A Skirt for Sunday Evening

by sbj

yeah, it's another butch/buttercup story. kinda romantic, not really. more like a look at buttercup's college character. . . at least for now. rated b/c language and it might get into heavy stuff later on

7. Part VI

original authors' notes were cut due to length and overall rambling. you may read them at www.livejournal.com/users/songbirdjen

provided there is an explanation for why i might be taking my sweet time updating this anytime soon ^^; sorry!

being the author, tho, i feel the responsibility to tell you, the audience, that this part is. . . um, where the "heavy" stuff comes in. i might have to up the rating, but i'll leave that up to you to decide. in general, if you're reading, and you don't like where a certain scene later is going, feel free to skip that, ah, part. i won't mind :) it was hard for me to write, so i can see where it would be a difficult thing to read as well.

still don't own the powerpuff girls. oh, but i bleeding wish.

-jen



*A Skirt for Sunday Evening* pt. VI ~-songbirdjen-~



It is now 3:47 pm and Buttercup Utonium's heart is officially broken.

Not more than ten minutes ago I made two important discoveries. One, Butch did not love me, and probably would never love me as anything more than his best friend. Two, despite my first important discovery, I realized that fact alone had not changed my feelings for him in any form, shape, or fashion. Even now my heart tremors at the sight of his calm and confident expression, the faint, comfortable scent of his clothing, his gaze, intense and dark and piercing in those bright, shimmering emeralds that were his eyes. . .

. . . but stronger than the tremor was the pieces my heart fell to as I felt the cold green jade against my throbbing chest, as I sensed within him that ever present barrier separating love for a friend from love itself, as I replayed in my head the words "I wish" and "confess" because now *I* wished there had been no such confession that would break my heart as this one had.

"And the band played on," I mutter under my breath, recalling the lyrics of some beautiful song. But the rest of the words fail me as I once again glance at my best friend and once again prompt my heart to splinter, like so many fragile shards of glass.

***

"Butch," I mumble listlessly, making little effort to catch his attention, which it doesn't. He just keeps on ambling casually, whistling to himself with his hands in his jeans.

"Butch." I mean for it to sound louder, more assertive, but my voice can't seem to find the strength necessary for anything more than what comes out as a feeble plea. I breathe deeply for a moment, trying to gather my thoughts.

I can't stay here. Not so close to him, at least not for now, all I wanna do is go home and change and get comfortable and play some on the PS2 and try to take my mind off of the tall handsome object of my affection that's only been plaguing my thoughts since that fateful Wednesday afternoon back in 7th grade. . .

"Butch--"

Suddenly he grabs my wrist and quickens his pace, dragging me along with him.

"Butch, what are you--"

We come to an abrupt stop. I only blink. "Hammocks?" I say incredulously.

"YES!" Butch pumps his fist in the air and begins circling the area they've squared off in the middle of the walkway for the 'Green Eggs & Hammocks' semi-store that's attracted roughly a fourth of the regular mallgoers' attention today. Flocks of giggling children drop themselves in every available display hammock as their parents try, without much success, to pull them away.

"Dude, it would be SO great to have one of these in our dorm," Butch comments as he eyes and gently strokes the netting of one particularly large hammock.

I scoff. "Only problem is the campus won't permit us to drill the pike in the ceiling necessary to hold the thing up," I remind him.

"My, you're quite the optimist, aren't you?" Butch remarks sarcastically, smirking at me.

I slowly shake my head. "Not today," I say quietly, no smile on my face.

Only Butch doesn't notice, because some guy who works here comes up offering assistance, and Butch asks him something to which the guy points at the hammock Butch was examining.

"Oh, wow," Butch sighs after he deposits himself in the hammock, "now THIS is what I call relaxing. He motions toward me. "Come Buttercup," he beckons, sliding his hand along the side of the netting. "Join me in my happy little hammock." A smile, then a flash of his pearly whites with his tongue sticking out between them.

You've got to hand it to my heart. It sure knows how to make me feel pathetic when I'm already crestfallen and heartbroken.

"I highly doubt it will hold the two of us." Making excuses now. At least I'm managing to make THESE sound veritable, though.

"It's built for two," Butch and the clerk he spoke to quip at the same time.

I blink in confusion, looking back and forth between the two guys.

"Man, Buttercup, you must really be out of it. He jus said five seconds ago this thing was specially designed for more than one person," Butch remarks, an incredulous look on his face. "So come on," he prompts, giving his knee a pat, "hop aboard."

The thought of being close to him right now is unbearable. I take a step back and protest, "No, that's all--"

Suddenly Butch snags me by my arms and quickly tugs me back, and once again my pathetic sense of balance works to his advantage. I stumble--well, it's more of a fall--into the mass of rope he himself is nestled in and find myself a split second later lying by his side, my head coincidentally landing on his shoulder, neither of us bothering to stifle our laughter as we rock and spin uncontrollably in the unsteady recliner.

'It still feels so wonderful,' I think to myself, burying my face in his shirt and laughing harder. 'Feels so right with our bodies so close, his arms around me, my head finding that perfect spot on his collar to fall upon.'

My laughter dies down but the smile fails to leave my face. 'How could I not be happy with this?' I silently wonder. 'This is the best of what he has to offer me, and who am I to ask for more than what we already have?'

His arms slide away, as does the rest of him, and he stands up and asks that same male clerk a question.

I lay back watching them but not really following the conversation. 'Am I really so greedy, so selfish, that I would expect the best friend of my life to return my feelings for him just because I feel I need it in order to be happy?'

I reach up a hand to tug at my hair. 'But I can't just drop those feelings because he can't return them,' I think, my brow furrowing. Their roots are so long, so deep. . .

'So. . . maybe. . . maybe staying this way isn't so bad.'

I just had to be careful that I never got my hopes up, never set myself up for a confession or anything of a similar nature that would end, inevitably, in heartbreak, at least for me.

'Can I really do that?'

Watching him now as he turns and smiles at me, I can't help but smile back and affirm to myself 'It's worth it.'

Even if it's nothing more than his friendship, it's worth it.

No, not 'it.' He. He's worth it.

"Ready to go, Buttercup?" he asks, extending a hand. I sit up and reach for it but something lightly jerks my head back. "Oh, God," I groan, smiling. "One of the damn buns is caught--"

My words give way to more laughter as Butch smiles and leans a bit closer, gently tugging here and there and before I know it, I'm free.

"My knight in shining armor," I can't help but whisper with a smile as he lifts me to my feet.

He blushes and smiles nervously at my words as he hastily unwraps his arms from around me, and for a brief moment there's that familiar glimmer of hope. But I quickly shoot it down in my mind, rightfully assuring myself that he's only embarrassed and flattered by my speech. . .

Trying to remedy the awkward situation I've created, I turn towards the hammock I was just rescued from and remark, "This WOULD be a lot of fun in the dorm."

"Yeah," Butch agrees, his hand sin his jeans' back pockets. "But. . . maybe some other time. Thanks, man," he says, turning to the clerk who assisted us, who, with a quick "No prob" turns to help another customer.

***

"So," I say, clearing my throat after a few minutes of walking in silence, "whaddaya wanna do now?"

He pauses a moment and glances at me, a look of concentration on his face. "Well," he starts, his gaze darting elsewhere, but almost immediately it flies back to me. With a peculiar expression etched in his features, he stares at me, and continues to do so until I feel downright uncomfortable under the intensity of his eyes.

"Um. . . what's wrong?" I lightly wipe at my cheek. "Is there something on my face?"

As if snapping out of a dream, Butch blinks several times and directs his attention face front again. "No, it's not that," he says hastily, clearly frustrated, and the notion that the source of that frustration is me is nothing short of unsettling.

"What is it, then?" I ask immediately, quickening my pace to match his steps.

His brow furrows a bit. "I--maybe I'll tell you later, I'm just thinking a bit."

Genuine smile time again. A chill runs down my spine.

"You know what happens when I get to thinking."

"Hell freezes over?" I offer.

"And the devil gives free sleigh rides," he finishes, a fatal note in his tone. "But about what we can do in the couple of hours we have left--"

He pauses and grins mischievously at me.

"Let's go to Victoria's Secret and pick me up some underwear."

***

"I don't think we've EVER been kicked out of that store THAT fast," I grumble, a bit indignant.

"I swear, women have absolutely NO sense of humor when it comes to lingerie," Butch complains, rolling his eyes with just as indignant an expression as mine. "No offense, Buttercup."

"None taken."

He rummages around in his pocket and pulls out a coin, expertly flipping it up in the air and catching it again as we walk. "Hold up a moment, Buttercup," he says, lightly touching my arm. "You can't pass a fountain without making a wish."

In two steps he stands poised at the mall fountain's edge, water burbling in a stream shooting about three feet high from the surface. The water sloshes at the sides, little waves rippling back and forth from the edge back to its center.

"How much you wanna bet I'll cut that center one right in the middle?"

"A homemade margarita," I calmly reply, leaning back to watch the master at work.

Much head-shaking ensues. "Well, damn, now I HAVE to hit it."

He bites his lip and squints at his target, jerking his wrist back a few times in preparation to shoot.

Naturally his stance would take my breath away, I assure myself, willfully suppressing the feelings that in any other case would torture me and tug at my heartstrings.

Not to say there isn't any such tugging going on now, but I've gotten good at pretending things are what they aren't with years and years of experience.

"All right then. Eight ball, side pocket," Butch sneers, and gives his wrist a sharp flick.

The slim copper penny shoots out of his hand and skips across the water's glassy surface, leaving a neat trail of tiny ripples in its wake. Just as he said, it slices through the heart of the bubbling stream clean as a whistle, a break in the water appearing for a split second before replenishing itself. The coin skips a few more times before sliding under the surface and spinning a bit as it slowly sinks to the bottom.

I nod in approval. "Well done. What'd you wish for?"

"A margarita." Follow-up with his classic smirk. "Actually I didn't wish for anything. So," he reaches back into his pocket and produces another penny, "I'll have to have another go at it." He tosses the coin to me, taking me by surprise, but I catch it one-handed regardless. "There's a penny for your wish."

I click my tongue against my teeth. "I'd prefer to spend it on your thoughts."

His head lowers but his eyes stay on my face, voice darkening considerably.

"They'd be very, VERY dirty thoughts, my dear," he whispers dangerously, running his tongue over his lips and leaning in to me.

Do the words "mind-shattering sex appeal" come to mind?

Heart pounding like crazy. Mouth going dry. Breath being squeezed out of my lungs.

Despite all those effects his demeanor is having on me I manage a nervous laugh and gingerly push him back.

You'd think I'd be able to will my body to stop trembling after that little pep talk I gave myself back in the hammock, but. . .

. . . I guess what they say is true, that old habits die hard.

"What are you gonna wish for, really?" I ask him, attempting to direct my mind's focus to something else.

Once again, his hand goes into his pocket. "Um, apparently nothing."

My brow furrows and I throw him a funny look. "What makes you say that?"

He turns his pockets inside out and shrugs. "Outta change."

"Then here." I flip the coin back in his direction, which he briefly attempts to play hacky-sack with but ends up having to sweep it up in his hand before it rolls into the water. "I'll make my wish some other time. Not like I had anything in mind I really wanted anyway," I say, with some difficulty in speaking that last part.

'Except you.'

"Nonsense. I refuse," he protests. "Like I said, you can't pass a fountain without making a wish."

"What's gonna happen to your wish, then?" I counter.

Another flash of his special genuine smile and my body goes numb.

"I'm already spending the day with YOU, aren't I?"

My mouth falls open a bit and I blink several times, feeling the color flood my face. I turn towards the fountain, the still-smiling Butch at my left, eyes darting around in a panic as I order myself ACT NATURAL YOU'RE ONLY FRIENDS STOP SETTING YOURSELF UP JUST STOP IT STOP IT STOP IT--

"You know," Butch suddenly says at my side, "if you really want me to get a wish too we'll just share the penny."

And he lifts up my arm and crooks his own over mine, the penny pressed between our hands.

The bizarre notion that 'if we had fingers they'd be intertwined right now' crosses my mind.

"On the count of three we drop it and make a wish. Okay?" he suggests, closing his eyes and raising our arms above the fountain's edge.

At first I nod but quickly realize I'm being an idiot since he can't see me anyway, so I clear my throat and stammer, "Uh, s-sure."

"You count us off, and don't forget to close your eyes." I obediently comply, swallowing the lump that's gathering in my throat.

'I had no idea it'd be so difficult to do this. . . '

"One. . ."

'. . . I thought I told myself I wouldn't get my hopes up over every little thing he does that touches that piece of me deep in my chest. . . '

"Two. . . "

'. . . but why is it so hard to do? I only told myself to stop five minutes ago and already my resolve is wearing itself down! I can't bear being so close to him and still disregard the feeling that tears at my insides whenever he's around me--'

"THREE."

