, at that."

She nodded slowly. "R-Right." Despite the clarification, Bunny's heart was still racing. But it wasn't just that—there was also another feeling inside of her—one of perhaps anticipation or even desire, that had dwindled after he'd explained his words. And now she felt kind of disappointed. She wondered why.

Bandit was looking off to the side, his face red.

"I-I hope you feel better though," she finally offered lamely.

He sighed. "Yeah, me too." Running a hand through his thick brown hair, Bandit gazed off into space before saying, "You know...I know this should probably remain unspoken, but God does it sometimes hurt."

"What hurts, Bandy?"

He stared at her. The use of his old nickname only increased that hurt. The fact that I still like you, he thought. The fact that it's hard seeing you happier with someone else.

"Bandy...?"

"Being lonely," he replied vaguely. "But it's just as well that I can't keep y—keep the people I care about, I mean, all to myself. They deserve to be loved and cherished too—I can't keep that from them for such selfish reasons. And more often than not, someone else can do a much better job than I ever could."

"Oh, Bandit..." She placed her hand over his again, and he tensed.

"It just feels so soon," he whispered.

She gave his hand a squeeze, sending shivers racing down his spine. "You're such a supportive friend, Bandit. I'm sorry you've had to do it alone for so long, but if you ever need to talk, or if you ever just need someone to keep you company, then I'm always here."

His gaze softened, and her heartbeat quickened. "Bunny..."

"I'll always be here for such a great friend such as yourself," she continued, trying to remind and reassure herself that that was just how it was between her and Bandit. Nothing more. At least, not ever again. That's all in the past now, she told herself. That was me from a different time. And Bandit doesn't want that. I have Darkai, but he doesn't have anyone. He needs a friend right now.

This caused his gaze to harden. She could practically envision his walls going back up again. "Right. Of course."

"Bandit...? What's wrong?" she questioned.

He shook his head. "Nothing."

"This is clearly not nothing!" she protested, her voice firm. "You're clearly upset about something."

He smiled slightly, although the smile didn't reach his eyes and it seemed like such a sad expression. "You've grown so much, Bunny. I'm so proud of you. I wish I've grown as much as you have, but I really haven't."

"But you have! Look at how far you've come—"

"In what? Feeling sorry for myself?" He laughed, but it sounded hollow and fake. "Feeling guilty whenever I...whenever I look at the people I wish would be as lonely as I am? Feeling bad whenever I see them with someone else? Feeling envious?" He shook his head. "No. If anything, I've only grown worse."

"But Bandit, that's not true!" she cried. "It takes someone to be so strong to be able to handle that sort of pain. To be jealous but not act on it. To be caring and kind despite your sadness." She paused, her voice lowering until it was just a soft whisper. "To love, even when it hurts."

He stared back at her, his face warm and that same sad smile on. "I do love a lot. Perhaps too much," he murmured back.

"And that's not a bad thing." She placed her hand on his chest, where his heart would be. "It just means you're a good person, who cares a lot for those you love."

"I suppose that's true." He held her hand, keeping it over his chest, and gazed into her eyes.

This time it was Bunny who drew her hand back, as her cheeks were getting hot and she was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Bandit..."

"It's just that sometimes it's not so easy to wish someone well and let them go." He sighed, pulling away. "But I still try. I've been trying so hard to let them go."

She wanted to say more, but the next words that were spoken didn't come from her: "Bandit. I see you're with my girlfriend."

The two looked up to see Darkai looming over them. Beside him was DJ, who was snickering. "Busted~" he whispered.

Bandit shot him a glare, before turning his attention to Darkai. "Hey." He nodded curtly.

"Hello." Darkai slid into the seat beside Bunny, wrapping a protective arm around her. "What were you two discussing so intently?"

"We saw the whole thing," DJ added, sitting down beside Bandit. The purple Ruff's nose crinkled in disdain, as if he'd smelled something foul.

"Then you'll know that I was the one who initiated contact," Bunny said hurriedly. "Bandit didn't do anything." The Professor's right. He wouldn't do anything to me that I didn't want.

