Author

Author's Note: No, Buttercup is not a drug addict, but she sells them, having retreated to a life of crime. Many drug dealers are drug-free, you know. "No good blowing a deal just for the sake of a short high." And I'd like to thank the book The Infiltrators for being a great help. You should buy it, you know. It's a very good book. Oh, and I might get some of this wrong. Tell me if I do, okay?

Maybe I'm Twisted, 2
by "Twisted" Rey

Chapter 4 - Work Sucks, I Know
"Late night, come home... Work sucks, I know." - Blink 182

I sat on the tarred ground, suddenly conscious of everything around me, the warmth emanating from the road, the cool stillness in the night air, everything disturbed by the chaos. The team was rushing back and forth, no less than three arrest team members holding their guns to Buttercup's head as a fourth attached handcuffs to her. Yeah, right, I thought, before I could stop myself. Like those are going to stop her.

Behind me, I heard sirens in the distance. The ambulance was on its way. I closed my eyes tight, trying to block out the noise, only to be roused to my feet. Cracking open one eye, I vaguely recognized the face that was dragging me along. David, ... ... leader... dude. "Hey," I mumbled, as the shouting around me continued and even appeared to be amplified. "How's Robin?"

"She'll be okay," David said. "Look, you seem to have gone into a bit of a shock, there, alright? So don't talk anymore, just take deep breaths."

The conscious part of my brain, the cynical part, suspected he was only saying that to shut me up, but I was too confused and tired to argue, anyway. "Yeah," I mumbled again. "Robin'll be fine."

I honestly believe I displayed recuperative powers that amazed the team. Within minutes I was back into the action, radioing the squad car that was heading towards the station while we speedily followed the ambulance in another squad car.

"Listen, don't interrogate her yet or anything, alright? Just detain her and don't let her out of your sight, see if you can at least do that right, over."

There was a brief pause. "Yes, sir, but she doesn't seem too focused on escaping anyway. Saying something about 'long-lost Rowdyruff' or.. something or other. Over."

I blinked. "Well, just keep her locked up until I get there, alright? Over."

"Sir, yes, sir! Over and out." The radio I held dissolved into the crackling static. I put it down, sighing, and glancing towards David, who drove. He glanced back at me, somehow managing to keep his eyes on the road at the same time.

"What is it?" He asked. The blaring of the ambulance's sirens continued, and the image of that gaping bullet wound stuck in my mind. I shook my head slightly, clearing it of the painful memory, and replied.

"Just... disappointed with how it went. ...It went bad," I added, as an afterthought. David, whose face was as bothered as mine with worry, still managed a quiet chuckle.

"Yeah, I know. At least we got one division of the gang off the street. Robin will be okay, though..." I wondered then, if he was reassuring me, or reassuring himself. I kept my peace, though, receding into silence with the only sounds being our tired breathing, shifting of positions, and the crackling of the car radio.

Robin, loaded onto a stretcher, was swiftly wheeled into the hospital. David and I watched until she disappeared through some double-doors marked "ER" before signing her in. I sat next to him, painfully aware of the fact he was keeping tears back. I'd never known that he'd felt so strongly about her before.

"Hey," I said, after a short while. "I'll get back to the station and deal with the witnesses, alright?"

David lifted his head slowly, turning his gaze on me, before finally nodding. I was doing him a favor, and he knew it - we'd have to return to the station sooner or later, and I was saving him the trouble of seeing to the criminals we'd arrested. Moreover, I was leaving him alone, and perhaps he wouldn't have to struggle to hold in the tears.

"I'll take the car. When you're... ready," I said, "give me a call. I'll send one of the boys down here to pick you up."

"That's alright," he said, his voice strangely hoarse. He reached into his pocket, taking the car keys and holding them out to me. I took them, and left the hospital.

Everything was going so fast... And I had hardly enough time to adjust to this life, this new life, before being thrown into a fresh situation. It worried me a little, but I hadn't given much thought to it, and in the car I drowned myself in the crackling radio instead of pondering further. What I really wanted to do was go home, go back to my house, my home, in my car, and go to my bedroom and fall asleep in my bed. I knew I couldn't do that, though... I had a job to do.

Holding my mug of coffee, I gazed through the dark-tinted glass at Buttercup, still wearing her tan coat and shades. I hoped she couldn't see me; earlier, I had come to the conclusion that we had lost some of our powers, but who knows whether she could see me through the reflective glass? Her expression was somber, her posture a most serious one. For someone who had yielded to a criminal urge, her stance was unnervingly straight and upright. She had long since removed the scarf that had muffled her speech, and draped it over the steel chair she sat on.