I urgently release the penny and in doing so release Butch, as if I were afraid that one or the other would sear into my flesh at any given moment. My eyes fly open just as the penny plops into the water, sending tiny waves out that are soon overwhelmed by the larger ones emanating from the center. I wipe my sweaty hands against the seat of my skirt, throwing a quick look at Butch, who's just now slowly opening his eyes.

Blinking a few times, he allows himself a small smile and heave what sounds like a little sigh as he stares at his reflection in the water. His gaze shifts to my reflection and he looks up at me, broadening his smile a bit.

"Well then," he starts, spinning around to maneuver his way back into the traffic of the mall. He doesn't bother finishing, so his words hang in the empty space between us.

Trailing behind him I lick my lips nervously, trying to work out exactly HOW I'm supposed to follow up to my self-chat earlier when he can STILL generate such an incredible surge of emotion within me. However, the realization that I was focusing so much on him back at the fountain that I forgot to make my wish quickly crosses my mind, and for reasons I can't quite explain the mere thought of it alone disappoints me more than it probably should.

'Maybe your subconscious made a wish for you,' I think to myself, half- joking, half-terrified.

Half-joking because part of me doubts I did.

Half-terrified because the rest of me knows that if my subconscious DID act without warning, it would've wished for the very thing I know for certain I could not have.

"So what'd you wish for THIS time?" I ask in what I hope sounds like a casual voice.

"You know I'm not supposed to tell; it won't come true." He throws me a sideways smirk. "Nosy woman."

I slap him upside the head. "How derogatory."

"Well, it's good to see you're not mad at me anymore."

I blink. "Whaddya mean?"

He scratches his head. "Okay. I could've worded that better. 'At least you're not upset anymore.' How's that?"

I cross my arms. "I wasn't upset."

"You know, you're a really horrible liar, Buttercup." He skids to a stop in front of me. "You think you can pull a fast one on your best friend?" Cue the infamous act of innocence. He cocks his head and smiles childishly, digging the toe of his shoe into the ground.

My heart quivers a bit uncontrollably, but all I do is stand there looking stupidly at him, totally helpless.

Another smile. "But you seem to be in a better mood now, so forget I said anything," he says, tossing his arms up in the air. "Though. . . " He turns and looks at me, serious. "You realize that if there's something you need to tell me, you shouldn't have second thoughts about it. Just. . . you can tell me, you know?" Gradually he lifts his hand and gingerly touches my chin.

Still speechless.

But now my heart is throbbing rather painfully in the nether regions of my chest. Fat lot of good my rational reasoning earlier in the hammock store did.

His hand moves from my chin to my lips, tapping them softly.

"No secrets," he whispers, lifting away his hand (to my delight and yet to my dismay) to rest over his own parted mouth. "Right?"

Right.

He slyly tilts his head in the other direction and gives a quick nod in the direction he wants to go. "We've still got some time left, Buttercup. How's about we hit the arcade?"

***

"I cannot believe you have convinced me to do this," I mutter with a smile as he rolls the quarters into their respective slots. "I haven't played this since high school."

Butch only laughs gleefully, rubbing his hands together.

"Not to MENTION," I continue, "that I'm in a SKIRT and can't possibly do this in the shoes I'm in. . . " I reach down and tug off each one, tossing them aside. A small crowd is already gathering around us, ready to witness us both make complete and total asses of ourselves.

"Aw, you're just making excuses because you KNOW I'm gonna win," Butch sneers, stepping up on the platform.

I glare at him. "Right. Whatever you say. . . " I step up onto my own platform. "BITCH."

He throws me a dark glance and pounds the button. "SELECT A SONG!" the speakers blare, catching the attention of anyone who wasn't already part of the continually growing crowd of people surrounding us.

Okay, so I'll admit it. I'm not the best at Dance Dance Revolution. Blossom is.

Well, Blossom and Brick tied.

A frequent casual hobby of mine and Butch's back in high school had been to start DDR tournaments that led to all-out war between the two top DDR'ers in all of Townsville. While Brick and Blossom exhausted themselves trying to best each other at some stupid little game, the rest of us would calmly watch on the sidelines, partaking in the rather amusing displays of verbal and, if we were lucky, physical carnage, though by the time it got to that the two main stars were already too worn out to move.

"Ah, the memories this brings back," my opponent reminisces with a content sigh.

I nod in agreement. "I don't quite believe I would ever have gotten so good at this had the desire to set those two up for disaster not been there to motivate me."

"Well said. And I'll permit you choose the song," he says, bowing reverently, "since I'll kick your ass regardless."

I make my selection without looking at the screen, eyes on Butch. "We'll just see about that."

***

"Man, woman, I am wiping the FLOOR with you on this one!" he exclaims, smiling as he stomps out the incoming sequence with his usual grace and flair.

"Oh, puh-LEASE," I groan loudly, rolling my eyes. "This coming from a guy whose highest combo so far has been a measly 117!"

"My eyes went out of focus! It happens!"

"Whatever." I quickly scan the rest of the screen and turn my back on it, finishing out the song backwards. A few people in the audience we have amassed over the past six matches start cheering.

"Showoff," Butch growls playfully as the song ends.

"Bite me." I turn back around and stick my tongue out at him. Our grades flash on the screen.

Both A's. Naturally.

"Up for another?" he asks me, hand poised over the quarter slot at the ready.

I shake my head and step off. "No, I think I'm all DDR'ed out. So who wins?"

"Well, you've basically forfeited, so I automatically am made the undisputed champion!"

I jab him in the gut. "Dork."

"Wuss."

"Loser!"

"Woman!"

"Aw, hell." I pick up my shoes and jam my hand in his jean pocket.

"Buttercup! Not here!" he gasps, eyes flashing mischievously.

I shove him off, ignoring the blush on the verge of tinting my face. "Shut up, I'm just getting some quarters for myself, you dumb shit," I snarl, smiling as I pull my shoes back on.

Shrug. "Suit yourself." He turns and reaches his quarter toward the slot again when all of a sudden a midriff-baring blonde with legs a mile long rolls hers in, taking the platform I was just on.

She giggles and lowers her eyes at Butch. "I think I can take you on."

He raises an invisible eyebrow. "Oh really?"

My lip curls in disgust and I step away out of the crowd as the music starts up again. For some reason I suddenly need to vent. God, do I ever need to vent.

I find a shooting game and instantly jam my quarter in its slot, taking the gun and cocking it. Zombies and flying monsters barrage the screen, and with a few expert shots every one of them lies headless on the ground.

Off in the distance a screaming victim is being dragged by a limping zombie, which I promptly make easy work of. The victim gets up and runs toward the screen and I scowl.

A blonde haired, midriff baring teenage girl with legs a mile long.

Go figure.

"Thank you for saving me!" the computerized girl says just as the one who challenged Butch giggles somewhere behind me, and whether it's by reflex or something else I'm not sure, but I blow the head off the lady I just rescued, sickeningly pleased with myself as she falls to the ground.

"Penalty: one life bar," flashes on the screen, and one of the five green bars at the bottom blinks red and then dims.

"Was worth it," I mutter, cringing as the real-life blonde behind me whines.

"Oh, you're SO good at this," she pouts. "SOOOO much better than me."

"Well, I've had a lot of practice," Butch says sheepishly, and I riddle the advancing monsters with invisible bullets.

"You mean with your girlfriend over there?" the girl suddenly asks, and even though no one's looking at me my face suddenly glows bright red and out of nowhere a zombie suddenly manages to get in a hit, and another life bar goes red. Recovering, I fire the gun twice and the zombie falls.

"Dammit," I mumble, giving my head some time to cool but still listening with half an ear.

"You mean Buttercup? She's just my friend," Butch hastily corrects, and a little sigh of disappointment escapes me; he didn't have to deny it that urgently even if I WAS just his friend did he?

"Oh really?" Suddenly the girl's voice reassumes the 'flirt' tone. "So. . . she wouldn't mind if I told you I thought you were tall, dark, and incredibly handsome?"

I growl and blast the head off another blonde female victim. My third life bar goes down, but DAMN it feels so GOOD.

"Actually, she probably would," Butch admits.

"Damn straight," I grumble, shooting my way through the living undead's mansion.

The relentless blonde doesn't really respond, but my hearing catches a thoughtful "Mm. . . " resonating in her throat.

Out of spite I immediately shoot down two more of the helpless female victims and a countdown appears on the screen, prompting me to insert a second quarter. I do so and continue my game, silently vowing to myself that should any more blonde 'innocents' taint my line of vision I will do all I mentally can to keep myself from gunning them down and wasting valuable money.

From the way things sound their DDR game is over, and Butch (obviously) seems to have won.

"Well, it was a good game, miss," he says politely, and my heart thrills at the fact that he isn't flirting back with that little--

"Call me Delilah," the girl giggles.

"That name sounds like it belongs to a porn star, DEE-LYE-LAH," I scoff quietly, and I end up hitting another victim.

Whoops.

Big loss.

So much for avoiding the 'innocents.'

I hear Butch start to respond, but two other girls' voices catch my attention.

"Jesus that boy is FINE," one of them growls, and every moving creature on my video screen instantly falls.

Another life bar goes down. I must've hit another innocent bystander.

My bad.

I smoothly shoot the gun off screen to reload.

"Yeah, I hear you, but he's taken, Trace," another female voice says in response to the first.

Trace, whoever the hell she is, snorts. "Oh, come on. He just told Delilah they're only friends. Besides, they look so much alike, they're probably brother and sister."

BAMBAMBAM!

Three more girls hit the dirt, missing various parts of their anatomy.

The countdown appears again. I think I killed more victims than I did actual zombies that time.

I reach for the ledge of the game where I put the quarters but my hand comes up empty.

I look down, disbelieving. "The hell?! I only grabbed TWO friggin' quarters from his pocket?!"

As if by magic Butch appears at my side, smiling. He deposits the remainder of his quarters on the ledge where mine had been, plucks two quarters from the pile and rolls them both in the coin slot.

"Let's do some good old fashioned monster ass kicking," he sneers, taking his own gun from its holster.

"They're ZOMBIES, Einstein," I smirk, my initial rage instantly dwindling. I shoot the screen and continue my character, giving Butch an expectant look.

He takes off his plaid overshirt and drapes it over his shoulder, and, upon seeing my confused stare, shrugs and says, "I got sweaty doing DDR. Can't I cool off for a bit?"

"Whatever." I take aim and start firing, and he lifts his gun to shoot and start his own character when we're RUDELY interrupted by Delilah and her co- whores.

I'm sorry, I meant cohorts.

. . . No, wait. Co-whores is right.

She snatches his overshirt form his shoulder and out of the corner of my eye I see him turn around just as she slips it onto her frame. "Bitch," I grumble so quietly even Butch doesn't hear me. I take the rest of my anger out on yet another innocent bystander on the screen.

"Uh, excuse me, but I believe that's mine," he says, a bit amused, but more aggravated than anything else.

Delilah the Girl With A Porn Star's Name giggles and cocks her head. "Aw, but if fits me perfectly," she says seductively (EUGH), a grin playing her lips. She leans in a bit closer to him and adds, "Just like you."

"Jesus Christ," I mutter, and Butch briefly flashes me an apologetic smile.

"As much as you like it," he says, turning back to Delilah, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask for it back."

"We'll give it back to you on one condition," a familiar voice says, two more girls appearing at Delilah's side, one blonde and one brunette. The two I heard talking earlier.

Butch frowns. "One condition?"

"Yeah," the brunette nods. She must be Trace. "Ditch your galpal and come spend some quality time with us."

The plastic gun quakes violently in my hands and I viciously blast my way through any living obstruction on screen.

Butch catches this and sighs. "Look, ladies, I'm flattered, but--"

"What's the matter?" the other blonde perks up. "She's just a friend, isn't she? Besides," and she slides a finger up his chest, "me, Trace, and Delilah? WE could be SO much more than friends."

With a very audible growl I willfully suppress the insatiable urge I have at the moment to rip each of them apart and channel it instead through my game.

I almost feel sorry for the walking zombies. Sorrier for them than the blonde victims, at least.

He stares at her a moment before brushing her hand away and saying, quite blandly, "Yes, well, you see, Buttercup isn't just any old friend." He places a hand on my shoulder. "She's my BEST friend." I allow myself a small smile and catch him winking at me.

"Um, I don't think you quite get--"

"NO, *I* don't think YOU quite get it," Butch interrupts, his smile fading and his voice chilling over. "As NICE--" and he drawls out the word with a hiss and sarcasm steaming off every letter "--as it would be to spend time with you LOVELY three ladies. . . I'm gonna hafta decline."

My inner self turns cartwheels and does backflips in my mind.

My physical self happily shoots away at the living undead and the like.

"Now if you'll excuse me," Butch continues, and raises his right hand, beckoning with it, "I have a game to get to, so if you would be so kind as to return me my SHIRT--"

Rustling is heard, and all of a sudden something drops on my head and over my eyes, cutting my line of vision.

"Fine," Delilah says, ice laced in her voice. "TAKE IT."