"We know." Darkai's tone was curt, and he was still eyeing Bandit.

Unsure if her boyfriend was upset or not, Bunny added, "I was just comforting him. He feels lonely sometimes."

"Bunny, let's not tell them everything—" Bandit began, looking around with a tight frown.

"It's fine. We all get lonely sometimes." Darkai narrowed his eyes. "Don't we?"

Bandit swivelled his gaze back to the other boy, staring at him. "...Yes," he finally said cautiously. "We do."

DJ sipped at his drink. "Not me! At least, not now. Bliss and I just got back together~"

"What?" Bandit jerked his head toward the boy beside him. "You two are an item again?"

"Yes." The blue-eyed boy raised his chin defiantly. "Is there a problem with that?"

"But Braker—" He cut himself off when he saw Bunny's wide-eyed expression. "Ughhh, never mind."

"What about Braker?" she asked.

Bandit didn't reply. He was looking away, arms folded.

DJ shrugged. "Beats me."

"Perhaps he's just lonely as well," Darkai suggested, bending down to kiss Bunny gently on the cheek. "Lucky for Bandit though, he had you to comfort him."

Bandit gagged.

"I'm proud of you, Bunny. For helping out your friends."

She nodded. "Of course. I'll always help a friend in need."

"And that's what I love about you."

Bandit now felt like choking, and he wouldn't have minded if he did. He was just about ready to die. "I feel sick," he growled out.

"You're more than welcome to leave, if you feel so uncomfortable," Darkai replied coolly.

"Yeah. Bathroom's pretty close by, if you need to throw up." DJ smirked. "Or if you want to throw out some trash, such as yourself."

"Guys..." Bunny tried to interject, but Bandit was already getting up.

"Good idea, DJ. Although..." He paused then, and turned around to raise an eyebrow. "I'll leave the staff here to deal with the steaming pile of dog shit that is you."

DJ's mouth dropped open. "Why you—!" Before he could chase after Bandit though, Darkai stopped him with a shake of the head. DJ growled as he watched the purple streak disappear.

"What was all that about?" Bunny asked, folding her arms.

"We were just playing," DJ muttered in response.

"I can't really blame him. That wasn't very nice—"

"Don't worry about it, my little Bunny." Darkai nuzzled her. "He just doesn't want to deal with us. You understand, don't you?"

She frowned, but she eventually relented with a sigh. "I guess so," she mumbled.

"Perfect." He tilted his head to the side. "Cheer up, love," he added. "You helped Bandit a lot today."

"I guess so..."

Darkai leaned forward and kissed her. And she kissed back, letting herself melt into the moment.

He awoke to birdsong. He wasn't sure where he was or what was happening, but he could just barely make out the thin streaks of sunlight pouring into the dark room. He wondered briefly where he was—he was definitely not in his own bed. He felt like he was floating, wrapped in darkness, bobbing up and down.

The air felt thick, like there was no air at all, besides a small amount entering and exiting his mouth and nose. He also just felt heavier and wetter, so he figured he was floating in some sort of liquid.

He stayed quiet, simply listening. The birds were still twittering outside the walls, but he couldn't make anything else out. It was deadly quiet. Almost too quiet. He gulped. He felt afraid. He still didn't know where he was, and whether or not he was in any danger.

But then he heard soft, muffled voices outside, causing him to straighten. He squinted against the darkness, straining to make anything out. He couldn't catch anything, however, even as the sounds grew louder.

Then there was a rattling and a creaking sound, and he waited with baited breath and racing heart. A door was pushed open and light suddenly burst in, stretching out toward him like golden claws that blinded him. He slammed his eyes shut. After so long of darkness, he had not been prepared for the intensity of the light.

"What have you done to him?" a girl's voice demanded, causing his heartbeat to skitter. "He's still not awake!"

"I'm simply helping him," a man explained. "This is going to help him recover and recuperate faster."

"I don't believe you," she protested. "If that were the case, then why hasn't he woken up stronger than before?"