Jon, beside me, also studied Buttercup through the observation window. His face was harshly set, his chin balanced on his palms. I carefully sipped the coffee, sending a sideways glance towards him, but he did not return it.

I heard him clear his throat before speaking. "..Buttercup. Of all people, her. ...Why her, Butch? Why?"

"I don't know." I found myself replying without a moment's thought. "Maybe..." I started, but I could find no rational explanation. Being shell-shocked myself, it was easy to understand how Jon felt. "More important, though, is what she's doing over here. Last I heard she was working in the states." It was a lie, of course; I had heard no such thing, but it was getting more and more important to project an image of calm, for that emotion was as easy to spread as anger.

Jon was silent in reply. I peered down at my wristwatch.

"Almost time to go in, Jon. You ready?"

Vaguely, he nodded. I set my mug down, pushing my chair back and rising to my feet. "Then let's do it."

"Well, Phil. Buttercup. Whatever your name is. First thing you're gonna tell us is why you did it." Jon imperceptibly switched the tape recorder on behind his back, sitting next to me. I faced Buttercup, attempting to analyze her expression. She had none.

"Did what?" She replied, her voice no longer the harsh facade of a crook named Phil. I raised an eyebrow, eyeing her. She gazed back icily.

"You know what I'm talking about. In case you haven't heard, drug-trafficking is illegal. Come to think of it, pulling a gun on someone is illegal, too."

"I did it because I went bad. I went bad when everything went wrong. I went bad when the Professor died."

I felt myself inhale, a little sharply. "He..."

She mirrored my surprised look mockingly, though her voice remained cold. "What, you didn't hear? Boomer was working with him, yes, Boomer, when they had a bad accident. Seems some toxic waste got out of hand. And, oh, I went bad when my family broke up."

"Good reason to shoot someone," Jon muttered. I elbowed him before continuing.

"Your... family?"

"Don't act dumb," Buttercup said emotionlessly, and suddenly I felt a great absence, as if a hole had been torn out of me and I could look right through myself. Right through Buttercup. The Buttercup I knew would've snarled, would've fought, would've bitten, even. But this Buttercup, she was... she was... dead. Like she had no soul...

There was a pause, and I felt Jon tense. "You know who I'm talking about," Buttercup resumed. "My sisters, the Professor. You were family, too, you, Boomer, you were like in-laws. And there was Brick... But... we..." She swallowed, the first sign of emotion, and the first glimmer of hope for me.

"He's fine," I interjected. She glanced up at me with a look that was almost... sympathizing? I couldn't quite read it. Jon stood, turning the tape recorder off, behind his back.

"I don't suppose there's much else to say," Jon said, glancing at me. "Does she go..." he trailed off.

"To jail?" I shrugged. "Ask the higher-ups in here, not me."

"You go ask," Jon said warily, taking his seat again. I gave him the evil eye, exiting the room without a backwards glance.

I had had approximately one hour of sleep at home before the phone rang. It was Dave, and, as I propped myself up on my elbows, still half-asleep, he ranted into the telephone excitedly.

"Robin'll be okay!! She'll be fine! The bullet didn't hit anything vital!!"

Perking slightly, I attempted to make my voice convey my feelings. "Really? Awesome..." As hard as I tried, it still came out as an emotionless squeak. Dave didn't seem to notice, however, and continued.

"Besides that piece of great news, I've got some bad news. The court hearing for Buttercup's today, and you've got to be there."

I paused, digesting this piece of information. "What? No way..."

"Unfortunately, it's true. Maybe they make exceptions for former-super heroes," He said dryly. I gave a quiet chuckle, though it felt and sounded forced.

"Alright, alright. I'll be there," I grumbled. I could feel the smile waves emanating from Dave over the phone.

"Great!" He beamed. "See you at the court, at ten o'clock sharp! AM, you know!" Click.

I fell back onto the bed with a sigh, shifting my eyes to the nightstand where my alarm clock was. Seven-fifty three AM. Just enough time for me to get ready and drive downtown. Without breakfast. Hope the judge's gonna be brief, I thought, hovering out of bed towards the bathroom.

Rey: Oh... I was so upset! I thought no one was reading my stories 'cause my review alert isn't working... -sniff- And I was a bit sad, so I stopped writing... I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Well... well, review. Yeah... See?... I write for reviews! -sad look- Go on, review?...