My little plastic gun drops from my hand sand clatters against the side of game.

I rip his shirt from off my head and shove it at Butch, whipping around with my teeth grit and anger rapidly building up in chest. My feet lift themselves from the floor and I start to hover, muscles tensing to overtake the slimy little scumbags with their backs now facing me when Butch grabs me and pins me in his arms, muttering at me to calm down and not make a scene.

"BUT--" I start to protest--

"NO, Buttercup." He gives me a pointed glare and shakes his head. "Leave it alone; it ain't worth it."

I narrow my eyes and drop back to the ground, still seething.

"You can let go, Butch."

"Um, maybe not just yet. Your eye is twitching."

"Have fun with your GIRLFRIEND tonight, sweetheart," Trace calls over her shoulder without turning around.

I wriggle out of Butch's grasp, bring both hands to the sides of my mouth, and holler, "SORRY!"

Delilah and her co-whores turn around, their little makeup overdone faces wrinkled with confusion.

I lean back and smile. "I don't have the privilege to bear that title, but I'll be sure to tell his REAL girlfriend ALL about you three when we get back--" I narrow my eyes and sneer "--SWEETHEARTS."

They only cross their arms and walk away, noses in the air.

I spin around on one foot and retrieve my gun, cocking my head at Butch and smiling. "Now about that game. . . "

With a wide grin and a shake of his head, he lifts his own pistol out of it's metal holster and comments dryly, "I've said it before and I'll say it again: Too slick, Buttercup. You are TOO slick."

***

"You know, we're making some pretty good time on these little bastards," Butch says to me as we clear another level and relax a bit as our statistics grace the screen. "And I'm proud of you, Buttercup. You didn't hit a single victim that time."

"Losing my touch, I know," I respond, giving him a meaningful glance, which he returns with a heartstopping smile.

I press my lips thinly together and jerk my head back at the screen, taking a deep breath. "Oh look, our accuracy rates," I say abruptly, praying my voice keeps steady.

Butch shifts his weight and follows my intent gaze. "84%. Not bad, Buttercup."

"Well, I can hardly say that's anything compared to 97%," I compliment, staring in awe at Butch's half of the screen.

He gives a short laugh. "You could say I get a lot of practice with my 'job'," he quietly replies, and his gaze shifts down to the pile of quarters we have left. "Man. I'd say we have about twenty of these suckers left."

"And only one last level to go." I smile wryly. "Betcha we take this last guy down in five."

"Make that two."

"You're on."

***

"I CANNOT believe we've spent all our quarters on this dumb son of a bitch!" Butch cringes and reloads his gun, firing a considerable amount of bullets into our opponents' chest. He responds by taking down one of Butch's life bars. "Dammit! That was my last one!"

"Then grab another quarter!" I snap. Without Butch to back me up I'm DOOMED against this guy--

"There ARE no more quarters!"

"Hit the change machine!"

"I'm not breaking a $20 just for one God damn quarter!"

"Then ask someone!" Suddenly two of my four remaining life bars dim. "Hurry up!"

"Just finish him out yourself! You only need a few more hits and he's dead!"

"A few more hits and I'LL be dead, you NUMBSKULL! I need you here to back me up! SHIT!" I'm down to one lonely little green bar. "BUTCH!" I continue to fire away while he frantically searches his pockets.

"Aw, screw this," he mutters, stepping back form the game and throwing his hands up in the air.

"WHAT?! NO!!! We're so CLOSE to--"

My words stick in my throat as I feel his arms slide up around mine to hold my gun. His hands rest firmly on mine and start controlling my movements, expertly taking aim and firing like a sharpshooter.

"You need me to back you up," he whispers, the air puffing from his mouth disturbing the tiny little hairs on the nape of my neck, "I'll back you up."

And my heart--LITERALLY--has stopped.

I'm not even controlling the damn gun anymore.

I watch as his arms twitch and jerk from one side of the screen to the other, hand squeezing against the trigger to fire, only it's not the trigger he's squeezing, but my hand which is on the trigger, and his arms are on mine, and his chest on my back, and his legs curling along the back of my legs so closely that even his knees are perfectly crooked behind mine, and that's all I can feel, his perfect god-like frame snugly enveloping me like a shell, the warmth rising in my body as his cheek presses against mine and he's so close I can almost TASTE the sweat on his skin so close soclose SOCLOSE--

Suddenly his muscles relax and his grip on the gun slackens.

"We win," he whispers, his words rolling off his lips and onto my hot skin.

We. I always liked that word.

I can't respond; I only watch as the cheesy ending sequence plays itself out and the credits begin to roll. The game is over, but Butch, he. . . he. . .

. . . is still holding me.

"And you didn't think we'd beat the guy," he affectionately teases, turning his head ever so slightly and nudging my cheek with his lips.

My whole body goes rigid at the contact.

'What about just being friends, Buttercup?!' I scream in my head. 'STOP SETTING YOURSELF UP, GODDAMMIT!!!'

"Butch, what--" I try to choke out but my words don't carry. He continues to nuzzle my cheek with his soft, sweet lips WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON--

"You Goddamn pessimist," he growls playfully, his smooth mouth forming the words against my skin. . . then he lowers his head so his brow presses against my temple and his lips slide away form my cheek and his eyes, his pretty bright green eyes pierce my one right eye and MY GOD HE'S SO CLOSE TO ME. . . !!!

His eyes dart sharply back to the screen and he turns his head back to the front.

Whether my sigh is due to relief or disappointment is difficult to say.

"Wouldja lookit that?" A smile graces his features. "We got the top rank."

And before I have a chance to respond he lifts our arms and fires three times without blinking or batting an eye. The list scrolls up, and there we are at the top.

B&B.

"Well!" Butch steps back and releases me, and suddenly my body feels cold and unprotected. "What a victory THAT was. We even have it forever immortalized deep in the bowels of the machine. Good work--" he bumps his hip against mine and winks "--partner."

I somehow manage to crack a smile.

"Say, what's your damage, Buttercup? You've been all quiet-like fer--"

The sharp trill of his cell phone cuts the air. "And that would be Kendall," Butch says, tugging his phone out of his back pocket, flipping it open, and bringing it up to the side of his face. "Jellystone Park, Yogi Bear speaking," he answers with a wide grin. "Hey, babe, what's up--"

I tune him out as he turns a bit and drop my gun back in its holster.

'This is. . . a lot more difficult than I thought it would be.'

I thought. . . I thought I could deal with the status quo, thought I could live with it, but. . . how can I when he's so. . . so. . .

How CAN I?

I sigh and take a few steps, slouching my shoulders a bit as Butch's voice fades behind me, tiny pinpricks piercing my heart with every inch I travel. I make my way to the entrance of the arcade, staring out into the mall itself. Many of the stores' lights have started dimming, and a few are already pulling down their security gates. Small groups of people are filtering out the exits, laden down with their purchases.

How quaint.

I take a quick glance at the mall's clock--5:53. Almost closing time.

I shuffle over a bit as people start leaving the arcade and rest my head on the floor-to-ceiling glass windows at the entrance. My eyes focus and unfocus, trailing up and down the length of the glass, and then rest upon the figure of Butch in the background, watching as he smiles and laughs into his cell phone.

I heave another heavy sigh and blink, Butch disappearing from my line of sight.

And then. . . something funny, some strange, weird feeling runs down my spine, chilling me all of a sudden. My eyes dart around, scanning the area like a hawk, my superhero abilities kicking in as I tense, alert, ready to attack should any form of danger rear its ugly head--

All of a sudden I spot what's putting me at such ill ease in the glass. Past Butch two guys are standing in a dark corner, and it's difficult for me to really focus on what they look like, but it's obvious what they're doing. . .

They're staring right at me.

My entire body tenses again and I turn around slowly, cautiously, locating the real two guys in my peripheral vision. I adjust my head so I'm glaring straight at them, eyes narrowing and glowering daggers, but neither of them breaks eye contact, clearly unintimidated. The shorter of the two suddenly smiles maliciously at me, while the taller one, now that I'm watching them, lets his eyes rove shamelessly up and down my body.

Sickening.

My lip curls and a guilty blush rises to my cheeks, rage all but evident in my expression, and I brace myself to beat the living shit out of those bastards and thus show them EXACTLY what I think of them when Butch flips his cell phone shut and approaches me, all a grin.

"You know Kendall's an absolute ANGEL."

I snap out of it, turning my attention to Butch. "Whaddaya mean?"

"She got us that dinner reservation just like I asked her to," he informs me as we walk out of the arcade, the memory of those two perverts fading quickly from my mind. "ONLY--" he adds "--she didn't set them at the place *I* asked her to. So tonight. . . " he pauses for dramatic effect ". . . we dine at the HORIZON."

Um. . . surprise? "That's. . . down by the lake, isn't it?"

"Indeed it is," he nods, clicking his tongue. "She thought we oughtta eat somewhere special before the trip."

"I. . . can't say I've ever been there before."

"Me either. See, she thought we deserved a better place to eat than Hooters."

My head whips to face him. "You wanted to go to HOOTERS?!?!"

"Why not?" A smirk appears at the corner of his mouth and his eyelids lower, questioning me. "It's a family restaurant."

I cross my arms defiantly. "Butch, I know for a FACT the majority of people who go to Hooters have little intention of enjoying their FOOD."

"Of course not. They go there to enjoy the great atmosphere."

I shake my head. "PIG."

He sighs. "Whatever. Let's blow outta here. Looks like the damn place is ready to go underground."

"No shit, Sherlock. It's CLOSING."

"Blah blah blah," he mimics in a high falsetto. "Let's just go, man."

"Merrily."

***

"Dude, lemme make one quick pit stop before we leave."

"The hell?! You barely ate or drank a THING!"

"Butch, my hands feel like shit after handling those grimy little quarters and germ-ridden plastic guns. Just gimme a sec to wash my hands. In fact, you go ahead to the car an' I'll meetcha there."

"If you say so." He shrugs and starts off again.

"And have the AC running when I get there too!" I holler. "None of this 'windows rolled down' shit you always like to pull! Humidity's too friggin' high."

"It saves energy!" he calls back.

***

Standing in front of the mirror while drying my hands I notice my hair is a freakish mess. I lift a hand and smooth the strands back into place, lightly patting each bun.

After a brief moment of further inspection I pull a few strands back to the sides of my face, letting them hang in light wisps about my eyes, their tips kissing my skin. I tug my shirt down a bit and smooth out the wrinkles, giving the buttons a few adjusting twists before turning my attention to the skirt, brushing off some lint and adjusting that too when I suddenly stop, look back at my face in the mirror in surprise, and start shaking my head.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing, Buttercup," I growl, hurling my paper towel to the floor and stomping out the door.

'As if it matters,' a familiar voice inside my head taunts me. 'As if he'll notice, as if he'll care, as if he could give any less of a GOD DAMN SHIT-- "

I fall back against the wall, resting my head in my hands and sighing. With a deep breath and a rather unsuccessful attempt to not think of him I lift myself and pause for a drink at the water fountain.

I shake the bangs out of my eyes as I adjust my posture a bit to drink properly when suddenly out of nowhere a hand slides around my midsection and presses itself to my stomach and another hand runs up my thigh and takes the liberty of resting itself on my butt.

I instantly whirl around and punch my attacker clear into the wall, but not hard enough to make a dent in it. I furiously wipe at the corner of my mouth with my sleeve, coughing a bit from the water I swallowed the wrong way when he grabbed me.

"HO-LEE SHIT!" he groans, rubbing the side of his face. "The bitch has one HELL of a right hook on her--umph!"

I grab his collar and pound his back against the wall. "Care to say that again?" I threaten, gritting my teeth and narrowing my eyes. He blinks at me, shocked, and suddenly my eyes widen.

". . . You were one of the guys watching me in the arcade," I remark incredulously, recognition awash on my features. My face hardens again. "What the hell do you think--"

"You'll have to pardon my friend here," a voice behind me says apologetically, and I twist around to see the taller of the two I saw calmly walking towards me. "It's just. . . well, he tends to get a tad overexcited when he sees--or, WE see--a pretty girl. And you--" his eyes trailed up and down my body again and hatred seared in my lungs "--are a VERY pretty little girl if I do say so myself."

I drop his friend to the floor and shove past him. "Stuff it."

"Oh, who? Me or him?" he jeers suggestively, and I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes widening and a hot blush breaking out over my skin.

'He--he didn't mean--he COULDN'T have meant--'

"Now, I've got to say--" he continues "--that we certainly don't MIND aggressive types like yourself." With a few steps he strides in front of me, looking me dead center in the eye. "In fact, your kind usually possess more--shall we say, STAMINA than other girls? Typically your average young lady lasts only a couple, maybe three times, but the aggressive ones, shit, they can go for HOURS and HOURS on into the night--"

"You sicko," I whisper in disgust, backing away from him and straight into his shorter friend, who latches his arms around my stomach and laughs as he twists my arm around and smashes my front into the wall.