"That's a mystery only he can solve." The man's voice was also familiar, and it drove his heartbeat to race even faster.

His whole mind was screaming "danger!" at him. He wanted to let her know. He wanted to warn her; to tell her to get out of there.

"He better wake up soon, or else," she warned.

Is she worried about me? he wondered.

"Or else what?" the man retorted. "You can't do anything to me."

"I'm under the same roof as you. I have ample opportunity to hurt you if the occasion arises."

He barked a laugh. "It's a good thing I've taken such lengths to keep you pacified, then."

She huffed, probably annoyed at how much the man didn't take her seriously. "I wish you'd wake up," she said. "I miss you."

He froze. Is she talking to me now? His heart ached and he longed to feel her touch. He wanted to look at her. Because of this, despite being unsure if it was the best idea, he still opened his eyes.

And he saw her. His angel.

Christie.

She was staring back at him, and now her turquoise eyes grew wide. She looked as beautiful as ever, with her long blond hair fell down her shoulders, looking white in the light, almost like a silver curtain. She had a bright red kerchief around her neck.

"Vix!" she gasped, just as the man rushed over. "He's awake!"

The man grinned, and he pulled a lever, causing the tank that contained the boy to start draining itself of the liquid inside of it. This caused him to fall slightly, considering how he was floating before. All the wires attached to his body—wires he hadn't noticed at first—kept him held somewhat upright though. The man pressed a button and the glass surrounding him also lowered into the ground, and he fell down.

He gasped, gulping in a large amount of air, before coughing a bit. He hadn't realized how little of air had actually been available to him until he was able to feel the oxygen now all around him. "Christie," he choked out, his voice hoarse and scratchy.

"Vix, are you okay?" she cried, rushing to his side.

"I-I'm fine," he forced out. "Christie... What are you doing here, and with Damon of all people? He"—he coughed—"He's dangerous."

"I know." She glanced back at the man, who was watching them with an unreadable expression on his face. "I know that better than anyone. But I don't have a choice. He's holding me captive."

His eyes widened. "What!?" He spun toward her, grabbing her by the arms. "Christie, he's what!? Are you alright!? Has he hurt you? Or has he violated you in any way?"

"I'm fine," she told him. "I'm more concerned about you and your condition."

"I'm perfectly okay," he repeated, shaking his head. "In fact, I actually feel kind of refreshed."

"Told ya," Damon said smugly.

Vix shook his head. "This is why I was appointed your bodyguard. Danes was right. You need someone watching you 24/7. I-I left because I had to, but I should've been more careful. I should've kept you under guard..."

"What are you talking about?" she demanded. "I came here looking for you, and you told me you never wanted to see me again. Then you made me come back, telling me you were just pretending to hate me, only to drug me." She threw her hands into the air, exasperated. "Why do you suddenly care again?"

He turned toward the man, remembering what Damon had told him about how terribly he'd treated Christie the last time he'd seen her. He still had no recollection of it, and he definitely didn't remember drugging her. "What did you make me do!?" he demanded.

Damon shrugged. "You two can work this out." He smiled then. "Maybe even with a fight. I, meanwhile, have some work to get to."

"I'm not fighting her!" Vix protested. "I could seriously hurt her!"

"What? You think I can't defend myself?" Christie demanded, looking offended. "You think I need a bodyguard?"

"No!"

"Then what is it?"

He paused, hesitating. "I-I can't say." Meanwhile, he was screaming inside. It's because I love you, and I don't want to lose you! He wanted to tell her, but he knew he couldn't.

"We'll see." The man simply grinned back at them in amusement. "Besides, do it for me. I need to evaluate your results; see if my device helped you recover enough, or if it even helped improve you."

He turned back toward where the tube that he'd been in was. "Is that what that thing was for?"

Damon nodded.

"I'm still not fighting her," Vix insisted.

"You don't have much of a choice. You two are going to be locked up here until you agree to a duel."

"That's not enough to make me want to harm her."

"It's enough to make me want to harm you," Christie snorted.

Vix grimaced, but stood his ground. "I won't hurt you."

"Well, adios, children. I'll come back to fetch Christie after all is said and done." Before either of them could do anything, Damon disappeared out the door, and it slammed shut in front of them.

"Hey!" he yelled, trying to rush toward the door, only to stumble. "Dammit, Damon, come back here!"

"What the hell is wrong with you, Vix?" She grabbed his arm as he tried to move away, preventing him from escaping. "Why are you acting like you're two different people all of a sudden? Why is it that you care about me one instant, and then don't the next?"

"I-I don't know," he stammered, ashamed.

Christie folded her arms. "Well, now that you're awake, I can stop worrying about you and feeling sorry for you." She scowled. "Especially now that I know you think I can't protect myself."

"No, I just—"

"You're the one who needs protection. You're the one Damon and half of Danes' men are after." She shook her head. "Christ, a dead wolf could best you in a fight at this point. Why don't you just hand yourself over to Damon right now, on a goddamn silver platter?"

"I've been distracted," Vix finally answered. "Worrying about you."

"You don't have to worry about me. I can take care of myself. And I don't need you keeping track of my every move as my bodyguard either."

"I'm not just your bodyguard," he protested. "I'm doing this because I care."

"Well, it certainly doesn't feel like it, considering all that you've done to me over the past few days," she huffed.

He grimaced. "I don't know what I did to you, but I'm sorry. I still care about you though. I'm your friend, Christie. I'm not going to stop being your friend just because you're mad at me," he said. "Danes and Maggie and Chris assigned me to this task just because they're worried about you. We're worried about you."

"I don't need your worry. Or his. Or theirs. I don't need anyone's worry." She shook her head. "I believed you when you first told me you could be both my friend and my bodyguard, but that was so long ago. You've been acting so overprotective since then."

"I just don't want Damon to—"

"Screw Damon. I could beat Damon to a pulp with my eyes closed. And I could beat you too. You need to start trusting me."

"I do trust you," he insisted.

Christie rubbed her temples. "That's a load of horse shit and you know it. Look, just...let's just do the sparring match, okay?"

Vix hesitated, before finding his resolve. "No."

She got in his face, anger rolling off of her in waves—she was radiating rage. "Goddammit, Vix—we have to fight."

"Not going to do it."

She crossed her arms, now sitting inches from his face. "Fine. Then how's about this? We still carry out Damon's challenge. Single combat, three battles—we'll play fair. You win, you can keep stalking me as my 'bodyguard'. You lose, you start respecting my privacy."

He considered it. All I have to do is incapacitate her and win. I don't have to actually hurt her, he thought. "Fine," he said, knowing he could beat her. I've done it a thousand times before. "When?"

"Now. I want this over with." She turned to the door. "Damon! We accept your challenge!"

There was no reply at first. Instead, a door opened that let them into the outside world. Damon was waiting for them there. He grinned. "Good choice." He pointed outward. "There'll be room there for you to fight. Don't even try to run, or I'll shoot you. And I won't hesitate to do it."

The two teens silently made their way to the field outside the cabin. Vix took his time following Christie, watching how she moved: angry; constantly clenching her right fist—probably because she has every intention to punch me with it. Doesn't seem to be favouring one leg over the other, so she's fine there.

Rage coloured her every movement. Rage that had nothing to do with her so-called bodyguard and everything to do with Vix and her and the confusion rolling around inside of them.

Meanwhile, Damon was watching with giddy, barely contained excitement. This should be interesting.

Christie waited for Vix to catch up, and as soon as he was within range, she came at him with a right hook, just as he expected. He ducked, dodging the blow, and heard her hiss in frustration. Her attacks were swift and were accompanied by a vengeance, making them harder and more precise. Vix, meanwhile, still felt clumsy and unused to his own limbs, making him wonder if he'd actually lose. But then an image of Damon keeping Christie captive and maybe even hurting her filled Vix's vision, and it sent his blood boiling.

Now fuelled by this new rage, he unleashed a vicious offense, finally getting off of defense. He slashed at her, forgetting how he'd told himself he wouldn't really hurt her.