"So," he laughs again, pressing his teeth to the back of my neck, "are YOU a fresh one? Or has your boyfriend already gotten his hands on your goods?"

Blinding white rage surges through me, and God I want this pervert OFF ME OFF ME OFF ME--!!

I throw him off and reach for his collar again, bringing my arm back with the full intention of REALLY sending him flying through the wall this time, when all of a sudden a tiny prick of pain shoots through my leg, and I twist to see the other one silently pulling a syringe out of my calf.

I throw the one in my hands roughly to the ground and fully turn towards the guy tucking the needle back into his pocket. "You have NO idea. . . who. . . you're. . . dealing with. . . "

The room starts swimming around me into this massive gray swirl, and I blink blearily to try and recover, try to refocus, but something's wrong, something's wrong. . .

My entire body is starting to go numb and I shake my head to try and clear it, but it only makes things spin around even worse. . .

"Sleep tight," one of them whispers, and it echoes in my mind, and I black out before my head even hits the floor.

***

My eyes flutter open to the sight of a dusky blue sky speckled lightly with dim stars. The sun is just beginning to lower somewhere off to my left, and I try to crane my head to get a better look at it. . .

. . . but my head doesn't move.

I blink furiously, trying to get something to budge, sending out messages to my arms, my legs, my neck, ANYTHING as long as it'll DO SOMETHING--

"Looks like our guest is coming to."

My eyes flicker to the source of the voice, and by instinct I attempt to jerk my head in that direction as well, but it remains stationary. The face of the taller guy is barely recognizable out of the corner of my eye, carrying my limp body in his arms.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty," the face jeers. "We're here."

There's the sound of a car door creaking open somewhere next to me and all of a sudden I'm thrown roughly into the back of a van onto it's reclined plush seat. The tall one hops in after me and pulls the door shut behind him just as the car is started up, presumably by shorty.

My eyes dart to my fellow passenger, anger pulsing through my veins and I want desperately to kick him, thrash him, or at least glare at him to express how deeply I despise his guts right now but I remain perfectly immobile, which only intensifies my fury.

I mean, not even my superpowers are working! My eyebeams, lasers, nothing! I can't even hover! What good is the friggin' Chemical X if it can be rendered helpless by some stupid God damn little--

"The drug won't wear off for six hours or so," he suddenly says, leaning over me and brining his face close to mine. The fact that I can't even do so much as curl a lip in disgust at him INFURIATES me.

"But that's PLENTY of time to have some fun." He smiles darkly at me and licks his lips. "Granted, YOU won't be moving or talking much, but. . . "

He trails off and presses his hand up the side of my body, knuckles rubbing hard circles into my ribs. His hand then lifts and conspicuously reaches for my chest, and my eyes widen and I growl, but it doesn't sound like a growl, more like a weak grunt, and God what's wrong with me I just want to be able to move Butch WHERE ARE YOU--

"What's this?"

Instead of grabbing my chest he pulls at the chain around my collar.

Butch's necklace.

"Is this pretty little thing from your boyfriend?" he sneers, and clamps his hand around it as if to rip it from my neck but suddenly reconsiders and lays it back on my skin. The car makes a sharp turn and I think for a moment 'Has somebody caught us' but no, the car continues rolling and I heave a deep, disappointed breath.

"I'll bet he's a REALLY great guy." The man continues. "I mean, he probably is pretty generous and wouldn't even mind sharing his girl with two other guys. You know what they say, after all--"

And he smiles disgustingly and positions his knee between my legs.

"Spread the joy."

My breathing becomes heavy and ragged with panic he can't do this not to me not to me I don't want it why is he doing this why doesn't he just leave me ALONE--

"Hey man, keep yer pants on till we stop, won'tcha?!" Shorty calls form the driver's seat.

His gaze shifts from my face to the front of the van and he grins. "I'm just having a little fun with the girl." He looks back down at me. "Say, where are you from anyway, doll? You don't see many dark-haired green-eyed chicks 'round here. You some sort of South American? Asian, maybe?"

He leans into my cheek and I inwardly grimace.

"I wonder if you FEEL as exotic as you look," he whispers, then drops his open mouth onto mine and pries open my jaw with his tongue.

'NO!!!' my mind screams, the blood in my head frantically pounding and a hot blush steaming my face as he violently works his lips over mine--

'. . . nononononoNoNoNONO--!!!'

My body suddenly jerks sharply and he grunts in surprise and pulls himself from my mouth, rubbing his lip. He glares at me, eyes wide in disbelief. "I must not have given you enough of that shit," he mutters curiously before a sinister smile appears on his face.

"Maybe that will make things more interesting."

All of a sudden he grabs me by my hair and jerks my head back, exposing my neck, and he swoops down on me hungrily, pressing his mouth to my throat.

And Jesus, all I wanna do is throw up, because it's nerve-wracking and scary as hell to have this complete stranger on top of you pushing his hot slimy tongue onto your skin with his leg between yours and being unable to do anything about it and not knowing where you are or if they'll ever find you is Butch EVER going to find me. . . ?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to ignore the guy at my throat, numbing my skin with his rough kisses and bites, ignore his dry and callused fingers prying the buttons of my shirt from their holes, ignore the rapidly growing sense of fear and panic racing through my blood as the car comes to a stop-- CHRIST IT'S COMING TO A STOP!!!

Within seconds the van is turned off and his friend appears at his side, eyeing me lustily. I squeeze my eyes shut again and furiously work at trying to jolt my muscles back into existence, but they're dead dead dead I can't move what do I do what do I do BUTCH?!

"Damn, girl." They guy on my neck straightens and wipes at his mouth. "You oughtta be proud of these."

I open my eyes to see his attention focused on my chest. "You don't even need THIS," he remarks, tracing the shoulder strap of my bra, and all of a sudden another spasm briefly jerks my body as his fingers brush my skin. Move, Buttercup! MOVE!

"So," he says, turning to his friend, "let's experiment."

The word sends a shudder down my mental spine. Experiment. . . ?

"How so?"

And evil, disgusting smirk crosses his face.

"I'll take the top half and you take the bottom half."

JESUS CHRIST.

His words send my body into a frantic panic, and I twitch once and no more. How can they talk about me like that, like I'm some worthless meaningless piece of meat to be split like that I'm not I'm not YOU GODDAMN SICKOS--

"Fair enough."

And then it's four hands on me, one tangling itself in my loosening hair, the other on my stomach, the last two stroking my leg and thigh and I think to myself Shit No This isn't happening Why me Why me I'm not pretty like Blossom I'm not happy like Bubbles I never did anything that guys ever liked me for so why this why me WHY ME?!?!

"Now, sweetheart, keep yer eyes open or you'll miss out on all the fun," the taller one growls before pressing his hand to my eyes and opening them for me but Christ I don't wanna look don't wanna see don't don't don't Don't DON'T!!!

His friend starts fingering the hem of my skirt and I start breathing heavily, panicking panicking PANICKING--

"Calm down, beautiful. It won't hurt. . . MUCH."

"Yeah," the one closer to me says, and positions the pendant just so on my neck. "Just pretend that's your boyfriend watching the three of us and you won't feel so lonely." He leans over me and crams his tongue into my mouth again. . .

'Butch. . . ' I think to myself helplessly, 'why aren't you here, why did I tell you to go on ahead why didn't I use my powers when I had the chance why didn't I scream the first time they touched me why why why Why WHY?

'I should've said something, should've told you. . . Told you. . . '

My eyes start to burn.

Just don't think about it, Buttercup,' I tell myself. 'Don't think about it and you'll barely feel it, like it never happened--Maybe it'll be all over soon, done and quick, just--JUST--'

A hand starts crawling up underneath my skirt and another begins to slide the strap of my bra off my shoulder and meanwhile I feel a tongue forcefully pressing against mine and NONONO not done quick not ever NOT EVER leave me alone get off me don't touch me Butch I need you WHERE ARE YOU?!?!

And then what happens next. . .

One moment their hands are inching towards. . . one moment their hands are on me and then there's an explosion of metal and glass and the hands disappear and someone's thrown out of the gaping hole in the side of the car and another someone gets slammed around before he hits the unbroken wall side of the van, Butch's hands around his neck.

The remnants of his familiar bright green streak fade into the air above me..

"You sick son of a bitch," Butch hisses and lifts him from the wall and slams him down beside me, pinning his legs with his knees and his arms with his hands. "Tell me what the HELL you think you're doing," he snarls, a dangerous glint in his eye, and it almost scares me to see it there, that glint, that glint I haven't seen since the first time I met him before we were friends--

"On second thought, I don't wanna hear any of your shit excuses," Butch growls, and he suddenly flicks his wrist up and something shimmers and makes a *shling* sound in his hand.

A knife.

My eyes and those of the guy lying next to me widen in fear. "Don't--" he gasps--

Butch's glare narrows and he swiftly brings his hand down, stopping the tip of the knife just a hair above the guy's neck.

"Another word and I'll cut your goddamn vocal chords out. Don't think I have any qualms about splitting your neck open and leaving you to bleed to death before the police get here; I've been doing it for years now to guys stronger and faster and more dangerous than YOU."

Without taking his eyes off him, Butch jerks his head toward me and snaps, "Now apologize."

My eyes flicker to the man who just a minute ago had been slobbering on top of me.

He looks at me fearfully and whimpers, "I--I'm--"

"SAY IT PROPERLY!" Butch roars, and grabs him by his hair and twists his head toward me, the cold flat of the blade pressed taut against his neck.

"I'M SORRY!" he shouts, and is promptly thrown into the side of the van, the metal grinding as his skull hits the wall.

I lift my eyes to Butch.

He stares a moment at the figure knocked out on the van floor, pure hatred evident in his cold green eyes. Then he turns them on me, and I inhale sharply, partly because I'm scared of how cold he looks, so unlike my best friend, and partly because I'm ashamed that he has to see me like this, vulnerable, half-naked, helpless like a little GIRL--

His face falls as he hastily looks me over once, then returns his eyes to my face, his gaze softening as he meets my own eyes. I blush furiously, feeling horribly guilty that I couldn't defend myself, couldn't do anything. . .

I avert my eyes and refuse to look at him.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath and gently takes my chin in his hand, tilting it so we're looking directly at each other again, and I wanna say something to him, wanna tell him I didn't mean for it to happen, didn't want for it to happen, never once in a million years EVER, but I still can't say a word nor move a muscle.

A pained look crosses his features as he looks at me, something akin to despair in his eyes. He presses his lips tightly together and nervously moistens them, swallowing thickly as he lightly brushes the hair from my face and leans in a bit closer to me.

My blush deepens.

He takes another shuddering breath and, without taking his eyes from mine, reaches a trembling hand for my arm and readjusts the strap, settling it back on my shoulder. Wordlessly he wraps the shirt back over my chest, fastening the buttons back together all the way down to my waist. There his gaze shifts as he tugs the skirt back into place, then he looks at me again and suddenly pulls me toward him, engulfing me completely in his arms.

"Christ, Buttercup," he sobs into my hair, though his eyes are dry, "I'm SORRY."

He holds me tight a few moments more then moves so his forehead presses to mine. "I should've been here, should've been here sooner, I shouldn't have left you alone. . . I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE," he hisses, his words tumbling out of his mouth and brushing over my lips. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. . .

He takes a deep breath and scoops me up in his arms, adjusting them so my head drops onto his shoulder, and my fear and doubt instantly dissipates, the events of what happened not five minutes ago quickly fading to what seems like a bad dream now; the dragons were slain, the evil vanquished, and now my knight, my beautiful green-eyed knight in shining armor is whisking me away and while I hate to think of myself as a damsel in distress if it's Butch I'll make this one exception.

He looks down at me with my eyes raised to his face, his insanely beautiful and handsome face, and then he slowly leans in and presses his lips softly to my forehead.

And I don't quite believe I've ever loved him as much as I do at this very moment, this moment that's lasting a lifetime in my mind, this flawless perfect moment with his kiss pressed to my skin and I could tell him now, couldn't I, oh God there's nothing I want more than to throw my arms around him and whisper against his lips "I love you. . . "

But all I can do is close my eyes in silent rapture and sigh as I impress in my memory the exhilarating feeling of this, this simple action that's searing my heart in two because I want so desperately to be able to tell him, to hold him, to kiss him full upon his lips because I love him I love him I LOVE YOU BUTCH. . .

He pulls his lips away from my skin and that moment that lasted a lifetime is gone. Soon I feel the wind rushing past us as he takes flight, and I allow a light sigh to pass between my lips as I gaze upon his face.

***

When we reach his car, still parked in the now empty mall lot, he supports me with one arm around my waist and opens the car door for me and reclines the seat back all the way, gently laying me down on it.

"You'll be moving again in no time, Buttercup," he whispers, smoothing the hair on my face again. "Just give me a moment and. . . um. . . pretend you don't see anything."

He shuts the door and zips over to the driver's side, where he opens his own door and taps something along under the seat, and the whole chair makes a whirring sound and moves back, and instead of watching I simply shut my eyes and listen to the hum of machinery.

"Dammit, Brick & Boomer are so much better at this than I am," I hear him whisper. "This is going to sting a moment, Buttercup," he says apologetically, and I feel the sharp prick of a needle.

Minutes pass, filled with sparse beeping and the occasional sound of turning gears.

Suddenly I feel him part my mouth and drape a cloth over it. "Just breathe normally, Buttercup." I willingly oblige. The fiber smells like campho- phenique.

More whirring. I open my eyes just as Butch kneels on the driver's seat, leaning over me and pulling the cloth from my face. The feeling is already starting to come back to my body--

"Buttercup, please say something," Butch whispers, brushing his hand along my cheek.

I barely tilt my head toward him. 'Say it, Buttercup,' I think to myself.

His breathing becomes erratic. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there, Buttercup, just PLEASE tell me something, tell me you're okay, tell me anything, I should've been there with you in the mall, I shouldn't have left, please SAY SOMETHING--"

'Say it, Buttercup!'

"PLEASE--"

'SAY IT!!!'

"--Buttercup. . . "

I throw my arms around him and he instantly wraps his around me, his frantic breathing cooling my neck. I rest my chin on his shoulder as he whispers, "Say something. . . "

My words, the words I've been waiting years and years to say stick in my throat and all I can do is murmur, "Thank you," and squeeze him tighter.

***

The ride to the restaurant is unnaturally quiet. After insisting I was fine, no, I didn't want to go home, yes, I wanted to still go eat out, yes, I meant it when I said yes I was fine and no and yes, Butch reluctantly put the car into gear and pulled onto the freeway in the direction of the restaurant, opposite the route we'd take home.

No talking.

No music.

No nothing.

Just dead, heavy silence, save for whenever Butch shifted gears. He kept his face dark and pensive and fixed ahead. Sometimes he got an even more intense look of concentration on his face, as if he was thinking hard about something, other times he'd tilt his head and open his mouth as if to say something, but would reconsider at the last moment and instead sigh heavily and redirect his attention to the front.

I can't say I feel at ease right now. Taking into heavy consideration what happened. . . but it wasn't just me being attacked like that, it was also being deeply reminded that my best friend had been just an inch away of. . . of. . .

And despite the fact I hated those two for doing that to me, for touching me. . . to be driven to the point where you would KILL. . . no matter how horrid they were. . . I hadn't been able to consider it when I was five, couldn't even consider it NOW--

"Did he kiss you?" Butch asks suddenly.

I swivel my head to gaze at him, stunned, a blush tinting my cheeks. "Wha-- "

"Did he *kiss* you?" he repeats sternly, and I can't help but notice the way his hands grip the wheel, that glint in his eye that scared me when I saw it--

I turn my head away, lower my eyes, and whisper, "Yeah--"

Suddenly he jerks the wheel to the side and my shoulder hits the door hard as the car spins, tires screeching, and miraculously stops on the shoulder of the freeway, inches from the concrete wall. I grab the dashboard just before my head can bang on it, breathing heavily, my heartbeat gradually slowing down.

"What the HELL do you think you're doing?!" I demand, eyes wide and whipping my head around to look at Butch.

He doesn't seem to hear me, much less be paying any attention to me. He's huddled over the steering wheel, eyes squeezed tightly shut and teeth visibly grit, then all of a sudden he throws his head back and screams, "DAMMIT!!!" He slams his hand against the horn, blaring it for a good ten seconds, then pounds his fist into his leg, shouting, "God DAMMIT! I KNEW IT, I KNEW IT! I should've killed them when I had the chance, I should have FUCKING KILLED THOSE GODDAMN PIECES OF SHIT!!!"

He leans on the steering wheel, resting his head on his arms and growling over and over again, "God damn God damn Goddammit. . . "

"Butch. . . "

"I should never have left you alone," he says suddenly, turning to me. "I should've been with you, I should've been there to stop it, I should've. . . should've. . . "

And his eyes narrow again and he turns away from me, hatred seeping into his expression again. "I shouldn't have let them of so EASY. . . " he whispers darkly.

"Butch, no. . . it's okay--"

"No, it is NOT okay!!" he snaps, turning back towards me. "If I hadn't gotten there right when I did, if I had been ONE second late, they would've. . . you. . . would've. . . "

I turn my head away. "That's not something I really want to think about," I say softly.

His eyes widen and he starts shaking his head. "Christ Buttercup, I'm sorry, I didn't mean. . . I didn't WANT--"

"Look, Butch," I cut him off. "The only thing that matters is I'm okay. You made it, you saved me, you. . . "

I turn my head once again to face him and smile weakly. ". . . you SAVED me," I whisper. "I mean. . . you just. . . you really ARE my. . . my. . . knight in shining armor, and I--I--I can't tell you how much I. . . "

'Say it, Buttercup. . . '

". . . can't tell you how much. . . how much. . . "

'Just say it. . . '

". . . I. . . can't tell you. . . "

'SAY IT!!'

"--h-how grateful I am to you for coming to my rescue," I finish with a sigh. But why couldn't I tell him, why couldn't I have looked into his eyes and said to him those three little words, just those three SIMPLE little words--

Butch signs and looks past me at the window. "You're right," he says softly. "I shouldn't. . . think like that. . . it's just. . . the THOUGHT of that guy. . . of ANY guy. . . kissing you without your consent--"

"You're still my first, Butch," I blurt out without thinking, then slap my hands over my mouth, my face turning bright red.

'Nonono I didn't mean to say that!'

Butch's eyes widen and he stifles what sounds like a surprised gasp in his throat as his eyes flicker to me. He blushes and quickly directs his gaze to the front again. I hastily turn to look out of my window, staring at my reflection and thinking 'Stupid STUPID Buttercup why'd you bring that up?!'

In the reflection of the glass I see Butch stare at the wheel a long, endless moment. Then he clears his throat, turns the ignition on, and shifts gears, pulling back out into the freeway.

***7th Grade***

"I do NOT like her like that you guys!" a black-haired boy shouted in exasperation at his on-and-off friends-slash-enemies, his usually bright green eyes darkly set. "We're just friends!"

"Aw, friends my foot!" Mitch rolled his eyes. "You guys ALWAYS hang out together! I mean, back in elementary school, sure, you could be friends, but in middle school it don't work that way! There's only ONE thing it CAN mean when a guy and a girl are constantly seen together in the seventh grade, and that thing is THEY LIKE EACH OTHER!"

"Of course I like her! She's my best friend!"

Mitch slapped his forehead. "No, Butch, you IDIOT! I meant 'like' as in YOU TWO HAVE THE HOTS FOR EACH OTHER!"

Butch's eyes widened and his face turned red due to his anger, though being the friends-slash-enemy Mitch was, he immediately exclaimed, "SEE? You're blushing! You DO like her!"

Instead of lashing out at Mitch, Butch willed himself to turn to the rest of the group. "YOU don't think I like her like that, do you Harry?"

Harry Pitt sucked air through his teeth and looked aroun.

"Mike?"

Mike Believe bit his lip. "Well. . . "

Butch shook his head and said, in a monotone, "Floyd? Lloyd?"

The twins looked at each other, then back at Butch. "If you don't like her, why do you hang out with her so much?"

"AGH!" Butch dropped to his knees and grabbed his head. "Come on! There are PLENTY of guy/girl friends!"

"Oh really?" Mitch said skeptically. "Name 'em!"

Butch took his hands off his head and thought a long moment. ". . . Um. . . well. . . there's. . . no, they started going out last week. . . um. . . no, they've been steady a month now. . . uh. . . um. . . how about. . . no. . . I know! Boomer and Bubbles!"

All the guys gave Butch a look that clearly said they knew better.

"Um, okay, bad example," Butch admitted.

"Face it, Butch. You CAN'T be a friend with a girl unless you're her 'boyfriend,' with no space in between the 'boy' and the 'friend.'"

"That is such a bunch of crock," Butch said. "Besides, me and Buttercup are NOT going out--"

"Then you're INTERESTED in going out--"

"Fer cryin' out loud! What's it gonna take fer me to FINALLY prove to you guys I do NOT like her, and we're ONLY FRIENDS?!"

The guys exchanged looks, and Mitch crossed his arms. "Well. . . "

***

I kicked a loose pebble off the sidewalk and it rolled and bounced into the grass. "Where is he?"

Blossom sighed. "We were SUPPOSED to leave school fifteen minutes ago--"

"Can it, Blossom," Brick snarled. "I get ENOUGH of your whining in class, do I have to deal with it outta school too?"

"You know what, Brick? Why don't you go jump off a bridge?"

"Oh, THAT'S original--"

"Lemme finish: since you THINK so much like a brick, you must SINK just like a brick, too!"

I rolled my eyes, for once uninterested in watching the two of 'em spat. I looked off towards the empty bus canopy where Bubbles and Boomer were 'playing tag,' though I'd played tag all my life and never seen it played THAT way before. . .

I gagged and looked away before the sweetness sickened me. I didn't get this whole 'boyfriend/girlfriend' thing. Twelve year olds weren't supposed to go out on DATES, they were supposed to be making the most out of the last year of their childhood before entering the dreaded 'teen' years, full of hormones and puberty and growth spurts. Why bother trying to rush the miserable process?

"What's taking so freaking long, Butch?" I muttered. I needed an ally to counter the temper of Brick&Blossom, the sweetness of Boomer&Bubbles. Butch&Buttercup would point and laugh at ALL the inferior ones.

Brick broke off from exchanging verbal slurs with Blossom long enough to say, "Dude, FINALLY! There he is!"

I turned and hollered, "Bubbles! Boomer! Git yer lovey-dovey butts over here!"

"Buttercup!" Blossom snapped. I ignored her and turned to watch Butch exiting the school doors with Mitch, Harry, Mike, and Floyd & Lloyd behind him.

I pursed my lips and squinted an eye. Why the crowd? And Butch looked unusually serious. . .

I shrugged it off and walked towards him, saying with relief, "Man, it took you AGES to get here! It's absolute torture to sit here and listen to Brick and Blossom go on and on about their stupid academic insults, and watch Boomer and Bubbles giggle and prance around like they're practically MARRIED to each other. . . I mean, what took so long anyway?" I crossed my arms and gave him an amused look.

Butch gulped thickly as Mitch said, "Well? You gonna do it or what?"

I threw Mitch a confused glance and looked back at Butch. "Butch, what is Mi--"

Suddenly Butch grabbed me by my shoulders and pulled me towards him, and a number of unidentifiable things ran through my head as I felt his mouth pressing against mine.

My eyes widened and all the air escaped my lungs.

The rest of the crowd had similar such reactions.

Boomer's and Bubbles' pupils practically dilated.

Blossom gasped.

I heard Brick whisper, "Oh. . . my. . . GOD."

Out of the corner of my peripheral vision the group of guys that had accompanied Butch outside had their jaws on the ground.

"Dude. . . " Mitch said quietly. "I didn't think he'd actually DO it. . . "

And through it all Butch only stood there, his hands on my shoulders, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth awkwardly positioned on mine--

And me, I. . . I. . . I felt my face flushing red, knew the shock evident in my eyes, but there was something else, something different in that spot just above my stomach that pounded against my ribcage, faster and faster and faster, and I didn't know what it was, what it was that made me feel so overwhelmed with this sudden desire for. . . for. . .

'Butch. . . ' I thought to myself, 'what do you think you're doing?'

And to my surprise I found my arm raising and bringing itself back, and without warning I shot it forward and punched Butch in the gut, sending him flying against the brick of the school building, pieces of the wall clattering to the ground. Butch slid on his back to the cement, clearly shaken, but for the most part unhurt. He shook his head, blinked, then his eyes widened and he looked at me, as if I were some sort of ghost or something.

Everybody looked at Butch, then at me, though I don't think I really noticed anyway. I only saw Butch, looking as if he'd taken himself by surprise too, as if he hadn't meant to do that, hadn't meant to. . . to. . .

I brought a hand up to my mouth, eyes wide with shock, almost afraid to touch my lips. And as I stared at Butch, my best friend, my ally, my partner in crime. . . the total realization of what he'd just done hit me.

'Butch. . . Butch KISSED me.'

And it hadn't been a peck on the cheek, hadn't been a brush of the lips on the hand, it had been a REAL, honest to God kiss, the kind the eighth graders who went too far did, the kind high school sweethearts gave each other, the kind they did in sappy Disney movies when the girl loved the guy or vice versa--

A deep blush washed over both our faces.

But we weren't like that, me and him, we were friends, just friends, with none of that stupid 'relationship' crap all these other kids were getting into getting in our way. . .

'Not like that,' I thought to myself, so why was I blushing, why was the blood in my veins pulsing so fast, why the adrenaline rush, whywhywhywhywhy- -

Mitch's voice broke through my thoughts. "Dude, it's Ms. Conrad! Scram!" And the group of guys instantly scattered and disappeared just as the principal, Ms. Conrad, came barging out the glass doors. She strode over to Butch and pulled him roughly up by the arm, snapping his gaze from me.