Christie dodged to the side, avoiding a few of the swipes. "So now you're actually trying," she growled. "I was starting to think you were underestimating me."

He grabbed her arm when she tried to punch him. "You're mistaken," he responded, before throwing her over his shoulder.

She recovered fast, landing in a kneel. She stood up and charged for him, tackling him into the dirt. The two rolled around for awhile, but Vix jumped up and managed to punch her in the face.

"Ha!" he exclaimed, only to realize what he'd done. As she covered her eye, he tried to reach out and hold her. "Holy shit, Christie—I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Damon walked over and checked her face. "It's just a black eye. Nothing too bad." He smiled. "But that was good. That was the type of action I was looking for. Here." He set down two blades before them. "To make this even more interesting."

Vix stared at his weapon in disbelief. "I don't—"

But before he could finish, Christie let out a screech and leaped at him with her sword. She nearly took his head off with the swiftness of her attack.

"Jesus Christ, Christie! Are you trying to kill me!?" he yelled.

"I won't be able to kill you if you'd actually defend yourself!" she retorted.

Growling, he held up his own weapon and clashed blades with her when she tried to strike again. The two continued swinging their swords at one another, meeting the other's blade with their own each time in what looked like starbursts. But ten minutes later, when Vix had blocked one of her attacks, Christie shot her foot out and kicked her opponent's hands.

Yelping at the sharp pain, he dropped his sword and fell to his knees, now cradling his hands. She jabbed her blade toward his neck. "I win," she announced.

He let out a low, frustrated growl.

She didn't bother to relish her victory for too long, though. "Again," she commanded. "Try and actually defend yourself properly this time."

Vix snorted, before getting up and fetching his sword again. Then the two circled each other like wary cats for two, long minutes.

"Get on with it!" Damon jeered.

Vix flew toward her, his blade raised high. She remained undaunted, and their weapons clashed together, causing sparks to fly as the harsh metal sound clanged around them.

At this point, Vix had pretty much forgotten his original intention: to win in a gentle manner. Now, he was piloting entirely based on adrenaline and the desire to win. Sweat dripped down his skin and every muscle burned, begging for rest. And yet, he could hardly feel it. His sword was a part of him, an extension of him that he had to learn to control. It moved so quickly that sometimes it felt like it had a mind of its own—when he needed to protect himself against another blade, it would show up almost as if by instinct.

There was perfection in a battle like this. The fighting was a dance, one he knew so well he barely had to think. And while it was a dance that sometimes threatened death, he felt alive—insanely alive.

They matched each other swing for swing until he managed to kick her dominant arm, causing her to nearly drop her sword. She managed to catch it just in time, although with the original hand. Cursing, she dropped it anyway, after realizing it was too heavy for her now injured arm to handle.

Christie grabbed her sword with her other hand, and tried to parry, but he was too fast. He struck her wrist and her blade went flying. At first neither of them moved. They simply stared at one another. Her eyes grew large, and she turned to run for her weapon, so Vix jumped her. The two of them crashed to the ground.

"Surrender!"

She thrashed against him, refusing to stay down, so he pinned her down at the wrists. She eventually managed to rip one arm free though, and scrabbled for Vix's sword, which lay inches away from them. As soon as she grabbed ahold of the hilt, she swung it toward him, causing him to jerk his head upwards to avoid the blade. The steel jabbed at his chin.

She swung her legs upwards, causing them to hit him in the stomach. Coughing, he collapsed to the ground on top of her, and she simply rolled him off. Seconds later, he was on his back with a blade to his throat.

"Ha! Looks like I win after all." She leaned down, her hair cascading around them like a shimmering silver waterfall. Her chest heaved, and she was covered in sweat, causing her skin to glisten in the light. Vix's heart clenched. He dared to meet her eyes, and saw that her gaze was dark with anger and frustration. Even then, she was still so beautiful. His throat tightened. He wanted so desperately to entangle his hands in her long blond hair and to kiss her.

She must have seen the burning desire in his eyes, because the anger turned to confusion as they stared at one another. Vix knew that he had to make a decision. His next act could change everything.