"Butch!" she exclaimed. "In my office now!"

Butch blinked a few times and glanced at me, prompting me to redden again, when Ms. Conrad took my by the collar and ushered him into the building. "March STRAIGHT to my office, young man!" he hesitated before turning and doing as she said.

Ms. Conrad swiftly turned toward me and knelt so we were eye to eye. "Buttercup," she said, concerned, and I had trouble believing this was the same woman who just last week had given me detention for shoe-polishing her car. "Are you okay?"

I stared at her a moment then nodded slowly. "Uh, y-y-yeah, I'm--" I looked past her to where Butch had disappeared. "I'm fine."

"Ok, sweetheart, come with me, I want to have a talk with you about Butch's behavior." She looked at the rest of the gang. "You kids go on home. I'll make sure Butch and Buttercup get home safely. They only nodded. "Come on, Buttercup." Ms. Conrad stood and took my hand, and I obligingly followed.

***

I watched from the chair through the glass windows where I could see but not hear Ms. Conrad talking to an unusually silent Butch, whose gaze was directed to the floor. All of a sudden his eyes widened and his head snapped up to her face, his expression one of shock and disbelief. My curiosity was KILLING me, so I cheated: I used my superpowers to listen through the glass.

". . . yes, you hear me, Butch. You most certainly did NOT have permission to touch Buttercup like that, and just because you two are friends gives you no right, absolutely NONE, to take advantage of her--"

My brow furrowed. 'Take advantage of me?'

"--I will not, I repeat, NOT tolerate sexual harassment of any--"

I dropped back in my seat, my face growing hot and my eyes widening. "Sexual harassment?" I whispered to myself in a tiny voice. But no, that wasn't Butch, he wasn't dirty or sick (well, not in THAT sense) like those people our health teachers had been warning us about for years now, he was just Butch, my friend, my BEST friend, and he didn't do those sorts of things. . .

Suddenly the door opened and Butch stepped out, looking unnaturally pale. He looked at me and I blushed again; why was I turning so red?

"Buttercup," he whispered, "I didn't--"

Ms. Conrad's face popped in the doorway. "Buttercup, please come in. And YOU--" she pointed at Butch as I got up "--I don't want you moving FROM. THIS. SPOT. PERIOD. Come in, Buttercup."

I paused in front of Butch, trying to bring myself to meet his eyes, but I only blushed even deeper and followed Ms. Conrad into her office.

"Now Buttercup," she immediately started once the door was closed, "you need to tell me EXACTLY what happened this afternoon so I can--"

"Ms. Conrad?" I interrupted, clearing my throat uneasily. "You're. . . you're not accusing Butch of. . . um, of--" It was hard for me to say it; I was only twelve! ". . . um. . . "

"Sexual harassment?" she offered, and I blushed.

"Y-you're not going to--"

"Buttercup, just tell me what happened," she sighed, annoyed.

I paused. "Well, we--my sisters and me and Brick and Boomer--were waiting for Butch to come so we could all go home, and he did, and he. . . kissed me." I felt myself turn redder as I said those last two words.

"Did you know ahead of time he was going to do that?"

What kind of question was that? "Of course not."

"Are you two dating?"

"WHAT?!"

"Are you going out with him?" Ms. Conrad rephrased.

"I KNOW what it means, it's just. . . why does everybody think that? First my friends, now the principal--"

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm going to take that as a no."

I sighed. "Yes--I mean, yes, that's a no."

"Then it was unwanted physical contact," she stated matter-of-factly.

"No, it--I mean. . . I dunno. . . "

"Buttercup, are you saying you don't want to press charges?"

"Of course not! I mean. . . I don't want to press charges because. . . because. . . "

"Because he's your friend." Ms. Conrad sighed. "Buttercup, friends aren't always who you think they are--"

"But Butch isn't LIKE that! I know him! It. . . it must've been a mistake or something. . . "

She raised another eyebrow. "A mistake. Right."

"I'm SERIOUS," I pleaded. Why was I so desperate? "We've been best friends for years, and I'll just talk with him and clear everything up, I promise, Principal Conrad, I promise--"

"I don't know, Buttercup. . . "

"If he tries anything again I swear I'll let you know, even though I know he won't, or, well. . . just. . . I think he got the warning good enough, Principal Conrad, just please, PLEASE don't--"

"All right, Buttercup! I get it."

We both sighed, one out of relief and one out of frustration. "But I'll be watching the both of you to make sure he doesn't do this sort of thing again. Got it?"

I was elated!

"Have I made myself clear, Miss Utonium?"

"Crystal," I sighed again, smiling and bobbing my head up and down.

Ms. Conrad looked at me and laughed. "You almost look like Bubbles when you're doing that, Buttercup."

I immediately stopped nodding and frowned. "What?!"

She was already ushering me out the door. As I stepped outside the air suddenly seemed to get thicker, and I felt like I had to fight just to breathe as I saw Butch sitting desolately in the chair next to the office door, elbows on his knees and head in his hands. When the door creaked open he immediately stood up, and our eyes met once before we blushed and dropped our gaze to each other's shoes.

"Miss Utonium has graciously decided she's not going to press charges, Butch," Ms. Conrad said firmly, and I barely made out his head lifting up to hers in surprise. "BUT if you ever, EVER, I repeat, do something like that again, I'm going to go with my better judgement instead of hers," she warned, voice darkening. "I won't tolerate it. Do you understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Butch affirmed, and I bit my lip to keep from laughing. He'd NEVER treated the principal THIS respectfully before.

"All right then. I'll let you two kids go home." She headed back into her office. "Chances are I'll probably see one of you or the other in my office in a week anyway," she muttered under her breath before the door clicked into place.

I lifted my head to meet Butch's eyes, and we both blushed in the awkward silence that followed.

***

The flight back home was a quiet one. We flew side by side, occasionally stealing glances at each other, and hurriedly looking away when we caught each other's gaze.

I still didn't get it.

Didn't get why there was this rapid, frenetic pounding in my chest, this heat that kept on my skin despite the breeze, this horrifying feeling that I would catch his eye every time I looked at him and yet the disappointment I felt when he didn't. . .

'What's WRONG with me?' I thought to myself, half-hoping I could answer. But I had no answer, only more questions. . .

. . . and all they were doing was confusing me more.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts that I didn't even notice at first when Butch halted beside me and left me flying a few hundred feet before I realized he was behind me. I paused and turned around, the cool breeze riffling around me, bringing with it his scent. . .

. . . but since when had I known what he smelled like?

He stared at the city below us, and I floated up to him, filled with this terrifying sense of being so close, but why did that bother me. . .

I tried to ask if he was okay but the words fell to my stomach and refused to come to my throat. So instead I gazed at the top of his head, and for the first time in our friendship I admired the way the sun highlighted the crown of his head, how smooth and soft each individual strand looked, and then here I was, this twelve year old girl on the verge of losing her childhood in less than a year to come, filled with an overwhelming surge of desire to run my hands through my best friend's hair and relish the way it would skim the surface of my skin, strand by strand by perfect strand. . .

And I don't know what came over me, but my eyelids grew heavy and I reached out a hand, giving in, no questions asked nor answered--

"Why don't you say something?"

My eyes snapped wide open and I drew my hand to my chest, pressing it against the pounding inside me.

His voice was dark, heavy. He took a deep breath and sighed, exhaling as he lifted his head and his eyes met mine, and I felt a lump form in the back of my throat.

I had never noticed how bright his eyes were when they were looking straight at you. They were so. . .

. . . pretty.

"Why don't you say something?" he repeated, shaking his head slowly, eyes still on mine.

I blinked in surprise, but still couldn't force the words past that lump in my throat.

"Aren't you mad?" he whispered, clearly upset. "Why aren't you yelling at me, why aren't you angry?" His voice started growing louder. "You should be. . . INFURIATED! You should be screaming your head off at me! But-- eyargh!"

He furiously ran his hands through his hair and pressed them to the sides of his head. I only hovered in front of him, still.

"I mean--I would THINK you'd wanna KILL me, but--you're so quiet--acting so WEIRD--you're NEVER this quiet, you know?! At least. . . HIT me again or something, Butterucp! Don't you wanna hit me? Why aren't--why DON'T you want to fight me?! I mean, no offense, but. . what's WRONG with you?!"

"Why did you do it?" I finally croaked, my voice cracking pathetically.

The question caught Butch off guard, and he dropped his hands to his sides and turned red. "Um. . . what?"

"Why did you do it?" I repeated, and it almost sounded like I was begging.

His eye darted around and he swallowed thickly. "Well. . . I was. . . mad."

Despair suddenly wormed its way into my chest, though for reasons I couldn't explain. "At me?"

"No!" he frantically amended, shaking his head vigorously. "It was. . . the guys. You know. . . bugging me about you being my best friend." He looked down, guilty. "I. . . just got sick of it. I mean. . . you know what I mean. Don't you get sick of it too?"

I only nodded, though in any other case I would've rolled my eyes and groaned, "YES."

Of course I was sick of it. Nobody cared to give it a rest. Always whispering amongst themselves when the two of us waved at each other in the hall, snickering behind our backs when we sat together at lunch, giving us smug little looks whenever we wrestled in the courtyard after school let out--

"But. . . that doesn't explain why you did. . . THAT," I said quietly.

His eyes darted around, avoiding me. "Well. . . like I said. . . I got. . . sick of it. And. . . I asked them. . . asked them what it would take for me to shut them up about it once and for all. . . and they said. . . they said. . . " He swallowed thickly and blushed.

"If I kissed you they'd never bother us about it ever again."

I blinked a few times before finally saying softly, "Oh."

And then silence. Nothing but the wind rustling through our hair and clothes.

"I'm sorry, Buttercup."

I had never seen such a beautifully apologetic look on his face before, and I could literally feel my lungs swelling as I looked at him.

"It's. . . okay. I mean. . . I guess. . . I'd rather you were my first kiss than anyone else, probably. . . " I could feel myself reddening as those words fell from my lips.

He forced a laugh and looked away. "Yeah. . . it's just. . . you're acting so different right now--"

"I'm kinda still reeling from the shock, yeah--"

"--the thing is, things shouldn't be different." He gave me a pointed look. "This. . . shouldn't be something that changes everything, you know? It's just like a trial, sort of. . . like we're being tested. It's. . . I dunno-- " He shrugged, a bit exasperated. "I just don't want this kind of thing to change our friendship."

I nodded, relieved. "You're right. Absolutely right. It doesn't change anything."

I wasn't lying. It. . . hadn't changed anything between us.

Really. I. . . meant it. I wasn't lying.

Butch exhaled and smiled at me, and I clenched my teeth.

His smile looked so. . . genuine.

"That's good. I don't want anything to change. . . best friends and all that crap, huh?" he said, laughing a bit.

I only managed a weak smile and nodded. "I guess. . . we should both be going home now." We would both be going in separate directions from here.

"Wait, Buttercup," he said quickly, and. . . was it hope? Coursing through my blood. . . no. Couldn't be.

"Um. . . yeah?"

He shoved his hands in his pockets, kind of hunched his shoulders and looked nervously off to the side. "Could. . . well, this'll sound weird, but. . . I'm just so relieved everything was cleared up and all. . . I was wondering. . . if you'd let me give you a hug."

Talk about your strange requests. But even so I had to restrain myself from jumping at his offer. "Y-yeah. Sure. No problem."

He smiled cleared his throat, and floated a bit closer to me. And as I felt his arms slide around me every muscle in my body tensed, shivers rippling my nerves, his very touch jarring every fiber of my being, and I tried to send the message to my arms to hold him and hug him back, but I was afraid I would start shaking if I tried to move and wouldn't be able to stop, so I stood still, closing my eyes as his hair physically shimmered against my eyelids, and thought to myself 'It changes nothing changes nothing nothing has changed. . . "

A moment later he released me form his warm embrace, and as he smiled, said his final goodbye, and took off, I watched his slender form retreat and whispered to myself, "It doesn't change anything, Buttercup.

It doesn't change anything."

***

It wasn't till I reached the front door that I realized the severe questioning I would be subjected to once I set foot inside.

I paused, my hand on the doorknob, a nervous sense of dread I felt on my back, then shook my head. "Don't be stupid, Buttercup," I snorted. "Just tell 'em what happened. That. . . that simple."

Simple. Right.

I started to turn the knob when all of a sudden the door opened for me, and I stood face to face with Blossom.

A rare moment of silence passed between us.

Just as her mouth opened to speak I interjected. "It was a dare," I said hurriedly, and zipped past her and up to our room in a blinding streak of green.

"Buttercup! Wait!"

I slammed the door and refused to come down until dinner.

***

All three of them were quietly sitting at the table when I went down there. Blossom, Bubbles. . .

. . . and the Professor.

I gulped, then took my designated seat, the chair scratching noisily against the linoleum floor.

For a long while no one said or did a thing.

Finally the Professor lifted his fork, and the rest of us followed suit: Bubbles, Blossom, and finally me, in that order.

Nobody said a word throughout the entire meal. I don't even remember what I ate that night, no less how it tasted. I just lifted the fork to my mouth, over and over again, till my plate was cleared and I pushed it away from me a bit.

Everyone else was still eating, and I considered leaving the table, but decided not to risk it. So instead I sat, quiet, which wasn't good because it made me think of. . .well. . .

The Professor was the last to finish his plate. He cleared his throat , folded his arms, and leaned against the table. "Have you girls finished your homework?"

"Today's or tomorrow's?" Blossom asked. "Either way the answer's yes."

"Bubbles?"

"Not yet."

The table was suddenly silent. It was a long moment before the Professor turned to me and inquired, "Buttercup?"

I didn't choose to answer verbally. I only nodded. Once.

The Professor blinked a few times. My sisters looked skeptical. "All of it?" Blossom asked incredulously.

I nodded again. "I had a lab report in Science, a reading for English, and a worksheet in Math. I did it all."

I had to. There was no other way I could keep myself from thinking about Butch.

". . . Well then," the Professor started. "Blossom, why don't you go. . . proof Buttercup's homework. Bubbles, go ahead and finish yours. . . and Buttercup, you can stay here and help me do the dishes."

***

"So. . . it was a dare." The Professor rolled up his sleeves and plunged his hands into the soapy water.

I bit my lip. "Mm-hmm."

"Who dared him to do it?"

"Some guys at school."

"Why?"

"Because they thought we were going out, and Butch was trying to prove to them we weren't." I let the hot water pool in my mitts before pouring it onto my stack of dishes to rinse.

"Did he apologize?"

"He did."

The stack of clean dishes beside me grew higher until there were no dirty plates left. The Professor turned to me and, after drying his hands on a towel, lightly stroked my hair.

I usually pulled away when he tried to do that, but this time I stood still, and he smoothed out the tangles and said, "I think it's fair to say that you'll be grounded for two weeks. Not because you did anything wrong, Buttercup, but. . . can you blame me for being a bit concerned?"

I bit my lip and shook my head. "No."

He rested his hand on my back and knelt a bit to kiss me on the cheek. "Good girl," he whispered. "You handled it very well today." He stood up and winked. "No bloodshed or leveled buildings. I'm proud."

I forced a silly grin on my face to appease him. I fount it faltering, though, and turned to go back upstairs.

"Buttercup?"

I paused.

"Is everything okay?"

I looked back at the Professor and smiled. "Everything's fine," I said quietly. I stood still for a minute. And then the next I fell into the Professor's arms, listening to his heartbeat with my hair getting in my eyes as I pressed my temple to his chest.

He seemed genuinely surprised at first, but quickly recovered and gave me a gentle squeeze. "Are you sure you're okay?"

My words were muffled against his chest, so I nodded instead.

But no, I wasn't okay. I felt so mixed-up, so confused. 'It doesn't change anything,' I had said, first to Butch, and then to myself. But why did it feel like just the opposite?

Still I nodded again and whispered to the Professor that I was fine.

He wasn't convinced. Smart man. "You know if there's ever something we need to talk about-"

"I know," I cut him off. I pried myself from his grasp and floated to the room.

Halfway up the stairs I stopped and backtracked to the kitchen I hovered up so were face to face and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"Thanks, Professor."

That said, I retreated.

***

I could tell they'd been listening to the conversation when I went into the room. Not that I cared, really. It was just that now, more than anything, I needed some sort of distraction; something to keep my mind off of. . . off. . .

"I'm going to sleep," I announced as I walked in.

For the umpteenth time that day my sisters were visibly shocked.

"But. . . it's not even 9 yet," Bubbles squeaked. "We usually have to drag you kicking and screaming into bed at 12!"

I shrugged. "I'm tired."

I was in and out of the bathroom in five minutes, and as I walked into the room a second time Blossom cleared her throat and said, "You did good on the homework, Buttercup. I put it in the black folder in your backpack." She seemed like she had more to say but remained quiet.

"Thanks," I said before rolling into my bed and wrapping myself in the sheets.

***

Sleep. . . did not come easily. The quiet just opened the door of opportunity for reflective thinking. I reflected on the evens of the afternoon. I thought about Butch. I thought about me. And then. . . I did a bad thing.

I started thinking about us.

My stomach clenched itself whenever I saw him after that. We still greeted each other the same old way, and I learned quickly how to suppress the red telltale warmth that threatened to spread upon my face upon hearing his voice. Word about that infamous afternoon got around fast, but the way we acted around each other, you never would've thought anything had changed. . .

. . . it was almost as if the events of that day had never transpired.

And the funny thing was nobody ever brought up anything ever again.

They stopped whispering, stopped pointing, stopped gossiping. All throughout the rest of middle school and throughout high school.

And for all those years. . . I. . . I. . .

***

The second day I finished my homework early again and sat around for awhile. Ended up thinking some more. Mainly asking questions, really.

Like how come the hammering in my chest quickened its pace when I thought of him. How come my mouth felt so dry when I heard his voice. How come I was starting to long for just one, one single accidental brush of his hand against mine when we walked side by side in the halls from class to class. . .

Why was I lingering near him till the split second before the bell rang? Why was I thinking to myself whenever he was talking to me about his soft hair, his bright eyes, the shapes his mouth made as he spoke to me? Why was I so incredibly aware of his scent as it faded on my clothes, my books, my skin. . .

I had gripped the carpet tightly that second afternoon. Slipped my hands around my sides and just underneath the hem of my shirt to clench my bare stomach, hunching over and squeezing my eyes shut, anything, ANYTHING that could take my mind off him, distract my mind from him, keep my mind off him. . .

Frustrated, I flew out of our room and downstairs. Bubbles was working on an art project in the living room and Blossom was practicing in the Danger Grid.

I found myself in the kitchen, where the Professor was preparing dinner. That afternoon and the rest of them after that for a week was spent watching him. Then I started helping. And then it was only me in the kitchen while he got a chance to relax with the paper at the dinner table or work in his lab.

I didn't mind. Learning to cook and cooking itself kept my mind focused, off things that I certainly tried not to think about.

Butch was as careless, as worry-free as ever. After the two weeks was up we still spent weekends and some afternoons together, wrestling and racing and generally beating the crap out of each other when we weren't saving the city.

We never talked about that day again.

And I kept it a good secret for a long time.

From myself.

***2 years later, High School Freshman year***

"Has anybody asked you to Homecoming yet?"

I snorted. "I'm not going."

"That doesn't answer the question, smart ass. I asked if somebody asked you."

"Does it make a difference? I'm not going." I hopped on the stair railing and teetered, waving my arms around to balance myself. 'Damn chest,' I thought silently to myself. 'Screwing up my center of gravity.' "I don't see why it's such a big deal. Just another stupid dance."

"But it's the first dance we get the chance to experience as HIGH SCHOOLERS. . . " Butch drawled out, hissing the 's' in my face.

"A dance is a dance," I muttered, and jumped down next to him. We headed for the exits, bags slung over our shoulders. "Why did you wanna know, anyway?"

He shrugged. "Just curious."

Once outside we took off and flew in silence for a few minutes. "No," I finally said.

Butch looked at me. "No?"

"No." I shot a sideways glance at him. "What about you?"

It was a stupid question. I had no doubt in my mind what the answer was already.

"A few girls have asked me, yeah," he admitted softly. "Can't say it does much for my male egotism to be asked by a girl, but. . . I guess I'll blame it on their hormones. Maybe they were PMS'ing."

"What did you say to them?" I asked colorlessly.

"I told them I'd think about it. But. . . I wanted to make sure you were going." He kept his eyes pointed straight ahead. "You know it wouldn't be any fun without you. For me. Misbehaving is so much more enjoyable when you're with a good pal."

I smirked. "Flattery will get you nowhere."

Silence again. We were almost home.

"So nobody's asked you?"

I frowned. "You asked me that already. No."

The wind whistled past us.

"Does that mean I'll have the honor of being the first?"

***

It was on Homecoming night of my Freshman year.

We showed up in t-shirts and shorts, and when the administrators wouldn't let us in to the hotel hosting it because of "inappropriate attire," we broke in through a suite window. We rearranged the food at the snack table into rude and obscene sculptures. We poured water from the pool into the punch and made it a night to remember. Before security could get a hold of us we fled to the roof of the building outside and leaned against each others' backs, feeding each other the worst and dirtiest pickup lines we could come up with. And then I laid down on my back and he rested his head on my stomach and fell asleep.

And as I let my hand trace his hairline and the fine stripe between his lips I finally gave in.

I finally admitted it to myself after two long sleepless years.

I was in love with my best friend.

I was in love with Butch.

***

Love--in this form, at least--seemed IMPOSSIBLE for my character.

I mean, I knew I wasn't incapable of it, but. . . to this degree. . .

The thing was, with some crushes, or other crushes in general, was eventually you gave up. Or lost interest, or found someone new.

But. . . that didn't happen.

I watched him in middle school. I watched him in high school. I watch him in college now.

I could tell you everything about him. I could tell you what shampoo he uses, what toothpaste, his favorite clothing brand, favorite movie, favorite song, favorite book.

I could tell you the names of all the girlfriends he'd ever had, though anything more than a name and I was stumped. They all eventually mass- molded into a single character I had always known only as "The Other Girl." Even the nice girls like Kendall.

There were times when I would've given every living breathing fiber of my entire being just to be "The Other Girl," just for five seconds, the girl he held in his arms, the girl he kissed hello, the girl he whispered to as he passed her in the halls. . .

At the same time I had what they couldn't though. . . I read him better than anyone else. I knew just what to say to him at just the right time. And I had his smile. His genuine smile.

"You're always first on my list, Buttercup," he admitted every now and then, with a truly serious expression on his face. I didn't doubt him for a second. And I knew the other girls were jealous of that, of me coming first in his life. But still. . . God, what I wouldn't have given for those few brief moments of being "The Other Girl. . . "

I always wanted more.

I always wanted him.

'But you've always had him,' I would think to myself afterwards.

But not like that. I wanted his laugh on my cheeks, his hands in my hair, his kiss on my lips. . .

He's probably broken a lot of girls' hearts. There's only one I know of for sure, though, and that's mine, which he's broken more than once.

But every time I forgive him. Because. . . well. . .

. . . you can't help but forgive when you're in love.

***

The sun is starting to inch its way down. I decide to time it just for kicks.

One one million. . . Two one million. . . Three one million. . .

Suddenly his hand alights atop mine as it rest on the seat of the car, and my attention snaps to him as he slides his left hand against the steering wheel. He keeps his eyes face forward and doesn't say a word, but as my gaze shifts outside to the window again his right hand gently squeezes mine and holds it and doesn't let go.

And as I watch his reflection silhouetted against the gradually lowering sun, I already know I'll forgive him for this heartbreak, too.

***

"We're here," Butch finally says softly, and his hand leaves mine to park the car and turn it off. I numbly stare at the dashboard, slowly rubbing the back of my left hand against the fabric of my skirt.

"Are you sure you don't wanna go home, Buttercup?" He gently asks, placing a hand on my shoulder and looking genuinely concerned.

I blink furiously and shake my head. "I'm fine. Let's go."

I immediately hop out of the car and slam the door shut as Butch slips out his own side, considerably slower than me. I start taking quick steps toward the restaurant, listening to Butch shuffling behind me. Gradually I slow down until he appears at my side, hands stuffed in his pockets and eyes concentrated on something far off in the distance ahead of us.

A group of young guys passes by us, talking and laughing loudly, and as one of their stragglers approaches me he flashes me a friendly smile.

A few steps more and Butch suddenly reaches out his right arm and wraps it around my waist, pulling me closer to him as he watches the group out of the corner of his eye.

I blink and blush in surprise. "Butch?"

"You can't blame me for being worried, can you?" he whispers quietly without looking at me.

I don't answer. I'm too busy trying not to focus on the bone of my hip where his hand rests.

***

"I feel a tad overdressed for this place, Butch," I remark, taking note that practically every customer is in jeans and a t-shirt.

"Aw, don't sweat it none. Kendall made us a reservation on our very own little private spot on the deck away from prying eyes." His arm leaves my waist and he clutches my hand instead. A turn here, a turn there, then it's through a door and up an outdoor flight of creaky wooden stairs past equally creaky wooden balconies--

"And here you are," the blue jean clad hostess perks cheerily.

Butch purses his lips and nods. "Wow. Not bad."

I look around. Not bad indeed. One lone table sits in the middle of the wooden landing, illuminated by electric lanterns hanging from poles along the deck railing. The trees form a leafy roof overhead, only allowing for a few pockets of sky to shimmer through.

"It's. . . different," I say, awestruck.

"That's one way to put it," Butch responds, and we take our seats.