Kiss her and she'll be yours. You can tell her how you feel and she'll finally understand why you've been so worried about her recently. She'll know why her and Blaster hurt you so, and she'll know why you chose to leave—why you chose to shut her out. Maybe she'll even be able to love you back. Then you can work together to get free. You'll be free from this heartache, because when you offer her your love, she'll finally see you as more than just an overprotective bodyguard.

"Vix..." Christie murmured, her wide eyes searching his face.

But will she really love me back? If I get myself entangled with her, won't that make it worse? Danes would never be okay with us being together. And...do I want to kiss her because I believe she can love me...or because I desperately want her to love me? I know she likes Blaster. But does she still like him? If she rejects me, can I even handle that kind of heartbreak?

Even if she responds to my feelings the way I hope, would it be because she really can love me or would it be because she might need something from me in the future? Or both? All of those questions raced through his head in a single second; some he didn't even hear clearly enough. But one voice definitely rose above all the rest, and they were his instincts, which were screaming, Do it. Kiss her and she'll be yours.

He wrapped her silky hair around his hand, causing Christie to tense up. Her breath hitched, and she melted into him. Her body was suddenly, intoxicatingly compliant.

As he pulled her face toward him and their eyes were closing, they heard the laughter. Both of them jerked their heads toward the noise, and they saw an amused Damon clapping and chuckling.

"Well done, well done!" he commended them as he made his way over to them, a big smile on his face. "What a beautiful match, and in more ways than one."

Vix quickly looked up from Christie. "What do you want now, Damon?" he demanded.

"Why, I just wanted to remind you two to be careful. You wouldn't want to do anything you'd regret, now would you?" Damon asked innocently.

He turned away.

"Vix..." Christie glanced at him, reaching out to cup his face with her hand.

He sighed, closing his eyes as he held that hand, nuzzling into it and drinking in the warmth and comfort. But then he forced himself to pull away and stand up, despite him wishing he could stay that way forever. "Damon's right," he mumbled.

She looked hurt, and he wondered why. Did she actually want to kiss me? But then what about Blaster...?

Damon smiled. "Now say goodbye, children. Christie has to go back downstairs." He turned to Vix. "You stay put. If I find that you're missing, then you better say goodbye to Christie forever and leave nothing unsaid, because you'll never be seeing her again...unless you want to see her lifeless body."

Vix shuddered. "I'll stay here," he promised hoarsely.

"Vix...?" Christie looked like she wanted to ask him a million and one questions, but she was quickly swept up by Damon and the red kerchief around her neck was pulled over her eyes. He watched as she was led away.

He closed his own eyes, listening to the silence of the outside world, where he could hear only birdsong. I was a fool to think of kissing her. I'm only putting her more at risk by even considering it, he thought, feeling pained. He sighed to himself. I still want to kiss her though. I may be a fool in love, but I don't think I'll ever be able to stop.

"Oh, Christie," he whispered softly. "I don't know if I'll ever be able to say these words to you out loud, but I think I love you."

*(A/N: Reference to My Life as a Teenage Robot!)

**(A/N: Reference to My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic!)

ME: And thus we are at an end!

BRICK: Holy shit. How long is this chapter?

ME: Wow. Around 31,700 words.

BUTCH: Hey, at least I finally got some focus. Although the whole Ross and BC thing is getting old fast.

ME: There's more coming; promise. Also... *nudges Butch* Could you be...jealous?

BUTCH: *blushes* Oh shut up.

ME: Anyway, things are definitely getting heated up! Romances are going in directions that involve heartbreak and heartache, and Damon's plans continue to cause tension. And oh, let's not forget that Vincent's back!

BRICK: *rolls eyes* Oh boy how could I forget? But boy do I wish I could.

ME: I hope you guys enjoyed the lengthy chapter!

BLOSSOM: Speaking of forgetting, don't forget to review; they're always good motivators for the author.

ME: So what do you think might happen next? You can always share your thoughts and guesses in a review! *winks* Until next time!