"My name is Lily and I'll be your hostess this evening. What drinks would you like to start off with?"

Butch glances at the drink list on the table and points at an orange one, pictured. "Go ahead and give me one of those, Lily. Does it have alcohol in it?"

"Yes, it does," Lily replies, scribbling away.

"Can you make it a virgin?"

"Not unless I baptize it."

We all blink a moment and then break into grins and laughter.

Funny. Mine feels so forced.

"No problem. And you, miss?"

"Ah. . . " I sigh. "Just give me a strawberry daiquiri. No alcohol tonight."

"Oookee." Lily flips her pen back behind her ear. "I'll be right back with those drinks."

"Can we have two waters to go with that?" Butch calls after her. She turns and gives us a thumbs up before she starts back down the stairs.

We sit at the table in silence.

"Um. . . I think I'm gonna go to the restroom to freshen up a bit." I push my chair back and stand.

Butch stands just as I do. "I'll go with you."

***

He waits outside the door while I run some cold water over my face and neck. When I rub my shoulders I look at myself in the mirror for a short period of time. Then I exhale and leave.

"See? No harm done," I say with a smile as we start up the stairs back to our table.

No response.

Our drinks are already there waiting for us, and in another five minutes we order, and then silence again.

I tip my head back and study the overhanging leaves and branches. "I hope there aren't any birds up there."

Butch stifles a snort, then quickly recomposes himself. But only for a moment.

In a second we both start cracking up, laughing till our sides are splitting and tears come to our eyes.

"Ah," Butch sighs, smiling as he rubs at his eyelid. "That's just too great. So. . . whaddaya think of the place?"

"It seems like the type of place Kendall would like." A little needle of pain stabs my heart. "Do you. . . do you and Kendall come here often?"

To my surprise he shakes his head. "I've never been here before. Kendall comes here a lot, though. She likes the music. And she says she likes to watch the sunset."

I look around us. Surrounded by trees.

"Oh yeah," I say sarcastically, rolling my eyes. "Never seen anything like it."

"I'll bet it looks really nice on the lower decks," Butch murmurs, looking up. Without warning he suddenly zips over, grabs me by the waist, and zooms up through the branches before I can say "What the HELL are you doing--"

My breath catches in my throat. He pauses just so the tops of our bodies peek past the canopy, turning westward to watch the sun set a brilliant orange hue doubly reflected and shimmering in the lake.

"If that isn't one of the damned prettiest things I've ever seen," Butch whispers, holding me a bit tighter.

I run my tongue quickly over my lips and nod, the back of my head bumping his chin. "It's. . . pretty spectacular."

"Mmm." He lowers us past the branches and back to the deck again, brushing the leaves from my hair with his free hand. Just as we land on the deck again Lily comes up with our food, eyebrows lifting a bit in surprise as she catches Butch with his arms around me.

I immediately shove him away and hastily sit down, blushing like crazy.

The simpleton he is, Butch only dusts his hands off and takes his seat again, coolly sipping his drink.

After setting down our food Lily places a desk bell on our table. "In case you guys need anything else, just give me a ring," Lily explains, tapping the bell. "Other than that, I'll leave you two lovebirds alone for now." She winks and bounds back down the stairs.

"Waitaminute, you've got it all wrong--" I blush again and slump back in my chair. She obviously didn't hear me.

"Twenty-two years old and it still bothers you, eh Buttercup?"

My eyes lift to find his expression an amused smirk as he gazes on me.

"Well, in any case," Butch says, raising his fork, "bon appetit."

***

I look up after finishing my plate to find (to my imminent surprise) Butch is still picking at his food.

"Dude, are you okay? You've usually inhaled the whole thing before I can even take a bite."

"Meh." He shrugs and pokes at his pasta. "I'm just. . . not very hungry." He blinks and then smirks again. "You make better chicken alfredo."

"If you say so." I ding the bell and after a minute Lily comes up and clears off my side of the table. After she disappears Butch takes a bit off his fork and chews slowly, nodding.

"Yep. You definitely make a better chicken alfredo. Could kick this one's ass any day of the week."

"It can't be THAT bad."

"No, it's not that it's bad, it's just not as good as yours. Really."

He pulls the fork from his mouth and twirls it on his plate.

"Wanna try some?"

And without giving me a chance to respond he holds his fork to my mouth, waving it expectantly.

I blink in surprise and hesitate. All my silverware was just cleared off the table.

"Open the tunnel, here comes the train," Butch babies with a smile and nudges my lip with the fork.

Before I can have a second thought about it I open my mouth and clamp my lips around the fork's head, trying not to pay attention to the way the metal tines slide against my tongue, my teeth, my lips as Butch slides it from my mouth.

I force myself to chew and swallow. "It. . . "

I pause as I watch Butch take another bite of chicken with that same fork and feel the heat rise to my face. ". . . it's good."

"Yeah, well, like I said," Butch says, setting down his silverware and pushing away his plate, "yours is still a hell of a lot better."

I moisten my lips and scrape them against the flat of my teeth while Butch dings the bell.

"You guys want me to bring you the bill?" Lily asks as she appears at our table once again. "Or would you like some dessert?"

Butch looks at me questioningly, and I shake my head. "We'll pass on dessert, Lily, but tell you what--hold onto the bill for right now, and could you refill these for us?" He indicates our empty glasses.

"No problemo." With the cups in one hand and a plate in the other she runs off to fulfill his request.

"I hope you're leaving her a big tip," I comment.

"She'll deserve it," Butch nods, resting his chin in his hands. He blinks and turns a bit. "Hear that?"

Without waiting for an answer he gets up and walks to the railing, leaning over it. "There's a band down there."

"Zat so?" I stroll to his side, trying to peer past the branches. The music's louder now; I can hear it clearer. "Sounds like a jazz group."

"Hah! Kendall's favorite." Butch smiles and nods. "How fitting."

"Here are those drinks, guys," Lily calls from behind us, and we turn and thank her. I start back for the table, but Butch suddenly takes my wrist and twirls me into his arms. Lacking inner grace and adequate maneuverability skills, I clumsily stumble into him, bumping his chest with my face.

"Introducing Buttercup Utonium. Middle name: Grace," Butch teases and laughs.

I grumble and try to pull away but his arms hold me tight and close. He bends his neck to whisper into my hair, "Dance with me," and pulls out his arm, twirling me again, and I falter again and almost trip over my own feet.

"Cut that out," I snap, snatching my hand away.

Butch only looks at me, amused, then puts on his confused face. My expression melts.

"But I thought you LIKED spending time with me."

"Dancing is a different story," I counter, crossing my arms and giving a little huff, my heart pounding something dreadful in my head.

"That's because you always try to lead," Butch explains, and reaches for my arm. I let him take it without putting up much of a fight. "Don't be so stubborn."

"I am NOT stubborn," I pout.

He rolls his eyes. "Right." All of a sudden he cocks his head. "Hey, I've heard this song before!"

He tugs me abruptly into his arms again and I end up leaning at an angle resting in his arms with my face tilting up to his. He swoops down and sweeps his lips against my cheek. "Kiss me! Kiss me!" he croons, and snaps me back upright again, twirling me so I fall against his chest like a rag doll.

"When you do I know that you will miss me, miss me. . . "

We sway a bit together and then he spins around me. "Yada-yada-I-don't-know- this-part so kiss me," and he pulls me by my arms to him yet again and presses his forehead to mine. "Kiss me," he sings along with the music, a smile on his lips and a whisper in his voice. "Make me tell you I'm in love with you. . . "

And I blush furiously and tilt my chin to my chest, backing away, when I stumble into my chair and fall over, taking the chair down with me.

Being the undying emblem of compassion he is, Butch starts laughing.

"You asshole," I growl, and crumple up my napkin and toss it at him, grabbing my skirt so he doesn't get a peek of something I don't particularly want him to see.

The napkin bounces off his chest harmlessly. "Ah. . . " he sighs, chuckling a little. "One minute we're dancing, next thing you know, you're down on your back," he says with a smile as he pulls me up.

I scowl. "Screw you."

"Oh, hey, come on, it's a slow song now," Butch protests, indicating the change in music. "You still owe me a dance."

"Since when?"

"Senior prom, dork. Remember? We never got around to it since that son of a bitch Mitch spiked the punch and got us all stoned. I've had to wait till now--"

"Well, you can keep on waiting for all I careUMPH!"

He sweeps me around in his arms and sets me on the railing so I'm looking down on him as he smiles up at me.

"One dance, Buttercup. One dance before I leave."

I pull back a bit as he leans closer, his arms on my hips holding me steady. "When you do I know that you will miss me. . . " he sings softly, smiling, and I swallow and run my tongue nervously over my lips. I allow him to ease me off the railing and into his arms, one wrapped around my waist, the other pulling both of my hands to his chest.

"First I gotta teach you how to slow dance, though," he says quietly, rubbing my wrists, and every muscle in my body tenses.

"Relax," he soothes, massaging my skin, and I try willingly to comply.

"And you have to get closer to me. Don't be afraid, I'm not gonna bite," he whispers with a smile as his grip tightens a bit. "And don't try to lead," he warns, starting to sway back and forth a bit. "Just follow me."

'I've been doing THAT for ten years now,' I consider saying, but keep it to myself.

***

For all I can tell this isn't really dancing. More like standing and swinging back and forth. . . kind of.

But. . . I'm in no position to complain.

This is. . . beyond words.

Indescribable.

Sheer heaven.

He fits me. . . so perfectly.

'But why doesn't HE see that?'

It was me all along, I want to tell him, the whole time, it was me, the little boyish girl in front of you, at your side day and night, rain or shine, me who deserves you, me who needs you, me who LOVES YOU--

"Buttercup?" he asks suddenly, and I twitch in surprise.

"Y-yes?"

"I'm really sorry. . . about what happened tonight."

About what, I try to say. It's like it never happened. A bad dream. But this. . . this isn't a bad dream. It isn't a dream. It's real, his touch, his warmth, his heartbeat underneath my hands. . .

"It isn't your fault," I whisper, but my words are muffled as I lean in to his clothing, bathing myself in his scent. 'Oh, GOD. . . '

"Butch?" I say softly, lifting my head a bit.

"Hm?"

I blink a few times and take a deep breath, trying to form the words upon my lips. Me all along, me all along, me all along--

He pauses and pulls away from me a bit so he can look directly at me. "What's wrong, Buttercup?" he gently urges.

A lump forms at the back of my throat. "I. . . I have something to say."

'Now or never, Buttercup. This chance may never come again.'

He smiles his genuine smile and prompts, "Yes?"

"I. . . I. . . "

'Before he leaves, before he takes off, before he finds the one he thinks he's been looking for all his life when that one is supposed to be me, me, ME--'

". . . I want you to know. . . "

'. . . that I've dreamed about you for ten long years. That I would've given everything for you any given hour of the day, if only I could be "The Other Girl." That I love you. Plain and simple, pure as fact. And couldn't you find it in your heart, in one tiny little corner of your heart, to reconsider falling in love with me, lonely little Buttercup, your best friend. . . '

". . . before you go. . . "

I bunch up the loose cloth of his shirt in my hands, my heart furiously pumping blood to every bit of my body. My jaw quavers as I look up at him, smiling at me, smiling that smile he's always reserved specifically for his best friend, for me. . .

'Last chance, Buttercup. . . '

'I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU.'

Suddenly I throw my arms around his neck and lift my feet off the ground as I hug his body to mine, bare skin brushing against bare skin as my face meets his. . .

***

"I'M GOING TO MISS YOU."

***

The word come out a fierce whisper in his hair, my cheek pressed against his.

***

Goodbye last chance.

***

He tenses a bit at first out of shock, but quickly relaxes, and I can feel him smile as he returns my embrace, but I'm not smiling, not me, not me. . .

My brow furrows and my eyes squeeze tightly shut, a dry sob threatening to wrack my body at any given moment.

'You lost it,' I think bitterly to myself.

'Last chance and you lost it, you let it go. . . '

'You lose.'

He gently pries my arms from around his neck and it's hard for me to mask my disappointment in myself as he looks at me. He wraps his arms around me once more and rests my head on his shoulder. Soon we begin swaying in time to the music again, listlessly, carelessly.

It was me all along.

Me all alone.

The music plays itself quietly in the background.

Smoothly, softly, he presses his lips to my neck and whispers to me. . .

"I'm gonna miss you more."



*end pt. VI*

once again, go to my lj for the whole authors' notes explanations. leave a post if you feel so inclined. thank you ever so much for reading!

oh, and I don't often do this, but you MUST read emerald evanescence by deuteriuM Xtreme. It is like. . . "buttercup angst god." you read it and. . . oh god. it's SOOOOO good. go read, damn you!

i still have yet to update my "favorites" list, but hopefully it'll be up soon. . . but until then go read dX's fic. it roxors major ass.

oh, and let me know in the review whether the rating should go up. my personal views still go with pg-13, but you guys might feel otherwise, so be sure to tell me!

-jen